"Such a good girl," he murmurs, pressing kisses along my jaw. "My good girl. So perfect for me."
The praise washes over me like warm honey, making me arch into him instinctively. Every "good girl" from his lips feels like a gift, like validation I never knew I craved.
"I like when you say that," I admit, blushing at my own confession.
His smile is knowing, a little wicked. "What part? That you're mine? That you're good? Or..." his voice drops lower, "that you're daddy's girl?"
My breath catches at the word "daddy," heat flooding my core.
"All of it," I whisper, honesty spilling from me. "I like all of it."
He groans, pressing his forehead to mine. "You're going to be the death of me, Julia. So innocent, yet you respond to me like you were made for me."
Maybe I was. The thought floats through my mind, unbidden but undeniable.
His hand slips beneath my cardigan, warm palm against my bare stomach. "Think about it sometimes," he murmurs. "How you'd look carrying my baby. All round and full. Everyone would know you're mine, claimed in the most primal way."
The words send a shock of pleasure through me so intense I gasp. What's happening to me? I've never thought about pregnancy, motherhood, as something erotic. Yet his breeding talk makes me clench with want, makes me imagine myself swollen with his child.
"Butch..." I don't know what I'm asking for, but he seems to understand.
"I know, baby. I know." His thumb traces circles on my skin, dipping just beneath the waistband of my skirt. "You like when daddy talks about putting his baby in you? About filling you up, making you mine forever?"
I nod, unable to form words, embarrassed by how much his crude talk affects me.
"Don't be shy," he coaxes, eyes locked on mine. "Not with me. Never with me. Tell daddy what you want."
The power imbalance between us should make me uncomfortable—his massive size compared to my petite frame, his rough experience versus my innocence, his commanding presence against my natural shyness. Instead, it thrills me in ways I never imagined. Makes me feel small and precious and protected all at once.
"I want you," I admit, the words barely audible. "All of you."
His eyes darken with hunger. "My sweet angel. So brave for daddy."
When his mouth meets mine again, I surrender completely. My body responds to his touch like it's been waiting for him all my life, arching into every caress, trembling beneath his experienced hands.
"You like that I'm old enough to be your father, don’t you?"
The blunt acknowledgment should douse the heat between us. Instead, it makes me squirm beneath him, desire pooling low in my belly.
"Yes," I admit. "I don’t know why, but I do."
His smile is slow, knowing. "Because you like it when I call you 'good girl.' Like it when daddy praises you, protects you, promises to breed you full."
My face flames, but I don't deny it. Can't deny it.
"My sweet, innocent bookworm," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Falling for a beast like me."
"Not a beast," I correct him, reaching up to trace the scar near his eyebrow. "Just a man.Myman."
The possessive pronoun makes his eyes flare with heat. "Say it again."
"My man," I repeat, bolder now. "Mine."
He growls, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. "And you're mine. My girl. My angel. Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to keep."
His possessive growl sends electric currents racing through my body. I gasp as his mouth crashes down on mine again, hungrier this time, his large hands gripping my waist. Then he's moving, sliding down my body, his eyes never leaving mine as he sinks to his knees before me.
"Need to taste you," he rumbles, his rough hands pushing my skirt up around my waist. "Been thinking about this since I first saw you."
