Chapter 238: Pregnancy Cravings

The moment Reid’s warm skin pressed against mine, his Alpha pheromones flared—thick, rich, and suffocatingly comforting, like cold mountain air and pine needles after a storm.

"I’ve got you, honey," Reid whispered, burying his face in the curve of my neck, rubbing his jaw against my scent gland to shower me in his mark. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere tomorrow."

I buried my nose into his chest, taking a deep, shuddering breath as the nausea finally receded into a dull, distant whisper. My fingers tangled tightly into his shirt, my body melting into his heat as the violent distress of the day slowly evaporated.

"Don’t leave," I whimpered sleepily against his collarbone, the emotional exhaustion finally taking over.

"I won’t," Reid swore softly, his large hand gently cupping the small curve of my stomach as he kissed the top of my head. "I’ll stay right here with both of you."

A small prickle of guilt kept tugging at the back of my mind, but I buried it under the heavy covers. I wanted to be selfish. My body was changing, my emotions were completely out of my control, and I was pregnant—it wasn’t my fault that my instincts demanded my Alpha’s constant presence.

...

​What was supposed to be Reid’s official, high-profile debut into the McCoy Empire quickly shifted into a remote, stay-at-home training phase.

Normally, Fidora would have paraded him through headquarters for a week or two, introducing him to senior executives before easing him into a manager position to handle his first major deals. But seeing my severe pheromone rejection firsthand, she refused to force her son into an office while her son-in-law suffered at home.

​Our spacious suite in the east wing became our joint headquarters. Reid set up his corporate workstation in one corner of the bright sitting room, buried under financial reports and video calls, while I sat at the oak desk in the opposite corner, tackling my online business modules.

​Around two hours into the morning lecture, a sharp ache built up at the base of my skull. I paused the video, leaning back in my chair, rolling my neck from side to side and reaching up to crack my upper back.

​Before I could even stretch properly, a pair of broad arms wrapped gently over my shoulders from behind. Warm, familiar lips pressed against the sore muscle of my neck, right over my scent gland, sending a wave of soothing frozen pine straight through my system.

​"Restless?" Reid asked softly, his voice a low rumble against my skin as he tilted my head back to kiss the corner of my mouth.

​"My neck feels like concrete," I sighed, melting back into his chest. "I’ve been staring at supply chain diagrams for ninety minutes."

​"Take five minutes," he murmured, pulling me out of the chair and onto his lap as he sat on the sofa.

​He held me close, burying his face in my hair, his pheromones washing over me until the dull ache in my head completely dissolved. It soon became our routine—an unwritten rule where we took a break almost every fifteen to twenty minutes.

A brief hug, a shared breath, a quiet swap of scents, and then we both went back to work.

The constant micro-breaks kept my nausea at bay and gave us both a steady focus we couldn’t find anywhere else.

​Later that afternoon, while Reid was locked in a remote conference call with the board, Brad came by the suite with a bowl of ice and sliced cucumbers.

​"You two are glued at the hip today," Brad noted with a gentle smile, setting the bowl down beside me on the patio table.

​"I feel bad," I admitted, looking down at my lap. "He’s supposed to be at headquarters, but he’s stuck here working from a desk three feet from mine."

​"Don’t feel guilty, Kain," Brad said softly, sitting across from me. "Fidora made the right call. But..." He paused, looking at me with a serious, paternal expression. "You do need to start pacing yourself."

​I tilted my head. "What do you mean?"

​"Reid’s pheromones are your anchor right now, but becoming entirely reliant on them twenty-four hours a day will backfire," Brad explained patiently. "When the second trimester hits, your body needs to learn how to self-regulate a little, or the moment he steps into a board meeting next month, your system will panic twice as hard. Start taking small fifteen-minute windows while he’s working where you sit out here on the terrace, breathe the fresh air, and let your own body calm itself."

​Brad spent the next hour walking me through the physiological shifts of male omega pregnancy, teaching me deep breathing techniques to manage the sudden spikes of morning sickness when Reid wasn’t within arm’s reach.

