Silly Daddy. She loved his protectiveness, but not when it cost them their pleasure. “You won’t,” she assured him as she slid her thighs higher along his hips. She tilted her pelvis to allow him more access, he took advantage and drove even deeper. He buried himself in her until his thick cock pressed against her womb. But then he didn’t move.
“Please… don’t stop, Daddy. I need you,” she urged, voice trembling with need.
His whole frame quaked with barely caged hunger. “All right,” he growled, “if you’re sure.”
She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.
He gave her two more slow strokes, enough to make her sob with need. Then his large hand clamped over one cheek of her bottom and hauled her hips off the mattress, angling her exactly as he wanted.
His other fist twisted tight into her hair. He tugged her head back so her throat was bared to him.
His mouth crashed over hers in pure, ruthless possession. There was no question, no teasing. No mercy. This kiss branded her, devoured her. It took everything she had and demanded more. Deep and relentless, this kiss was a vow that she was his and he intended to prove it with every stroke of his tongue.
Then he finally,finally, released his control.
He drove into her with savage, punishing strokes, hips slamming forward. Every muscle in his back and thighs coiled and flexed as he buried himself to the hilt again and again.
This was what she’d been hoping to give him. Her Daddy needed to know she was no hot-house flower who’d fail when he needed her.
He would never hurt her. Never. But after a day like today, it wasn’t only she who needed the release. Daddies didn’t need to hold things inside either. Not when their Littles could help them in such intimate ways. Sometimes a Daddy needed to claim their Little again, to prove to himself she was still his and that no one could take them away.
That was what this was. A claiming. And she loved it.
No tenderness, no restraint, there was only raw, relentless ownership. His cock claimed every slick inch of her. Hard, fast, and merciless, he fucked her like possession was their only language.
She’d never been this close to another soul. They were skin toskin, breath to breath, every thrust binding them tighter. The pleasure coiled, climbing until her nails raked bloody crescents down his back. When the coil snapped, the climax tore through her like white fire. It shattered her into a thousand pieces. Nothing existed but the pulse of him inside her and the ragged sound of her screaming his name.
His teeth clamped down on the curve of her shoulder, a sharp, primal bite that marked her as his. His entire body went rigid above her as he came with a guttural groan.
Her arms fell limp to the sheets. Every bone in her body turned liquid. Still buried deep inside her, his massive frame hovered, a living shield of muscle and heat.
For the first time in six years, the noise in her head went perfectly, utterly quiet.
She lifted her hand, fingertips trembling as she swept damp strands from his fierce, beautiful face. A slow, sated smile curved her lips.
Those dark eyes blazed through the shadows, pinning her even before his body did. Inside her, he thickened again, slow and deliberate, stretching her tender flesh until she gasped. How was it possible that he was already getting hard again?
Not that she minded, of course. She had six long years to make up for. She opened her lips to tell him so, but he placed his hand over her mouth.
“No take-backs, little fox. You’re mine until the end of time,” he rasped as his hips rolled in a lazy, possessive grind. “I hope you’re not too eager to put up that Christmas tree, because I’m nowhere near finished with you.”
As if she was ever letting him go.
CHAPTER 13
Two days later, the morning air cut across Trace’s face the moment he shoved the barn door open. The wind blew sharp enough to make his eyes water. Inside, the lingering warmth of horse bodies and piled hay wrapped around him, thick with the smells of sweat, sweet feed, and years of manure baked into the wooden floor.
Kip’s boots scuffed the boards behind him, slower, still getting used to the rhythm of a place that could kill you if you forgot to pay attention. She had insisted on coming out with him. She wanted to see what a real ranch morning looked like, at least that’s what she’d said. He hadn’t argued. Having her close felt right in a way that settled something restless inside his chest, even if she still flinched whenever a horse swung its head too fast.
Trace hauled the grain cart down the aisle, metal wheels rattling, while Kip wrestled the heavy water buckets, her breath fogging in the cold, cheeks already flushed. The mares nickered the second they heard the cart.
Sugar, the pushy bay, crowded Kip so much she stumbled backwards. Most city girls would run, but not his little fox. Nope. Kiplaughed, and the sound punched through his ribs straight to his heart.
He showed her how to run her hands down the cannon bones from knee to hoof, how to cup a hoof and feel for heat. She copied him, fingers tentative at first, then steadier, trusting the animal under her palms. By the time the sun bled orange over the eastern ridge, the horses were crunching grain, and the barn was quiet again.
They walked the smaller bison pasture next, since it was closest to the barn. The herd grazed in loose clusters near the far fence, dark hulks against the snow. The bison’s breath puffed through their nostrils like small billowing clouds.
Trace scanned the herd for limps or anything unusual. Kip stayed half a step behind, quiet, taking in the low grunts, the frost bearding their chins, the sheer size of them. A calf bawled. Its mother stared them down with flat black eyes, then dismissed them. Bullwinkle, their largest bull, stood sentinel, guarding the herd as he munched on frozen hay.
