I chuckle at that. “Babygirl, I’ve been Daddying you since the day I brought you here. I’ve made sure you’re eating proper foods, drinking water, bathing, andgetting enough sleep. And the entire time, you’ve been soaking it up. So I’m pretty confident that you’d like having a Daddy.”
“I guess I didn’t realize that.” She runs her hand over the front of my shirt, and even through the fabric, she heats my skin. My cock grows and hardens, pressing against the zipper of my slacks. I need to get myself under control.
“Patrick,” she whispers. “Thank you for saving me from my father. I’m sorry about the money.”
Leaning down, I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t care about the money, Anastasia. The only thing I care about is you.”
16
ANA
Ican’t sleep.
Not only is it raining, but the whistling wind makes it sound like the entire building is going to come crashing down. Every time a gust of wind makes the windows shake, I curl into a ball under the covers to keep myself from trembling. Have I always been scared of storms?
I also can’t stop thinking about Patrick. About the past two weeks. The way he treats me and takes care of me.
Then there’s the fact that he’s a Daddy. When I first read one of the books where the female character called her boyfriend Daddy, I was put off. I couldn’t understand why someone would do that. Especially since I never want a man I date to be anything like my father. Then, as I kept reading, I started to understand my father and a Daddy Dom are two completely different things. My father abused me. A Daddy would take care of me. And treat me well. Like Patrick’s been doing since I’ve been here.
He’s dangerous. I know that. But he’s not a danger to me, and he never will be.
I want to go crawl into his arms and seek his warmth and comfort. Would he turn me away?
Of course he wouldn’t. He’s Patrick. I think I love him. How is that even possible?
Rain pounds against the windows, and I can’t stand it. I don’t care if I have to sleep on his bedroom floor; I don’t want to be alone right now.
Throwing the blankets off, I climb out of bed and pad barefoot through the house, my toes sinking into the plush carpeting. Under-cabinet lighting in the kitchen gives plenty of light for me to see where I’m going.
When I get to Patrick’s room, I lift my hand to knock but pause before I do. The door is partially open, and there’s a lamp on. I peek in but don’t see him anywhere in the bedroom.
“Patrick,” I call out softly.
Water is running. The bathroom door is wide open and the light ison. I can hear my heartbeat as I step into his room.
His bathroom is only a few feet away, but as I get closer, goosebumps rise over my arms. That’s weird.
I turn toward the doorway to look in. As soon as I do, I gasp and grab the frame for balance. Patrick is standing in front of the double vanity with his shirt off. He’s washing his hands and arms, and all I can see is a stream of claret-colored water running into the sink.
He turns his head to look at me, calmness in his gaze. Almost a serene look on his face.
“Is that… is that blood?”
17
PATRICK
It’s dark and stormy.
The wind howls through the city.
It’s one of those kinds of nights you see in the movies where the person is walking through the rain on their way to kill someone.
Which is exactly how tonight is going to go. Except I’m driving my Range Rover. And I’m going to torture him first.
I’ve killed dozens of men in my lifetime. Not always because I wanted to but because I took a vow to my bloodline. I will always be loyal and protect those I love.
My family. The girls.
