“Fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering as he loses his rhythm. “That’s it, squeeze Daddy’s cock. Milk me dry.”
Three more brutal thrusts and he’s joining me, his face contorting with pleasure as he empties himself into the condom. I feel each pulse inside me, adding to the aftershocks still rippling through my own body.
He collapses on top of me, his weight pleasant rather than crushing, his face buried in my neck. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic pace of my own.
When he finally lifts his head, there’s something vulnerable in his expression. He studies my face like he’s memorizing it, then presses a surprisingly tender kiss to my lips.
“Are you okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.
The question makes me smile. After everything he just did to me, he’s checking if I’m alright. It’s unexpectedly sweet.
“I’m perfect,” I assure him, my hands coming up to frame his face.
Something shifts in his expression. He lowers his forehead to rest against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
“Yes,” he agrees quietly. “You are.”
He kisses me once more, then carefully withdraws from my body, leaving me feeling strangely empty. I watch as he stands and walks to the bathroom, disappearing inside. The sound of running water reaches me, and then he returns with a warm washcloth.
He cleans me gently between my thighs and when he’s finished, he tosses the cloth aside and slides back into bed beside me, pulling me against his chest.
“Sleep,” he murmurs into my hair, his hand stroking soothing patterns down my back. “Daddy’s got you.”
Chapter Five
CALEB
I waketo find Nola’s honey-blonde hair spread across my chest. For a moment, I don’t move, afraid that any shift might disturb this perfect stillness.
Nola breathes evenly against me, her naked body curved into mine like she was designed to fit there. The digital clock on her nightstand reads 5:37 AM.
I study her face in the dim light filtering through the windows. Without makeup or the careful composure she maintains during the day, she looks younger. Vulnerable. The slight furrow between her brows even in sleep speaks of worry that doesn’t fully disappear. One small hand rests against my chest, directly over my heart, fingers slightly curled as if she’s holding on even in unconsciousness.
I still can’t believe she was a virgin.
The memory sends another pulse of possessive heat through me.
No one else has touched her the way I have. No one else has heard her gasping “Daddy” while coming apart. When she first whispered it against my ear, something cracked open inside me, some need I hadn’t known existed. A role I never thought I’d want suddenly fitting me like a second skin.
Her breathing changes subtly, a slight catch before evening out again. I brush my lips against her forehead, inhaling the scent of her hair. My expensive shampoo somehow smells different on her.
With careful movements, I extract myself from beneath her, easing her head onto the pillow when she makes a small sound of protest. She curls into the warm spot I’ve left behind, still deeply asleep. The sight of her in my place, seeking my warmth even unconsciously, sends a pulse of satisfaction through me.
I stand beside the bed, looking down at her. The sheets have slipped to her waist, exposing the gentle curve of her spine, the marks my mouth left on her shoulder. The urge to wake her, to claim her again before the day begins, is almost overwhelming.
But she needs rest. I wasn’t gentle last night. Not the second time. Not when she surrendered so completely, begging for more with those sweet lips and eager hips.
Reluctantly, I gather my discarded clothes from the floor.
Dress pants wrinkled beyond salvation. Shirt missing a button. When did that happen? No tie. I must have left it in her bathroom. The evidence of my loss of control scattered across her floor like breadcrumbs leading back to her bed.
I dress quickly, not bothering with the missing button. It’s still dark enough that I might make it back to my suite without being seen. One last look at her sleeping form, and I slip out the door, closing it silently behind me.
The hallway is dark, climate-controlled to the same perfect 68 degrees as every other part of the compound. The cameras track my movement with their tiny red lights, silent witnesses to my walk of…not shame. Never shame with her.
My walk of...aftermath.
I’m halfway to the west wing when Franklin materializes from a side corridor like he’s been summoned by my thoughts. He stops abruptly, taking in my appearance withone comprehensive glance. Rumpled clothes. Hair a disaster. Coming from the direction of Nola’s room before dawn.
