Page 85 of Cinderella and the Daddy

This isn't gentle. This isn't tender. This is primal and desperate and exactly what she needs to ground herself in the present moment. To remind herself that she's alive, that we both are.

Her breath comes in short pants against my ear, punctuated by soft moans that make my vision blur. I can feel her body tightening around me and can hear the change in her breathing that tells me she's close.

She moves with me, her hips rolling against mine.

Her hands are in my hair, pulling almost hard enough to hurt. She's whispering my name over and over like an incantation. I can feel her beginning to shake apart in my arms, her body tightening around mine as she races toward the edge.

"Let go," I tell her, my voice rough with strain and emotion. "I've got you. I'll always have you."

She shatters with my name on her lips, her head falling back as her body convulses around mine. Her tight sheath pulses around my cock and drags me over with her.

I press my forehead against hers as I follow her into the abyss, my release hitting me hard enough to make my knees buckle.

"Mine," I breathe against her mouth as we both struggle to catch our breath. "Alive. Here."

"Yours," she agrees, her voice barely audible. "Always yours."

For a long moment, we just hold each other, letting our hearts slow and our breathing return to normal. But the world has a way of intruding on even the most perfect moments.

Gunfire cuts through our haze like a knife, growing closer by the second.

We both dress in the dark.

“Stay here,” I tell her.

“Oh, hell no,” she says. “I’m coming with you. Tell me you have another gun. You taught me how to shoot. Let me prove it.”

I put a gun in her hand. "Safety's off," I tell her, wrapping her fingers around the grip. "Point and squeeze. Don't hesitate."

“Okay. Luka?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t die.”

"We finish this," I tell her.

Tonight, the Tremaine twins learn what happens when you try to burn down my world.

24

CINDY

The gun feels wrong in my hands—heavier than at the range, slick with sweat despite the textured grip. My palms are trembling so hard I have to wrap both hands around it to keep it steady.

This isn't like the shooting range. No safety officer. No ear protection. No paper targets that can't shoot back.

The metal is warm from Luka's body heat, and I'm hyperaware of the safety being off. One wrong twitch and I could shoot him. Or myself. Or nothing at all when it matters most.

My stance feels wrong. What did he teach me? Isosceles? Weaver? My mind is blank, panic erasing months of careful instruction. I default to what feels natural—feet apart, both hands on the gun, trying to keep the barrel from shaking.

The weight of it, the reality of it—I might have to kill someone. Not a paper target. A person. My finger hovers outside the trigger guard like he taught me, but it wants to creep inside. Some primitive part of my brain is screaming to be ready.

I can do this. I can protect myself and my man. And our baby.

Luka moves ahead of me through the smoke-choked corridors. The man shows no fear. When people say they would walk through fire for someone, this… this is what it looks like.

Luka is walking through fire for me.