Page 15 of Beauty and the Daddy

Her hand, still glistening, frozen between her thighs.

Her chest, rising and falling like she's run miles.

The scent of her arousal, sweet and thick in the air.

I've had men at gunpoint with steadier hands than mine right now.

I've buried bodies with less ceremony than the way I'm memorizing every inch of her exposed skin.

Five years since Elena died. Five years of nothing but transactions and distractions.

And now this slip of a girl has me harder than I've been since I was seventeen.

Just the sight of her is a sucker-punch straight to my cock.

I haven't felt this way since Elena died.

Belle's eyes are wide with horror, and her hand slowly moves from where it is, buried in wet heat I can almost feel from across the room.

"Shit," she whispers.

The smart move: apologize, leave, pretend this never happened.

The right move: give her space to recover her dignity.

What I do: "Don't stop on my account."

Her hand jerks away like she's touched fire. "I wasn't—this isn't?—"

"You weren't fucking yourself to thoughts of me?" I lean against the door, drinking in the view. "Because I distinctly heard my name."

She scrambles to pull her dress down, cheeks flaming.

The modesty is pointless—I've already seen everything. Memorized it. Will be replaying it for years.

"Get out." But her voice lacks conviction, breathless and thin.

"No." Simple. Final. "Not when you're looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're deciding whether to run from the wolf or let him eat you."

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across my face.

"You were thinking of me, weren't you?"

She yanks her hand away like she's been burned, scrambling to sit up and pull her dress down. "I—no—I was just?—"

"I'm not a man who likes being lied to, Belle," I say softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me.

"Th…this isn't what it looked like," she stammers.

I cross the room with deliberate slowness, giving her every chance to tell me to stop.

She doesn't.

Her eyes track my movement—prey watching predator, knowing it's already too late to run.