Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
He groans as my fingers find him, hot and rigid. "And what do you want, kitten?"
"You." I bite his earlobe, relishing his sharp intake of breath. "All of you."
His control snaps. In one fluid motion, he reclines my seat and moves over me, his weight deliciously pinning me down. The car's tinted windows shield us from prying eyes as his hands push my shirt up, exposing my skin to the cool air.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, lips trailing fire across my collarbone.
I arch up, clawing at his back through his shirt. "Don't make me wait."
He chuckles against my skin. "Impatient kitty."
My nails dig deeper. "I bite when teased."
"Promise?" His eyes meet mine, dark with desire.
I demonstrate by sinking my teeth into his shoulder, hard enough to make him hiss, then lick the spot soothingly. "Mine," I whisper.
Something primal flashes in his gaze. "Mine," he echoes, tugging my pants down my hips in one rough motion.
The confined space makes everything more intense—every touch, every breath. When he finally pushes inside me, the world narrows to just us—predator and prey, though I'm not sure which is which anymore.
"Duffield," I gasp as he fills me completely.
"Say it again," he demands, hips driving forward. "My name on your lips."
"Duffield," I repeat, wrapping my legs around him. "My Big Dog. My Daddy."
He moves with controlled power, each thrust claiming me more thoroughly than the last. I meet him stroke for stroke, refusing to surrender completely despite the pleasure threatening to overwhelm me.
When release finally crashes through me, I bite him again, marking him as he's marked me. He follows moments later, my name a prayer on his lips.
After, still tangled together in the reclined seat, he presses his forehead to mine. "Marry me."
"What?"
"It’s not a question."
I blink, processing his words. "That's...that's a lot. Big dog step there, Daddy, you sure?"
"I don't do small steps." His thumb traces my lower lip. "I want you with me. Always."
"We barely know each other."
"I know everything that matters." His gaze holds mine, unflinching. "You're brave, fierce, loyal. You fight for what you love. You challenge me. No one except you challenges me, except perhaps my sister."
“Sister?”
“You’ll see, little kitty.”
I laugh softly. "Well, everyone needs someone to keep them in line."
"So, you ready to be Mrs. Duffield Murphy?” He smiles. “That is a question. It’s happening, but I do want to know if you are ready.”
I study him—this impossible man who threatens dumpster divers one minute and proposes marriage the next. "On one condition."
"Name it."
"No more cameras without my permission. And I go where I want, when I want."
He hesitates, clearly battling his protective instincts. "I need to know you're safe."
"Text me. Call me. But trust me."
Trust. The word hangs between us, weighted with meaning.
Finally, he nods. "Compromise. You keep your phone on you and I get to have a tracker. Kitten, I can’t breathe thinking you’d be out there without me first of all, and if you were and something happened, and I couldn’t find you? Sorry, no option, that’s the final word."
"Deal." I seal it with a kiss, gentler than before.
As we disentangle ourselves to enter my house, cat food and scratching post in tow, I realize I've just agreed to marry the most dangerous man in Detroit.
And I couldn't be happier.
Chapter Nine
Tabby
Six months after our dumpster diving confrontation, I'm sprawled across Duffield's massive chest, admiring the crescents my nails left during last night's activities. He wears my marks like badges of honor—each scratch and bite a reminder that he may own this penthouse, but I own him.
"Morning, little kitty," he rumbles, voice still thick with sleep. His fingers trace my spine, lingering at the small of my back. “How’s our little one feeling this morning?”
I stretch against him, purposely digging my knees into his ribs. "Morning, big dog. Baby is fine, I still haven’t felt any movement but Dr. Traverse said that’s normal for being three months along."
“Okay, but don’t ever cancel an appointment with him again. Hard line. Do not cross. I moved him here to Detroit from Texas just to take care of you until the baby is born. He’s the best and you will keep every appointment. Understand?”
I shake my head, batting at the meaty finger he’s pointing at my nose.
He grunts but doesn't complain. Progress. The man who once threatened dumpster divers now tolerates my sharp edges—even seems to crave them.
"Stop plotting," he murmurs against my hair as he kisses the top of my head.
"I never plot." I nip his pectoral. "I pounce."
To demonstrate, I slide down his body in one fluid motion, dragging my tongue along the ridged muscles of his stomach. His breath catches when I reach my destination, his massive hands fisting in the sheets rather than my hair—another compromise we've reached. He doesn't grab; I don't scratch. At least not there.
"Fuck, Tabby." His hips rise as I take him between my lips, savoring his hardness and the way he surrenders to me despite his strength. But, to my surprise, he pulls my head upward until I release him with a pop. "Later. We have plans today."