Chapter 14: Sedated Secrets
The door hissed shut behind him, sealing out the world, and the sight of her unconscious form on the stark medical bed hit Dayne with a physical force that stole his breath. He crossed the room in three strides, his earlier violence replaced by a trembling reverence as he lifted her limp hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles where the skin was scraped raw. “Mio cuore,” he whispered, the endearment a ragged prayer against her skin, his emerald eyes tracing the angry purple bloom of a bruise peeking from the neckline of her hospital gown.
Dr. Callahan, his movements crisp and quiet, gently adjusted the IV line and stepped back, revealing more of the mottled, fingerprint-shaped bruises that marred the pale skin of Zariah's collarbone and upper arms. "The trauma is what precipitated the early contractions," he said, his voice low but precise, and Dayne's grip on the cold steel bedrail tightened until his knuckles stood out like shards of bone against his skin." A muscle in Dayne's jaw jumped, a silent, furious tic, as the doctor continued, "We've stopped the labor for now.
"So she needs bed rest," Dayne interrupted, the words sharp, his gaze never leaving Zariah's bruised throat."No stress. Nothing fucking strenuous. Is that clear?" The doctor, a man named C who had seen the aftermath of most of the Moretti family's wars, simply nodded, knowing the instruction was not for him but for the man's own simmering, volatile guilt.
He then looked away from the bed, his voice dropping. "As for the proximate cause of the uterine irritability and pre-term contractions--" Dayne cut him off, a low growl in his throat. "Plain English, Doc."Dr. C swallowed, the antiseptic air suddenly colder. "It appears she was, umm... assaulted forcefully enough to cause a small puncture in the amniotic sac."
He heard the words, but his mind unspooled into a raw, bloody static, fixating on the term 'assault' and searing images from his own interrogation back at the ruined mansion twisting into something far worse.
His heart broke for her, and no matter what anyone had told him, he would always blame himself for this happening to her.
If he wasn't so trusting and had body guards around him like the board recommended, perhaps Robert's men wouldn't have been able to use him as a pawn to get to Zee.
His self-deprecation was interrupted by the doctor once more, as he placed a steadying hand on Dayne's shoulder.
"I estimated the time of conception," Dr. C said, his voice firm and grounding, "and based on that, the only possible father is you."
C said, his voice firm and grounding, "and based on that, the only possible father is you." The breath he didn't realize he was holding came out as a choked gasp. He didn't know he had tears until he felt them hit his pants. The baby she carried was his.Theirs. Finality set in that he had truly ended Robert's lineage and that made Dayne smirk, although no humor was present.
Finality set in that he had truly ended Robert's lineage and that made Dayne smirk, although no humor was present. He stayed there, holding her hand until the pale light of dawn filtered through the blinds, tracing the lines of exhaustion on her face.
The next morning Zariah awoke in a sterile room attached by monitors that beeped, her panic immediate when the memories came flooding back to her on how she ended up here, her hands immediately trying to remove the gown that covered her belly to make sure her baby was still there. The commotion caused Dayne who’d been sleeping in the love seat to jump up and comfort a frantic Zariah. He grabbed her hands in his, the warmth of his grip stilling her frantic scraping at the gown, and shushed her softly. “It’s ok,” he said, his voice rough from disuse and unshed tears, “the baby is fine. The doctor was able to stop your labor.”
Her eyes, wide and frantic, locked onto his, and a strangled sob ripped from her throat as she clutched the front of his borrowed shirt. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, the words dissolving into heaving cries, “I went alone, I didn’t tell anyone, and he—”. She buried her face against his neck, her body shaking as she gasped, “I thought you were dead. He showed me pictures, he said they’d killed you, and I believed him.” Dayne’s arms tightened around her, his hand cradling the back of her head as he breathed in the scent of her hair and antiseptic, whispering into her ear, “He’s gone now, Zee. He can never touch you again.”
