And I don't want there to be.
I snuggle deeper into his arms, letting my eyes drift closed.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Sloane," he murmurs.
I smile against his chest.
Yes, Happy Valentine's Day to me.
CHAPTER 7
IKE
Sloane’s kitchen is small, but it has everything I need.
I crack eggs into a bowl, whisking them with more focus than the task requires. It's either that or walk back into that bedroom and wake Sloane up in ways that would most definitely delay breakfast by at least a couple of hours.
Patience has never been my problem. Control is what I'm known for. But this morning, with her scent still on my skin and the memory of last night playing on repeat, control feels like a foreign concept.
I woke up before dawn—despite it being my day off…I guess old habits die hard—and just laid there watching her sleep. She looked like a princess, blonde hair on the pillow like spilled honey, her face soft and unguarded and peaceful. One of her hands was curled against my chest, right over my heart, like she'd claimed it in her sleep.
No question of that.
I stayed in bed longer than usual, memorizing the sweep of her lashes against her cheeks and the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
I'm still not sure what I did to deserve her.
The pancake batter comes together easily—it's a simple recipe, nothing fancy, but I make a mental note to ask Aiden for something more impressive…for next time. Surely he's got a pancake recipe that would knock Sloane's socks off.
I pour the first circle of batter onto the hot pan and watch it bubble. The sizzle fills the quiet kitchen, and I let my mind drift back to last night.
I think about the way she trembled when I touched her, the sounds she made…god, those sounds ruined me. How she looked up at me with those green eyes, full of trust and want.
Please, Daddy.
My hand tightens on the spatula.
When I've been called that before…once or twice, years ago, by women who were curious or playful, but didn't really understand what it meant. It always felt hollow. Performative.
When Sloane says it, it's…soul-changing.
Shegetsit. She getsme. The need to protect, provide, and guide. To me, authority and tenderness aren't opposites, but two sides of the same coin. She doesn't just tolerate that part of me—shecravesit.
And I crave her…every stubborn, smart-mouthed, sunshine-bright inch of her.
I flip the pancake, satisfied with the golden-brown color, and reach for my phone to check the time.
There's a text from Wade.
Hey man, Riley's still at the sleepover. You wanna hit the lake? Fish are supposed to be biting.
I stare at the screen, my good mood flickering.
Wade and I have been fishing together since we were sixteen. It's our thing. When his wife left, we fished. When my dad died,we fished. When life gets heavy, we grab our rods and sit in comfortable silence on the water until it feels manageable again.
But today, that would mean leaving Sloane. And it means talking to him about her.
Can't today. Got plans.
