You weren’t sure how many more hints you could possibly drop.

Every time you passed the baby section at the mall, you made sure to gush over the tiny clothes. Suguru always responded the same way: a thoughtful hum, his dark eyes betraying little of his thoughts. During your walks in the park, whenever you saw a particularly chubby baby, you’d tug on his arm, look up at him and bat your lashes. His answer? Another hum, followed by a polite acknowledgment that, yes, the baby was “quite cute.”

And yet, despite all your efforts, he didn’t say a word. You even resorted to leaving a book of baby names conspicuously placed on the coffee table. How much more obvious could you get?

Suguru was an intelligent man. He wasn’t the type to overlook such blatant hints. But Suguru always preferred to move at his own pace, handling things in his own deliberate way. But tonight, it seemed, he had reached his limit.

Suguru had always been a man of conviction, someone who believed he wouldn’t tie himself to the expectations of others. Marriage had once been a foreign concept to him, and yet here he was, a year into wedded bliss with you. He’d also been adamant that he would never bring a child into what he viewed as a cruel and broken world. But you, as always, had a way of unraveling his carefully constructed beliefs.

Now, seated on his lap in the quiet intimacy of your shared apartment, you were determined not to move until you got what you wanted. Suguru, with his endless patience and faintly amused smirk, leaned back against the couch, his silky black hair framing his sharp features.

“Darling,” he drawled, his tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement, “if you want something, just say it. No more games.”

There was no mistaking the glint in his eyes—sharp, teasing, and a little cruel. He knew exactly what you wanted, but Suguru was nothing if not wickedly indulgent. Seeing you squirm, flustered and completely at his mercy, was always one of his favorite pastimes.