How do I tell him? How do I explain the confusion of emotions swirling inside me? Fear mingled with desire. Gratitude tangled with resentment. And underneath it all, something terrifyingly close to love.
I set my mug on the counter and cross to him, standing beside his chair. He looks up, dark eyes questioning.
"I should hate you," I say softly, reaching out to trace the silver streaks in his beard. "You stalked me. Kidnapped me. You've done terrible things."
His jaw tightens under my touch, but he doesn't pull away. "Yes."
"But I don't hate you." The admission costs me something—the last of my resistance, maybe. "I think I'm falling for you. And that scares me more than anything else."
His hand captures mine, bringing it to his lips. "Don't be scared of this, baby girl."
"How can I not be?" My voice catches. "This isn't normal. The way we met. The way you are. The things you do."
"Normal is overrated." He tugs gently, pulling me into his lap. I go willingly, straddling his thighs, my dress—one he bought me, delivered in a package with tags still on—riding up to expose bare skin. "What we have is better."
"What do we have?" I need to hear him say it, need to know I'm not alone in these twisted feelings.
His hands settle on my hips, thumbs stroking circles against my hipbones. "Everything," he says simply. "You're mine. I'm yours. Nothing else matters."
And God help me, in this moment, I believe him. It doesn't matter how we started. It doesn't matter that he's dangerous, possessive, that he'd burn the world down to keep me. All that matters is the way he's looking at me now—like I'm precious. Like I'm everything.
"I need you," I whisper, rolling my hips against the hardness growing beneath me. "Need you to take control. Need you to—" I hesitate, cheeks flushing with heat.
"Say it," he encourages, one hand sliding up to cup my face. "Tell Daddy what you need."
That word. That fucking word that makes me wet instantly. "Need you to be my Daddy," I admit, the confession both shameful and liberating. "Need you to take care of me. Take me. Use me. Fill me up."
A growl rumbles through his chest. “I’ll always take such good care of my baby girl." His hands move to the buttons of my dress, undoing them one by one with unexpected patience. "Going to take my time with you tonight."
I squirm in his lap, eager for his touch, but he grips my hips firmly, stilling me.
"No rushing," he warns, a dangerous edge to his voice that sends shivers down my spine. "Daddy's in charge. Remember?"
"Yes, Daddy," I whisper, surrendering to his pace.
He finishes with the buttons, pushing the dress off my shoulders to pool around my waist. I'm bare underneath—another habit I've developed under his influence. His eyes darken at the sight of my naked breasts, but he doesn't touch them yet. Instead, he lifts me, standing with that effortlessstrength that never fails to make my stomach flutter, and carries me to the bedroom.
He lays me on the bed with surprising gentleness, then steps back to undress. I watch hungrily as each piece of clothing falls away, revealing more of his battle-scarred body—the tapestry of his violent past written in scar tissue and ink. He's beautiful in a brutal way, all hard edges and coiled strength.
When he's naked, he joins me on the bed, positioning himself above me, arms braced on either side of my head. "Going to worship every inch of you tonight," he promises, lowering his head to my neck. "Make you feel so good you forget your own name."
He starts with soft kisses along my throat, down to my collarbone, taking his time. This is different from our usual frantic coupling—the desperate need to claim and be claimed. This is methodical. Deliberate. His beard scrapes deliciously against my sensitive skin as he moves lower, tongue tracing the curve of my breast before capturing one nipple in the wet heat of his mouth.
I arch into the sensation, a moan escaping my lips. His teeth graze the hardened peak, the edge of pain heightening the pleasure. My hands find his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he switches to my other breast, giving it the same thorough attention.
“Look at these pretty little titties,” he murmurs against my skin. "So perfect for me."
His mouth continues its journey downward, tongue dipping into my navel, teeth nipping at my hipbones. He removes my dress completely, tossing it aside before settling between my thighs, his broad shoulders pushing my legs wider.
"Look at this pretty pussy," he growls, his breath warm against my most intimate place. "All wet for Daddy already."
The first swipe of his tongue has me keening, hands flying to his hair to anchor myself. He devours me like a man starving, alternating between broad licks and focused attention on my clit until I'm writhing beneath him, teetering on the edge of release.
Just when I think I can't take anymore, he pulls back, leaving me gasping and desperate. He moves up my body, positioning himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me but not entering.
"Tell me what you want," he demands, his eyes locked on mine.
"You," I gasp. "Please, I need you inside me."
