John, heâd been waiting for this moment, been waiting for you to come through the door with tired eyes, an ache in your bones and your head pounding so much you were disappointed that your instincts had kicked in when you slipped on some ice outside and caught yourself instead of letting yourself get knocked the fuck out. So disappointed.
And after a long train ride into the beautiful countryside, a taxi ride to the rustic cabin that always looked more like a cottage to you, you werenât even bothered about special greetings anymore.
You practically collapsed on Johnâs lap, curling up there. Your sleeves pulled over your fists because you once again forgot a coat on the way out of your flat. Rubbing your tired eyes with said sleeve covered fist, you mumbled out a sleepy âhelloâ to which he chuckled pulling your hand away from your now red eye.
âHello to you too love.â You snuggled further into his neck, thankful that he had trimmed his mutton chops and beard down so they werenât massively bushy and tickling at your nose like last time. âLong day?â
âThe longest.â At this he grinned. John had been waiting for you to have a bad day at work so he could convince you to quit and live off of his money. Heâd mentioned it so many times before but unfortunately you always thought he was joking and when he had rasped it into your ear while he was buried deep inside you, you thought that he was just being his usual possessive self.
Not fucking true. Okay itâs partly true, but John was serious. He wanted to put you up in his well polished cabin. Wanted to marry you so you couldnât argue against him when he said âwhatâs mine is yoursâ. Wanted to come back from missions to find his cute little wife in his bed. He wanted to spend his free time gardening and baking with you. Going to the farmers market with you and he always wanted to try his hand at painting.
John Price wanted nothing more than to come home to you swollen with his child. Couldnât wait to take leave so he could take care of you properly. Desperately wanted nothing more than to be there when you bore his child, holding your hand and telling you âyouâre doing so well, my brave girlâ. Wanted to see the sweet little baby that you made together on your hip while you told him all about the new curtain samples you got because âthe ones in the den are ghastlyâ as you so eloquently put it.
And now this was his chance to broach the subject seriously with you. If you agreed, which was a big chance because of how dishevelled you looked and how exhausted you must have been feeling. Then that was brilliant.
If you said no? Maybe he would have to resort to the old ways. Getting you fired. Getting you evicted. Taking all the fight out of you until you truly are broken and begging him for help. Itâs not nice but itâs necessary.
âI have something I want to discuss with you sweetâart.â . . .











