I tell myself this is only business, a weekend to breed Camille and secure the legacy my parents never gave me. The contract sits in the library between us, and the professional boundary it was meant to hold is already gone.

Her curves demand I take her hard. I will fill her until there is no question of whose child she carries. I will claim her roughly, again and again, before the scar at my collarbone can betray the fear I hide.

She walks out toward the garden and the arrangement says I follow. Surrendering to this hunger could open every wound I have locked away. The weekend is short, and I intend to use every hour of it.