Page 4 of Unthinkable

See. He wants to make me happy, keep me satisfied. I was born for him, and I endured hell to receive his strength. He just doesn’t realize it.

I grin at the nickname he gave me in the first few weeks of him rescuing me from the auction house. He called me his little nightmare because I refused to wear anything but his clothes, and I smiled back at him with pride.

I trail my finger over his tattoos. It’s a habit that has soothed me over the years, and when goosebumps break out over his skin, my pulse races.

“Come on.” He taps my thigh, breaking my moment. “You need a shower, and I want one too.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him we can take one together, but I refrain.

Spinning on his thigh, I throw my leg over him so I’m straddling him. “Can you carry me?” I stick my bottom lip out.

He snorts. “Doesn’t look like you’ve given me much choice.” Then he stands, and I wrap my arms around his thick neck while his tattooed hands grip my ass.

God, how I ache to push against him, to rub up and down his firm body and feel his muscles flex. Ugh, Amanda doesn’t know how damn lucky she is.

A wave of jealousy creeps into my bloodstream, but I lock it down, unprepared to deal with how insane that makes me feel. Not when I have him so close, closer than ever before.

There’s no way in hell I’m going to allow him to leave again before being mine, and there’s only one way to secure it.

“You’re like a damn koala.” I hear the smile in his voice, and I bask in it.

He pushes open the door from the indoor swimming pool he had built for me to practice in because he knows how much swimming means to me. With him leading us down the corridor, I shiver when the cool air hits my damp hair. Of course, I have no choice but to cling to him tighter.

“I should probably switch up and carry you bridal style. It’s more appropriate,” he says in my ear, and my brow furrows.

Like hell he should.

We head up the stairs, and his hold on me tightens, always my protector.

He’s always carried me like this, and I’m not about to let him change it now. “I like you carrying me like this.” Then I press a kiss to his bare neck, something else I’ve always done.

A shudder runs through him, and I savor it.

That’s a new reaction, and I long to experience it again. Rein it in, Imogen. You’re going to scare him away.

He kicks open my bedroom door and marches toward my bed. I’m not ready to detach from him. How can I miss him while he’s so close?

So, when he drops me onto my bed, I sulk like a petulant child. Then he heads into my bathroom. I know the drill; he’ll turn my shower to my desired temperature. Something else I love about him. He knows me so well.

I should move, but I can’t help myself and remain how he left me—with the towel draped open and my legs parted.

Hmm, take me now, Daddy. I stifle a laugh, and a stifled gasp leaves him.

Did he really expect me to move without him instructing me to? He knows how much I crave his commands, how needy I become for his attention.

He clears his throat. “Immie, come on, baby, up.”

I lift my head to face him. “I don’t want to move.”

He rubs his head and shifts from foot to foot. Jesus, even his uncomfortable pose is adorable.

“Well, I need to go shower too.” He sticks his thumb over his shoulder.

“You can shower here,” I rush out.

A laugh bubbles from him. “I have my own shower, and so do you.”

“Your shower is broken.”

He rears back, his eyebrows pull together, and he tilts his head. “What? Since when?”