Page 142 of A Vicious Love

Sienna beneath me.

Eyes wide.

Black hair tangled around my fingers.

Her mouth parting as I corrected her softly.

Daddy.

Not Jamison, baby. Because in the dream I had earned it. She was mine and open under me, trusting me. The fantasy rebuilt itself around the sound. My hand moved again, slower this time, harder on the upstroke.

In my head, Sienna trembled beneath my mouth. I kissed down her stomach, spread her thighs, and took my time like I had promised myself I would. No rushing.

Mine because she wanted to be.

“Daddy,” she moaned in my head.

My hips jerked into my fist.

“Fuck.”

The sound ripped out of me.

I gripped the edge of the bar with my free hand, head dropping forward as the fantasy turned filthy and tender at once. I imagined sliding into her slowly, inch by inch, holding her face so she had nowhere to look but at me. I imagined feeling her body take me, tight and perfect, her nails in my shoulders, her voice breaking around that word again.

Daddy.

I came with my teeth locked and one hand braced against the bar, the force of it dragging a harsh groan out of my chest. For several seconds, I did not move.

I opened my eyes.

My reflection stared back.

Hair disordered. Hand braced hard enough to make the tendons stand out. Cock still in my grip. Sienna’s name and that word still burning through me like something holy and obscene.

I cleaned myself up with rough efficiency and fixed my trousers. Then I stood there in the dark, staring at Harlan like the whole city had conspired to make me honest. I had a problem.

A real fucking problem.

I wanted Sienna Bellemere in ways that had stopped being manageable.

I wanted her body. Her mouth. Her trust. Her hand in mine again. Her voice filling rooms I had made too quiet. I wanted to be the man she called when she was scared and the man she crawled toward when she wasn’t.

I wanted daddy from her, which meant I wanted a level of trust I had spent three years poisoning before she ever thought to give it.

The worst part was that some deep, ruined place inside me had finally named what it wanted.

Devotion.

From Sienna.

And I had taught her I was the last man alive who deserved it.

These fucking feelings continued to rip through me. Disgusting. I checked the time. Three in the morning. I grabbed my jacket. Notified my driver. Did what I always did when something got too much.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JAMISON