"Come for me," I command, grinding against her clit with every thrust. "Come on my cock, little girl."
She shatters beautifully, her back arching off the couch. "Daddy!" she cries out, the word sending a bolt of pure lust through me. Holy mother of god, I’ve never fantasized about being called that. Never been into that kind of kink, but something about Amanda saying it feels so right. So fucking right, and I go off like a firehose.
I growl in triumph, hips pistoning faster. "That's right, princess. Daddy's got you."
Her orgasm triggers mine, and I bury myself deep, emptying inside her with a roar. Marking her from the inside. Making her mine in the most primal way.
Afterward, I gather her trembling body against my chest, stroking her hair as she comes down. Her virgin blood and my cum smear our thighs, and the sight satisfies something ancient in me.
"You okay?" I ask, voice gentler than I thought possible.
She nods against my chest, dropping a kiss over my thundering heart. "More than okay."
In that moment, looking down at her flushed face and swollen lips, I know with absolute certainty: this woman is mine to protect, to cherish, to breed.
Forever.
four
. . .
Amanda
I wakeup sore in places I've never felt before, wrapped in arms that could crush me but instead cradle me like I'm made of glass. Ryker's massive body curls protectively around mine, one thick thigh thrown over my legs, his breath warm against my neck. I should feel trapped. Should feel smothered. Instead, I feel…safe. Cherished. Like something precious finally home. The evidence of last night is sticky between my thighs—a virgin no longer. My body throbs with a pleasant ache that reminds me with every shift that I belong to someone now. That I'm his.
We never made it to the bedroom. After the first time on the couch, he carried me to the shower, washed me with reverent hands, then took me again against the tile wall. Then once more on the living room floor, slower, his massive body covering mine completely. Three times, and each time I called him "Daddy" when I came. The word had slipped out unbidden the first time (I have no idea why), but his reaction—that primal growl, the way his eyes darkened to midnight—made me bold enough to say it again. And again.
"You're awake." His voice rumbles against my back, vibrating through my bones. Not a question.
I turn in his arms to face him, suddenly shy in the morning light. Last night feels like a fever dream—the kind of wild, abandoned thing that happens in darkness. But here he is, real and solid. Battle-scarred and beautiful.
"Hi," I whisper, unable to find better words.
His gray eyes soften as he studies my face. One calloused hand comes up to brush hair from my cheek, so gentle it makes my chest ache.
"Sore?" he asks, a hint of masculine pride in his voice.
I nod, feeling heat rush to my face. "Good sore."
His answering smile is predatory. Satisfied. "Hungry, little girl?"
The endearment makes my stomach flutter. It should sound condescending, but from him, it feels like worship.
"Starving," I admit.
He kisses me once, hard and possessive, then rises from the couch. I can't help but stare at his naked form—all rippling muscle and intricate tattoos, scars mapping old battles across his skin. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, and just looking at it makes me clench with remembered fullness.
He catches me staring. “Eyes up here, princess, or you’re going to start something you can’t stop, and I need to feed you,“ he tease. But he makes no move to cover himself. If anything, he seems to expand under my gaze, shoulders broadening.
I blush and wrap myself tighter in the throw blanket.
He scoops me up, blanket and all, and carries me to the kitchen. Sets me gently on a counter stool.
"Stay," he commands, voice dropping to that register that makes me instantly wet. "I'm going to feed you."
I watch, mesmerized, as this hulking warrior moves around my tiny kitchen with surprising efficiency. He finds eggs, bread, butter, moving with purpose. His back muscles flex as he reaches for a pan. The domesticity of it all—this dangerous manmaking me breakfast after claiming my virginity—makes my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.
"How do you know how to cook?" I ask, genuinely curious.
