Page 6 of His to Watch
The word hits me like an electric shock.Daddy.It should be ridiculous, offensive even. I'm a grown woman with advanced degrees, not some child seeking paternal approval. But the way he says it, deep and possessive, awakens something primal in me. Something that recognizes the claim in his tone and responds to it on a level beyond rational thought.
I should be outraged. Should stand up and distance myself. Should set firm boundaries.
Instead, I feel myself melting, heat blossoming between my legs as my body responds to his words in ways my mind can't comprehend.
"Are you still cold?" he asks, noticing my shiver.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"Liar." He pats his massive thigh. "Come here. Body heat's the best way to warm up."
Every rational part of me screams to decline. To maintain professional distance. To remember that we're colleagues stuck in an emergency situation, nothing more.
But my body is already moving, rising from the couch on unsteady legs and crossing the small space between us.
"That's it," he encourages softly.
His voice makes my core clench with need. I perch tentatively on his knee, keeping my body rigid, trying to maintain some semblance of propriety.
His arms wrap around me, engulfing me completely, pulling me against his broad chest. "Relax," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you."
And God help me, I do. I relax into his embrace, my body molding against his as if it was made to fit there. His heatsurrounds me, his scent—something masculine and clean with hints of leather and spice—filling my lungs.
“Good girl," he rumbles, one large hand stroking my back in soothing circles.
I should pull away. Should establish boundaries. Should remind him—and myself—that we're just waiting out a storm, nothing more.
Instead, I lift my face to look at him, to study the hard angles of his jaw, the intensity in his dark eyes, the surprising softness of his mouth despite the stern lines bracketing it.
That mouth. I can't stop staring at it, wondering how it would feel against mine.
As if reading my thoughts, he brings one hand up to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing my lower lip with exquisite gentleness. "Been wanting to do this for eight months, two weeks, and three days," he whispers.
Then his mouth is on mine, and nothing in my life has prepared me for this. Not the romance novels hidden beneath my academic texts. Not the few awkward dates in graduate school that ended with chaste, forgettable kisses.
This—this is consuming. His lips claim mine with absolute possession, his beard scraping deliciously against my sensitive skin. What starts as almost gentle quickly transforms as something inside me breaks open. I whimper into his mouth, my hands clutching at his shoulders, my body twisting to press closer.
He groans in response, his arms tightening around me as his tongue demands entrance. I yield instantly, opening to him, letting him take control of the kiss, of me. His taste—coffee and something uniquely him—floods my senses as his tongue explores my mouth with thorough precision.
I'm making sounds I've never made before, desperate little moans that would mortify me if I could think clearly. Butthinking is impossible when his massive hand cradles the back of my head, when his other arm locks around my waist, when his kiss deepens with a hunger that matches the sudden, shocking need building inside me.
This isn't me. I don't do this—don't kiss virtual strangers, don't melt at possessive words, don't crave the touch of a man who calls me "little girl" and "good girl" and makes me want to be exactly that for him.
But as his kiss turns demanding, as his teeth nip at my lower lip and draw a gasp from deep in my chest, I realize this is exactly who I am tonight.
And I want more.
five
. . .
Jerald
The little whimpershe makes into my mouth snaps the last thread of my control. Eight months of watching, wanting, waiting—gone in an instant when Tatianna melts against me like she was made for my arms. My cock is a steel rod against her soft ass as she squirms in my lap, her inexperienced but eager mouth opening for me like the sweetest fucking gift. This isn't how I planned it. I wanted to go slow, to coax her. Hell, who am I kidding? I’ve never really thought I had a shot with her. But the taste of her—Christ, she tastes like innocence and need and everything I've ever wanted to corrupt and protect at the same time. I'm not letting her leave this room without my cum deep inside her. Without my claim on every inch of her body.
I growl into her mouth, one hand fisting in her hair to tilt her head back, giving me better access. The other spans her waist, fingers nearly meeting around her middle. So fucking small compared to me. So delicate. So perfect.
"Jerald," she gasps when I finally release her mouth to trail bites down her neck.
