Page 66 of Daddy Brigadier

“Thanks, son,” I said earnestly. ‘Cause he’s right. I am happy.

Other than the obvious banging body and her fuck the world attitude, there’s something about her that screams at something deep inside me. Could it be that I’m discovering true love for the very first time at fifty?

Daniel grabs his bag from the ground, throws the straps over his shoulder, and begins to walk out. With a playful grin, he adds, “So that you know, I won’t be calling her ‘Mom.’” His words make me laugh a little, easing the tension in the air.

My heart falls into rhythm, the pulsing in my temple no longer a result of the overwhelming anger I felt earlier. Restless and unable to sleep, I paced the room, the sound of my footsteps jarring her from a troubled slumber as silent screams turned into muffled whispers of fear.

For hours, I held her tightly, and when her sleep finally became serene again, I descended to this quiet space to savor my Scotch and plot all the ways I want to make that bastard pay.

Petrov. He’s already dug a hole. I’m going to bury him.

Daniel suggested that a sparring match could help, and he was spot on. Now that I can breathe easily again, I dash up the stairs without hesitating. I can hear her huffing sounds from the room. She’s awake.

I reach the bedroom door and shove it open. Lexi is standing there, a thin white towel clinging low on her chest. Water drips from her hair, sliding down her bare shoulders and gliding along the curve of her collarbone.

She stops when she sees me, her lips parting slightly in that seductive way I love so much, my breath catching. And for one long, burning second, everything else disappears, fading to oblivion.

Damn, she looks good—wet and fuckable.

I grab her towel and toss it aside, her olive skin shimmering from the shower, fully open to my gaze. I take in her figure boldly, my heart racing as her cheeks turn a warm pink, the color spreading delightfully down to her chest.

I can’t help but let my gaze drop lower, to where her towel is resting on her thighs, the sharp aroma of her berry body wash drawing me in.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. I can feel her shivering as my thumb glides across her cheek, slowly.

“You’re so breathtaking,” I murmur, leaning in, my lips brushing against the curve of her ear.

My fingers drift lower, trailing along the edge of her jaw until they come to rest lightly at the base of her neck, right over the fluttering pulse that gives her away.

Gripping the cotton fabric, I tear it off her body.

“Valentin!” she shrieks, a playful laugh escaping her.

“I can’t help myself.” I plant a kiss on her cheek, her back arching gracefully as I reach for her collarbone.

There’s a loud rumble from her stomach that almost kills the mood. Almost. That body of hers has had my cock constantly hard since the minute I met her.

She smiles, slightly bashful, “I’m starving.”

I give her a hard slap on the ass. “Alright, let’s get you something to eat.”

She picks up my shirt from the chair where I tossed it the night before and pulls it on, fastening a few buttons before slipping into a pair of elegant white lace panties.

I raise an eyebrow. “Remember what I said about wearing underwear?”

She rolls her eyes and quickly takes them off. “Now that’s more like it,” I say with a grin.

I take her hand and guide her into the dining room, where my chef is busy crafting a delicious breakfast for us.

“Is the food ready?” I ask.

“Yes, Brigadier,” the chef responds, a bright smile gracing her face as she pours fresh orange juice into a glass.

My chef has been with me for years, yet since my wife passed away, my need for her cooking has almost diminished. Now, she mainly prepares lunch for the guys in the warehouse downstairs to keep herself busy. I pay her generously, which is why she remains with me, even if her days are less fulfilling. So, this morning, she was more than excited when I asked her to cook breakfast.

“Sit,” I invite Lexi, pulling out a chair at the beautifully set dining table. Just then, the chef arrives at the perfect moment, presenting a delicious plate of food.

Pouring myself a glass of Scotch, I settle in at the head of the table, my gaze unwaveringly fixed on her, soaking her in.