Chapter 24
Jack
There's a knock at my door.
When I open it, there he is.
"Uh—hey," I say, eloquent as always.
He's standing there in the hallway, robe loosely tied, hair mussed from the pillow, those ridiculous crimson lashes casting shadows under his eyes. He looks soft. I want to keep him in my pocket.
"May I spend the night?" he asks quietly, blinking up at me. Golden eyes glimmering, hesitant but determined.
My chest tightens, I would never deny him.
"Of course," I murmur, stepping aside.
He shuffles in with that awkward little waddle pregnancy gave him, muttering something under his breath about his back. The robe swishes around his ankles.
I close the door softly behind me and turn back to find him shifting from foot to foot, golden eyes downcast like he's afraid I'll turn him away.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," he says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… feel a little uneasy, and I think your pheromones would make me feel settled."
Something in my chest squeezes. He's so polite even when he's asking for basic comfort. Like he thinks he's a burden.
"Of course I don't mind," I say with what I hope is a reassuring smile. And I mean it. If my presence helps him even a fraction, I'd bottle my scent and pipe it through the vents if I had to.
He stands there hesitantly, like he's not sure what happens next. It's almost funny—he's seven months pregnant, has attacked me several times, and somehow he's now shy about climbing into my bed.
"Uh, you can get in," I say, gesturing toward the blankets. "I was just about to shower. I'll join you after, okay?"
He nods once, then pads toward the bed, that adorable waddle and all. He doesn't even glance back at me, just unties his robe with zero ceremony, lets it fall, and shuffles under the blankets.
And God help me—he's so cute.
He's wearing a shirt that stops comically high above the curve of his stomach, like it gave up halfway through trying to cover him. His pajama shorts are loose and soft, clinging only where his belly band peeks out. He looks like the personification of domestic vulnerability—sleepy and round and unfairly beautiful.
He squirms under the blankets, arranging himself with a little sigh, one hand immediately curling over his stomach like he's instinctively protecting his son. My heart does something dumb in my chest.
"I'll be quick," I promise, trying to keep my voice steady.
*
I towel off quickly, debating whether to bother with a shirt. My hand hovers over the folded stack on the dresser, but something makes me pause. He came in here because he wanted my scent, wanted the reassurance of an alpha nearby. Covering that up with cotton feels… counterproductive.
So I ditch the shirt idea. Shorts will have to do.
The bedroom is dim now, just the moonlight spilling across the floorboards. Ciel's already curled on his side, one hand on his belly, his breathing slow but not quite asleep.
Careful not to shake the mattress too much, I slide under the covers. The sheets are cool; he's warm.
And then—like instinct—he shifts.
A soft shuffle closer, the faintest scoot across the bed until he's pressed along my side, forehead nudging my shoulder, one hand resting over my ribs. It's hesitant, like he's not sure how much he's allowed to take, but there's no mistaking the need in that little movement.
My chest does something stupid again.
"Hey," I murmur quietly. "Comfy?"
He hums a sound that's somewhere between a yes and a sleepy sigh, then buries his face closer against me like I'm his personal pillow.
I go statue-still, terrified that if I move too fast, I'll break the spell. This is progress. Huge progress. He's never reached for me like this before.
Was it my confession earlier? Something I said that cracked the walls he's been carrying around his heart?
Courage, big guy. Don't mess this up.
Slowly, carefully, I shift my arm and pull him closer. He doesn't tense or flinch—he just melts, tucking himself fully against me until his head is resting on my chest. My hand settles on his back, warm and steady.
And then—God help me—his arm slides around my waist.
I can feel the soft curve of his baby bump pressed to my torso. That tiny reminder of his whole world. His son.
My throat burns.
I want to cry.
I've never experienced anything like this. No drunken one-night stand or shallow hookup could have prepared me for what it feels like to have someone just… choose you like this. Quietly. Sleepily. With no agenda other than safety.
I stare at the ceiling, heart pounding under his cheek, and all I can think is how doomed I am.
Because I know how this story ends.
I know I'm about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life when it comes to Ciel.
And I meant it when I told him earlier—I'll take it. I'll love him even if he never feels the same. He's not obligated to love me back.
But God, that doesn't mean it won't hurt like a bitch.