​Even with the home routine set, medical checkups couldn’t be avoided.

​For our first trimester official ultrasound, we tried to play it smart. Reid wore a low pull-down beanie and heavy jacket, while I threw on oversized clothes and dark sunglasses, slipping out through a side gate into a non-descript vehicle to visit a private clinic on the outskirts of the city.

​But despite all that, it still ended up becoming a complete disaster.

​The moment we stepped out of the clinic’s side entrance after hearing the tiny, fast heartbeat on the monitor, a group of waiting reporters and fans spotted Reid’s broad frame instantly.

​"Is that McCoy?! Kain!" someone shouted. Cameras started flashing, reporters surged forward from behind parked cars, and Reid practically hauled me into the back seat of our SUV while bodyguards blocked the crowd.

​From that day on, Fidora put her foot down: no more going to the clinic, the clinic came to us. The doctor made discreet house calls straight to the east wing.

​As the weeks bled into the second month, the severe pheromone rejection gradually settled, but the classic morning sickness remained relentless.

Every single morning, regardless of how much Reid scented me, I found myself kneeling by the bathroom bowl, retching up while Reid held my hair back with one hand and rubbed my back with the other.

​And then came the cravings.

​It started subtly, but within days, my appetite turned into a hyper-focused obsession: strawberries.

​If it wasn’t a strawberry, I didn’t want it.

​One evening around 11 PM, Reid was sitting on the edge of the bed going over market reports when I crawled out from under the duvet, shuffling over to slide onto his lap like a needy cat.

I rested my chin on his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his neck and looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

​"Reid?" I murmured, my voice ridiculously soft.

​He immediately dropped his tablet, his eyes softening as he cupped my cheek. "What’s wrong, honey? You okay?"

​"I want strawberry milk," I whispered, pressing my face into his neck. "And sliced strawberries. With sugar on top."

​Reid let out a low, disbelieving laugh, his fingers gently tracing the very clear, rounded swell of my belly beneath my thin shirt. "Kain, you had a bowl of strawberry ice cream two hours ago. I swear you’re going to give birth to a red strawberry baby at this rate."

​I pulled back slightly, my lips pouting into a genuine frown. "Are you refusing your pregnant husband?"

​"Never," Reid chuckled, kissing my nose before standing up to lift me effortlessly into his arms and setting me back under the blankets. "Stay right here. I’m going down to the kitchen."

​He brought up a full tray: cold strawberry milk, fresh strawberries sprinkled with sugar, and a side of salty cheese slices I suddenly decided I needed to dip the fruit into.

Thanks to me, the refrigerator never ran out of strawberries.

​Yet, as sweet as those moments were, the surge of pregnancy hormones made my emotions an unpredictable minefield.

​Two nights later, while we were watching a mundane nature documentary in bed, a scene played showing a sea turtle swimming alone in the ocean. Without any warning, a knot formed in my throat, and hot tears spilled over my cheeks, escalating into heavy, gasping sobs.

​Reid went utterly pale. He practically scrambled across the mattress, pulling me into his chest, his hands flying everywhere in a panic.

​"Kain! What happened?! Are you in pain? Is it the baby? Do I call my father?!" his voice cracked, his grey eyes wide with sheer terror as he held me.

​"He’s... he’s so alone in the water, Reid!" I wailed, burying my face into his t-shirt, clutching his collar as I sobbed uncontrollably over a sea turtle on television. "He has no team!"

​Reid froze, blinking once, twice, before the terror on his face melted into absolute, helpless affection. He let out a breathless, fond laugh, wrapping both arms tightly around me and kissing the top of my head while I cried my eyes out over nothing.

​"I know, honey," Reid cooed softly, rocking me gently back and forth in the quiet bedroom. "I know. He’s a very lonely turtle. But you’re not lonely. You’ve got me, alright? You’re never going to be alone."

​It was chaotic, exhausting, and completely unpredictable—but as Reid held me through the tearful bursts, the midnight snack runs, and the quiet study sessions, he took on the journey of becoming a father with a fierce, unwavering devotion that made me fall deeper in love with him every single day.