Page 8 of Obsessed Daddy
This is a rock-solid plan.
Oh wait, I should’ve looked for cameras! I should’ve worn gloves!
He’s going to have my fingerprints!
He’s going to have my face!
He’s going to have me arrested!
I’m going to be sitting in jail in this too-tight black dress explaining my golden retriever personality and why I can’t stop saying ‘sorry’ to the arresting officer!
This should be my wake-up call. It’sgoingto be my wake-up call!
I’m leaving right now! Golden retriever or not, I’m going to have to find another way to repay my sister.
I pull the knife from the door, but the lock clicks and an alarm blares loudly, pulsing a piercing bellow into the still, mountain night.
Oh God!
This is the part in the kid spy movies where the second spy would lift them out of the server room and back into the ceiling, but I insisted on coming alone. The only person saving me from prison, at this point is me, regardless if I forgot my pen turned submarine.
Damn it!
I dive off the back porch and scurry toward the dark, shadowed woods, heart pounding, knees shaking, breath ragged. There could be anything out here this time of night, but whatever bear or coyote that’s lurking sounds better than being caught by Clint. I can’t be discovered by him twice in one day being an idiot. That’d be torture.
Too bad I’m not even twenty yards into the woods when I feel the hand of a giant grip my arm and push me to the ground.
My knees hit first, then my palms. The scents of damp earth and pine needles fill my nose as a shock of adrenaline snaps through me. His weight is massive, solid and rough, and his voice is low and ragged in my ear as he says, “Don’t move!”
I don’t know where he thinks I’m going! Against him, I’m miniature! Heck, he lifted me like it was nothing earlier!
I’m helpless!
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, regretting it immediately. People tell me all the time that I have an accent that reminds them of the old mountaineers that lived up here back in the day. I don’t hear it, but others identify it immediately. Apparently, it has something to do with the way I pronounce my‘R’s.I’m pretty sure it’s bogus, and it’s more a hillbilly speech impediment, but the former sounds much more poetic, so I let it be my story instead.
“Bella?” The giant flips me over, the weight of his massive frame still pushing down on mine. “What the hell?”
I swallow hard as I stare up at him, his rugged face framed by the moonlight. I used to be into shifter books, giving up on them because I got confused by the lore, but this is one of those scenes that the heroines in those stories live for.
A big, rough, rugged man, all wild and angry, pressing on top of them.
Heck, I’m just a regular girl in real life, and I’m having a hard time not getting turned on by this.
“Sorry,” I manage, glancing away, heart pounding. “I’m just—”
“Breaking into my house?”
“No.” I glance back at him, then away again. He’s too close, too big, too muscular, too hot.
My clit throbs as his bicep flexes and the wind blows whatever masculine scent he’s wearing directly up my nostrils. It’s as if some angel wanted me to enjoy the smallest amount of joy before my inevitable incarceration.
Quick question though, Lord. Why isn’t he moving? He knows who I am now. Why keep me pinned? Why keep his massive leg tucked between mine? Why keep his cock brushing against my thigh.
At least I think it’s his cock. Given the size, it could be an arm.
It can’t be his cock.
Is that his cock?
