Page 13 of His to Watch
The glimpse into his past explains so much—his hypervigilance, his protective instincts, the scars that map his body. I reach up, tracing a particularly jagged one that runs along his collarbone.
"And now you're protecting me," I whisper.
"Always," he promises, the single word heavy with meaning.
We continue our slow exploration of the darkened museum, moving from exhibit to exhibit. I point out my favorite pieces, sharing little historical facts that most visitors would find boring. But Jerald listens intently, asking questions that show he's genuinely interested, not just humoring me.
It's strange how safe I feel with him, this man who could snap me in half without effort. His size, which I once found intimidating, now feels like a shield between me and the world. The possessiveness that should alarm me instead makes me feel valued in a way I've never experienced.
We end up in the Native American exhibit, with its beautiful handcrafted textiles and pottery. The emergency lighting creates intimate shadows as I explain the symbolism behind a particularly intricate woven blanket.
"The patterns represent different stages of life," I tell him, gesturing to the complex design. "Birth, growth, partnership, creation of the next generation, wisdom, and finally, return to the earth."
"Partnership and creation," he echoes, turning me to face him again. His hands slide down my sides, bunching the fabric of his shirt around my waist. "That's what I want with you, little girl."
The now-familiar heat floods me at his words. He leans down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that's gentler than before but no less possessive. This time, when his hands guide me backward until I'm pressed against the wall, there's no urgency, no frantic need. Just slow, deliberate intent.
"Spread your legs for Daddy," he murmurs against my lips.
I comply without hesitation, my body already conditioned to obey that deep, commanding voice. He lifts me effortlessly, pinning me to the wall with his hips as I wrap my legs around his waist. The position aligns us perfectly, his hard length pressing against my core through the fabric of his pants.
"Want you again," he growls, one hand working between us to free himself. "Can't get enough of this sweet pussy."
"Yes," I breathe, arms twined around his neck as he positions himself at my entrance. "Please."
He slides into me slowly this time, giving my still-tender body time to adjust. The fullness is overwhelming but welcome, my inner walls stretching to accommodate his size more easily now.
"So fucking tight," he praises, forehead pressed to mine as he seats himself fully inside me. "Made for me."
"For you," I agree, the words feeling right in my mouth. "Only you."
Something dark and satisfied flashes in his eyes at my words. He begins to move, slow, deep strokes that hit places inside meI never knew existed. The gentleness is new, his massive body caging mine against the wall as he takes me with exquisite care.
"Dr. Hayes wanted me to join his research team next month," I murmur absently, my mind hazy with pleasure. "Said I had a unique perspective on the?—"
Jerald freezes mid-thrust, his entire body tensing. "Hayes?" His voice drops to a dangerous growl. "The curator with the fucking bow ties? The one who stands too close when he talks to you?"
I blink, startled by the sudden shift. "I…yes? He's heading the new Bronze Age weapons exhibit and?—"
"No." The single word is absolute, brooking no argument. His hips drive forward suddenly, pinning me harder against the wall, his cock so deep I gasp. "No other man gets to look at you, little girl. Daddy's the only one who fills this pussy."
The possessiveness in his voice, the raw jealousy over a simple professional relationship, should anger me. I have a career, ambitions that have nothing to do with sex or possession. I should be setting boundaries, explaining the difference between our personal connection and my professional life.
Instead, I find myself melting, inner walls clenching around him in response to his claim. The primitive part of my brain—the part that's been awakened tonight through his touch—responds to his jealousy with a flood of arousal.
"Yours," I gasp as he resumes his thrusts, harder now, marking me from the inside. "Only yours."
"That's right," he growls, one hand fisting in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat to his mouth. "Mine to protect. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed."
His teeth graze the sensitive skin of my neck, not quite biting, but threatening to mark me where others would see. The thought sends a shiver of forbidden excitement through me.
"Tell me again," he demands, hips snapping against mine with renewed purpose. "Who do you belong to?"
"You," I whimper, clinging to his massive shoulders as pleasure builds rapidly. "Only you, Daddy."
He groans against my throat, the vibration traveling through my body. "That's my good girl. Taking Daddy's cock so perfectly."
The praise combined with his possessive thrusts pushes me over the edge. I come with a cry that echoes through the empty gallery, my body clenching around him in waves of pleasure more intense than before.
