Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1180(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 787(@300wpm)
This morning, she was “accidentally” switching up the characters’ voices again. Each time, Rose would interrupt and correct her with that soft, growing confidence that still made his throat tighten.
The sound of his daughter laughing and talking hit him like a miracle he’d stopped believing could ever happen. It was like the dam had finally broken, and suddenly, he had his Rosie chatterbox back.
Okay, maybe not a full chatterbox yet, but she was talking more and more with every passing hour, and every single word felt like a gift he didn’t deserve.
She was fighting her battle and winning, but victory in his own battle was far from certain.
The Daddy Dom inside him had roared back to life with a vengeance the first moment Sage had looked up at him and called him Daddy. The urge to pull her close, to correct her when she pushed those pretty Little boundaries, to protect her from her impulsive tendencies, and to claim her filled him. Claim every inch of her, including her heart.
It had become a constant, aching temptation he could barely contain. When she smiled at him with that mix of innocence and mischief, or whispered “Daddy” in that soft, hopeful voice, he wanted to bend her over the nearest surface and redden her bottom until she squirmed and promised to behave. Then he wanted to toss her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs, strip her bare, and fuck her so thoroughly she’d feel him for days.
He wanted all those things and more, things he had no right to want. Things like asking her to stay.
Grady jammed a spatula into the pan, scrambling eggs with more force than necessary. Time to stop dreaming about things he couldn’t have and make breakfast for his girl. If the way he was whipping the scrambled eggs was any indication, that might be easier said than done. Examining them, he wondered if he might have just made his first soufflé.
What he needed was a bit of mental discipline. He could be her Daddy, because Lord knew she needed one, and still keep the boundaries in place. Self-control was one of his strengths. He could practice restraint. Restraint was his middle name. Just not the kind of “restraint” that involved handcuffs… which reminded him of just how much he’d love to see her handcuffed to a bedpost while he fucked her senseless. Maybe he shouldn’t think about “restraint” right now.
After all, he didn’t have to imagine her on her knees, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes while she waited for his next command. Wondering how soft her skin would feel under his rough hands. Or how sweetly she would purr when she submitted to him, when she let go and gave herself over to him completely.
You’re doing a great job of “restraining” yourself, his cock mocked.
Damn it! The more time she spent in his house, the harder it became to remember why he shouldn’t want all those things. He needed to get to work and give himself something else to focus on.
“Breakfast is on the table,” he called to Sage from the kitchen.
“Aren’t you joining us?” she called back.
“Got chores to do, babygirl. The horse stalls aren’t going to muck themselves.”
Once in the barn, he grabbed a pitchfork from the wall and got to work. Each lift of soiled hay sent a satisfying burn through his shoulders and back. The familiar scent of straw, leather, and horses wrapped around him like an old friend. A friend who whispered things like, “I wonder how she would like leather play,” and, “Hay is for rolling in too.”
Sage had become a part of his house—no, a part of his family. Hell, she was quickly becoming the foundation of it. She’d worked her magic in more ways than he wanted to admit just by being herself. All he had to do was look at the flower gardens beginning to bud and the bird sanctuary she’d created, filled with bright, colorful birdhouses swinging in the breeze. She was turning this house into a home.
Speaking of the house, all the wooden floors shone with fresh polish, and pictures now hung on walls that had been bare for two long years. His babygirl had turned his cold, sad house back into a place of joy and warmth.
Maybe he’d need to change that middle name of his. Restraint didn’t fit anymore. More than anything else, he desired to stroke her wild red curls and tell her she was safe—that she was his.
Grady jammed the pitchfork into another pile of hay with more force than necessary, muscles burning. He had about two months. A lot could happen in two months.
His cock pounded against his zipper at just the thought of her.
Boots clicking on the wooden floor brought him back to reality.
Sage’s wild red corkscrew curls bounced with every step as she walked toward him. It was cute as fuck. She was a vision of joy, trouble, and sexiness all wrapped up in a tight pair of jeans. A lot of girls tried hard to give off those vibes. For her, it came naturally.