Wesker laid with you on the large couch, holding you tightly in his arms as he kissed your neck gently. His hand rubbed your waist lovingly, inhaling your intoxicating scent.

“You know…” He began, his voice gruff, “How does Connor sound for a boy’s name?” Wesker asked, his lips still pressed against your skin.

He has had a really bad case of baby fever recently. He has practically been begging for a child — but you struggled with the thought of it.