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He sighed, tipping his head back. “Good girl.”
My stomach roiled, my body shook with adrenaline.
“Now, call me by my name.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good job. Now, suck me off like a good little girl.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
17
Justin
Sophia didn’t speak to me the rest of the night. Honestly, I was glad. The kiss between us had been so raw and intense that I think we both needed a second to wrap our heads around it.
There was absolutely no way we could deny the electricity between us. So, where did that leave it?
Almost immediately after the kiss, Sophia had retreated to her bedroom loft, where she didn’t make a peep for hours. I don’t think she’d slept either.
Meanwhile, I’d taken to the couch—centrally located in the home—and kept the fire stoked and my head on a swivel. Though focus was difficult as my thoughts kept returning to that damn kiss. But it wasn’t long before my good sense returned, banishing the kiss-induced dopamine.
It became painfully obvious that Sophia’s abrupt advance was nothing more than a manipulation tactic, one I had personally used many times before. Sophia seduced me in an effort to distract and disorient me. To confuse my intentions with lust. She’d used what she believed was her most valuable asset, her sexuality.
Honestly? Good for her. She and I were not so different after all. I respected that. And that’s where things got cloudy.
I knew that if Sophia would have initiated sex, I would have fucked her, many times over, right there on that hardwood floor next to the fire. I would have put my job—hell, my life—on the line for one hour with that woman. No hesitation, no questions asked.
It was a jarring thought.
She was getting to me already, and I needed to keep my eyes open—and my dick in my pants.
The storm slowed around two in the morning after dropping another two inches of snow. Despite my attention to the fire, the house was cold. Damn cold. The wind outside was relentless, whipping the plastic sheeting all night long, creating a deafening white noise.
At six a.m., Sophia finally gave up on pretending to sleep and came downstairs.
She was wearing a vintage Metallica hoodie and a pair of red flannel pants. Her long blond hair was tangled and mussed in a way that made me picture her rolling under the sheets—under me. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, her nose pink from the cold. My gaze dropped to her slippers, two pink bunnies—with button eyes, fluffy ears, and a cottontail on the back of each.
I couldn’t fight the grin. Sophia glared at me, daring me to make a comment. I looked away.
Not a morning person. Noted.
“Coffee?” she barked, her voice hoarse and gruff.
“Please.”
As Sophia made her way to the kitchen, I pushed off the couch and checked the windows, moving around the cabin now that I didn’t need to worry about waking her from her (fake) slumber.
I caught her watching me from behind the bar with an expression I couldn’t read as the coffee maker spit and gurgled next to her.
God, this woman.
I made an effort to keep my eyes off the bunny slippers as she shuffled across the room, carrying two mugs of coffee. She handed me one. I accepted the mug and took a step back.
Sophia cocked her hip and narrowed her eyes. Okay, so she was mad about something, although I had no idea what about. If anything,Ishould be mad atherfor trying to seduce me.
“Who are you, really?” she asked.
