The tips of his ears were peeking through strands of his hair, and I saw the way they turned red before he dipped his chin and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
It pissed me off when he did that—apologized for needing me.
My baby was relentless in his possession, scowling at men he thought looked at me too long, and insisting I bite him where everyone can see. He looked like a goddamn domestic abuse victim, but he was so proud to wear my marks, and I wasn’t in the business of telling him no.
Now and again, he’d get lost in his thoughts and anxiety would tap at his brain and convince him he was being too intense.
As if I didn’t fucking love his fierceness.
“I’ve been a lot this week,” he mumbled. “Finally walking out on my dad has been—”
“I know, baby.”
Self-control wasn’t something I typically engaged in, but beating the shit out of Luis would’ve hurt my baby even if he claimed he was done with him. I knew a thing or two about piece of shit fathers. The actions weren’t the same, but the emotions were, and when you’re a fucking kid with a tiny little brain, you can’t make sense of why your parent doesn’t love you like they’re supposed to do.
I’d gotten over it, but my baby boy still had his fingers crossed for an apology, and for that, Luis needed his jaw.
“Let me have a talk with him.”
“So you can scare him into apologizing? No thanks.”
My hands tightened against the steering wheel. “Baby, I’m gonna tell you right now that I’m not about to make a habit of sitting on my ass while you’re hurting. Understand me? You’re mine. Which means I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who even looks at you cross if I damn well feel like it.”
He jammed his thumb into the seat belt release and threw himself over the console. Wedging his leg between my thigh and the door, I kept a firm grip on the wheel as he settled into my lap and tucked his nose into my neck.
I wrapped a protective arm around his back and held him tight to my chest.
“I love you, Papa, but a forced apology means nothing, and I think it’d just hurt worse.” He kissed the underside of my jaw. “But you could track down Axel Evans and kick him in the balls if you want.”
I stiffened. “Who the fuck is that?”
“High school bully.”
“You know, baby, kicking men in the balls isn’t really a move I resort to, but I’ll throw on a steel-toed boot if that’s what you want.”
“What are you? A chop them off and feed it to them kind of guy?”
I mean…
“Oh my god.” He gagged a little. “Do you… do that to people? That’s disgusting.”
“I’ve not done that, no, but for you, I would.”
“Well, now you’ve made it romantic.”
He squirmed on my lap like he wanted me to bare his ass and mount him over a log somewhere. The primal part of me, the one that wanted to own him, breed him, and keep him full of my come, roared to life…
… but we were about sixty seconds from his surprise, and my cock got just as hard over spoiling him with everything he could dream up.
The trees thinned, revealing a sun-baked drive and a couple of boulders surrounded by knee-high grass. Resting just behind it was an eight-foot sign crafted of repurposed wood and bright yellow paint.
Marcos made a noise when he saw it, and his tongue slipped from between his lips as his eyes took in the words it held.
Healing Hooves Farm
A ranch-style house with a wide covered deck came into focus. Marcos nearly threw himself at the windshield, palms flat against the glass as he studied the land that surrounded it.
Two barns sat further back on the property. Vines were growing up the sides of them, and they each had sunflowers painted across their doors. Animals wandered throughout their different fenced-in pastures, and we were close enough now that we could hear the click of a horse’s hooves as someone led the animal around by the reins.
