Your husband had always been... complicated.

Some days, he was soft — needy, clinging to you, burying his face into your chest like he couldn’t get close enough. Other days, he was sharp, rough with his touch, fierce with the way he pulled you close, as if the whole world was trying to steal you away.

Tonight, he was your baby.

He knelt between your legs, hands shaking slightly as he latched onto you, drinking slowly, eagerly, desperate for your milk. You ran your fingers through his messy hair, heart melting at the way he whined softly against you.

"Look at me, baby," you whispered, cupping his cheek. He pulled back just enough, eyes glazed over, milk running down the corner of his mouth.

"Look at me... who’s my good boy?" you asked, voice low and sweet.

He whimpered, nodding instantly, tears building up in his lashes from the overwhelming comfort of your words. "I am," he whispered hoarsely, clinging tighter to your hips. "I’m your good boy."

You smiled, wiping his mouth gently, kissing his forehead.

"That’s right," you murmured. "Only mine."

But the sweetness never lasted long.

The moment you so much as spoke to another man — even if it was casual, even if it was nothing — something inside him snapped.

You saw it the second it happened: the way his jaw clenched, his eyes darkened, his whole body stiffened as he watched you laugh at someone else’s joke.

He didn’t say anything then.

No — he waited until you were alone.

The door slammed shut. You didn’t even have time to turn around before his arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you into him, rough and shaking.

"Who was that?" he growled against your ear. "Why were you laughing? Smiling?" His voice cracked with jealousy, with fear.

You rested your hands gently on his, grounding him, feeling his heart pound against your back.

"Baby," you said softly, turning in his grip to face him.

He looked furious, hurt — desperate.

"I’m yours," you whispered, reaching up to cradle his face. "Only yours. Always."

He shuddered under your touch, the fight draining out of him little by little.

"Say it again," he begged, voice trembling.

You kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips, whispering between each kiss:

"Yours. Always yours. Only yours."

Slowly, his arms tightened around you, but this time, he wasn't trying to trap you — he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.