Dayne carefully slid into the narrow hospital bed behind her, the starch of the sheets cold against his skin. He lifted her gently, his arms a firm bracket around her, until her back was flush against his chest and she was cradled securely between his thighs. “The doctor stopped the labor,” he murmured into her hair, his voice rough but steady, “the baby’s fine, but he said you need to rest, no stress.” She shuddered, a wet sob escaping her as she turned her face into his neck, her fingers digging into the arm wrapped around her waist. His hand slid down from her belly, under the thin gown, and he whispered, “Let me make you feel safe again,” before his fingers found her clit, already wet and aching for him.
His fingertips brushed the swollen bud of her clit, and a jagged gasp tore from her lips. He knew her body’s language, its old sighs and new tremors, and he read the wet heat soaking his fingers as a scripture of pure need. “Let me in, Zee,” he growled, his voice thick against her ear as he pushed two fingers deep inside her, her cunt clenching around him with a desperate, welcoming greed. Her back arched, a broken cry dissolving into a moan as he worked her with a ruthless, knowing rhythm, his thumb circling her clit in tight, perfect counterpoint. “Take it,” he commanded, curling his fingers to stroke that spot that made her see stars, “take every fucking bit of what I’ve missed.”
His long, thick fingers brushed her g-spot over and over again, that deep, inner ridge swelling under his relentless, expert pressure, while his thumb circled her clit in a perfect, dizzying tandem that shattered her breathing into sharp, pleading cries. “I missed this desperate, soaking cunt,” he snarled, his mouth against her jaw, “I missed the way you fucking clench around my fingers, and when the doctor clears you, I’m going to fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days.” His voice broke, raw with emotion, as he added, “And this new body, with our child inside it… it makes me so fucking hard, Zee, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
His words hung in the sterile air, a confession that shattered her last reserve, and she arched back against him with a shattered gasp. He slipped the gown from her shoulders, his breath catching at the sight of her dark, swollen areolas against her fuller breasts, the changes so profoundly erotic his cock jumped against her back. “Jesus, Zee,” he groaned, his hand roughly cupping one heavy weight, “they’re so fucking perfect and heavy now, all for us.” He took her nipple into his mouth, biting down just enough to make her cry out, while his fingers drove back into her wet heat with renewed urgency. “I’m going to make you come so hard,” he panted against her skin, “and then I’m going to lick every drop from this swollen, beautiful cunt.”
He slid down her body, his mouth replacing his fingers, and he made good on his promise. The echo of his tongue in her cunt made beautiful music, a wet, hungry rhythm against her slick, swollen folds. He made love to her cunt with his mouth and talked her through it, his voice muffled against her flesh. “That’s it, come all over my fucking tongue, Zee, I can taste how much you missed me,” he groaned, before his thumb pressed firmly against the tight, furl of her asshole. She was already swollen below from the added pressure of pregnancy and it made everything more sensitive, even especially her asshole, which he didn’t forget, circling the resistant muscle with a slick, insistent pressure that made her sob his name.
His thumb kept circling, a relentless, slick promise, as his other hand finally freed his cock, thick and straining, and he began stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue against her cunt. Then his mouth left her, and she whimpered at the loss, only to gasp sharply when she felt the hot, wet flat of his tongue press firmly against her asshole. The shocking intimacy of it, the obscene pressure on that unbearably sensitive nerve, coiled the tension in her belly into a single, frayed wire. “Dayne, fuck—” she choked out, her body bowing as his tongue worked that forbidden ring while his hand pumped his cock furiously, and she felt her own climax detonate, a white-hot sheet of pleasure tearing through her. He growled her name into her skin, a raw, broken sound, and she felt the hot, rhythmic pulse of his release against her lower back as he came with her, shuddering through his own peak.
He eased her carefully onto her side, his own limbs heavy with a relief more profound than exhaustion, before fetching a warm cloth to gently clean the sticky streaks from her skin and his own. He didn't speak, only pressed a final, soft kiss to the base of her spine before sliding in behind her again, his body a solid fortress against her back. "Sleep now, Zee," he murmured into her hair, his arm a protective weight around her rounded belly, his heartbeat a steady drum against her shoulder blades. The sterile silence of the medical room was finally broken not by machines or fear, but by the deep, even rhythm of her breathing as she sank into a profound and dreamless oblivion. She slept, wrapped in his scent and his certainty, for the first real time since the night he’d vanished from her life months ago.