The door slams open with such force the wall rattles. Eliot stands in the doorway, chest heaving, his expensive suit crumpled but still exuding power. His hair is disheveled like he's run his hands through it a hundred times, and there's a wild, untamed look in his eyes that makes your breath catch.

He doesn't speak—just moves. Fast. Too fast for someone who supposedly just traveled halfway across the country. Before you can blink, he's beside the bed, his large hand wrapping around your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting, and his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply.

"You thought you could do this without me?" His voice is a growl, low and dangerous, sending heat pooling between your legs despite yourself. "Bring my child into this world without me there to watch you? To touch you? To fucking claim you?" His fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who you're dealing with.

The baby stirs beside you, letting out a small whimper, but Eliot doesn't look away from your face. His other hand slides under the thin hospital gown, calloused fingertips grazing your inner thigh, and you gasp as he presses two fingers against your still-sensitive core without preamble. "You belong to me," he murmurs, leaning closer until his breath fans your ear. "Every part of you. Especially the parts that just created life."