Chapter Three

Lena

I 'm standing outside the bathroom door with my ear pressed to it, when it suddenly flies open as quickly as it slammed shut just a few minutes ago.

I jump back, startled as Carver steps out, his gunmetal gray eyes wild and his cheeks flushed. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his temple, capturing my attention for a moment. His crew-cut hair and square jaw give him an almost mean look, but he isn't. I think there's softness underneath that grumpy gruffness. He just hides it well.

A sense of raw masculinity and wild power radiates from him, as tangible as the heat blazing in his eyes. There's no hiding the power lurking under the surface where he's concerned. He's beautiful in a way that's completely foreign to me, fascinating in a way that should terrify me. I don't think I've ever met a man like him.

The fabric of his gray sweats clings to his muscular thighs and the bulge between his legs as he stops in front of me. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his massive biceps straining against the thin material of his white T-shirt. The thick, corded muscles ripple under his sun-kissed skin every time he breathes.

God, he's gorgeous. Rugged and masculine in a way that makes my body hurt.

"Um, I…" I search for something to say, but I can't think of a single thing when I heard him in there, groaning my name as he touched himself. That deep, gravelly moan made my toes curl. Even now, my entire body throbs at the reminder of the deliciously wicked sound.

He glances down, meeting my gaze. A blush sweeps over me, probably turning me red from head to toe, and I quickly dip my head, hiding my eyes from him.

No one has ever looked at me the way he does, as if he's a dying man in the desert and I'm an oasis. No one has made me feel the electrifying sensations buzzing through my body whenever his eyes are on me, either. It's terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, and I don't understand it.

I understand desire and the concept of sex. I know I'm ungodly attracted to him. I may be a virgin, but I'm not stupid. That's not what I'm talking about. This is something different, something that makes simple desire look flat and lifeless, dull and uninspiring.

But I should be afraid of him. He's a complete stranger, and he was just in the bathroom, masturbating. Yet I'm not afraid. When he pins me with those gorgeous eyes, I feel intensely, overwhelmingly safe. I want his arms around me, his heart beating against my ear. And when he rewards me with one of those rare smiles, I want to find a thousand new reasons to make him give me another one.

That's not normal. None of this is. The feelings coursing through me aren't remotely close to rational. I know I shouldn't stay here with him tonight…but I'm staying anyway. Because I'm desperate for more of him. More of this. Even if I'm not quite sure what this is.

I peek up at him from beneath my lashes to find him still staring at me like I'm an oasis.

I lick my lips, and a growl rumbles in his throat.

Oh, I like that sound. I like it a lot.

He takes a step toward me.

"There's only one bed," I blurt, wringing my hands together when he immediately freezes in place.

Oh, sure. Now I find words.

"We're sharing," he growls, those gray eyes boring into mine.

My heart races at his response. I should tell him no. That's what any sane, rational person would do, right? Say no and carve out a little distance between us before this gets out of hand. But I don't say that.

Why don't I say that?!

My feet betray me, moving almost of their own volition as I follow him across the living room to the bedroom, anticipation coursing through me in a powerful flood.

Once the door closes behind us, he quirks a brow at me, almost as if he's proud of me for being so brave…or daring me to keep being this courageous.

I practically race across the floor to the bed, not because I want to claim it first, but to escape his intensity for just a moment. It's like he knows exactly what effect he has on me, how he makes me want to squirm with need. And I'm pretty sure he likes it.

His chuckle rolls through the room, gruff and rusty, as if he doesn't laugh often or nearly enough. But the sound vibrates through me, anyway, setting off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

Instead of climbing up on the bed, I turn back to him, unable to help myself. It's like he's a magnet, drawing my gaze back to him no matter which direction I turn.

Every ounce of moisture in my mouth evaporates as he peels his shirt off over his head, revealing the body beneath. Dark hair covers his chest, leading down to a rock-solid set of abs. The ink painted across his golden skin is a tapestry of black and faded colors, each tattoo a story etched into the muscle beneath. Silvery scars intersect the tattoos, creating a map of pain and beauty on his body.

Judging by the crest tattooed on his bicep, he was an Army Ranger. It explains his ridiculous body. He's a warrior like Atlas, big enough to carry the whole world on his shoulders.

Every muscle ripples and shifts with his movements, each one honed from years of physical discipline and strength I'll never possess. He's the epitome of pure power and raw strength, and my fingers itch to reach out and trace the lines of his body, to feel that power for myself.

He kicks his shoes off and then yanks his pants down, leaving him standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of boxers that barely contain him. The front is tented obscenely, a wet spot visible on the fabric. As soon as I see it, my mouth goes dry.

I press my thighs together, fighting a whimper. All I can think about is how big he is pressing against the cotton of his boxers. And how badly I want to see what's beneath them.

I've never wanted anything like I want this. I've never hurt for anything the way I hurt right now. Whenever I try to make myself come, I'm always left unsatisfied. Something is always missing.

I think it's him. He's the ache I never could satisfy, the hole I couldn't fill. I need him to fix it. No one else can do it. Just him. I'm not sure why I'm so sure of that, but I am. I feel the truth singing in my freaking veins like an aria.

This man is my missing piece.

"I see you staring at me, little angel," he says abruptly, taking a step toward me.

"I…I'm not," I lie, blushing from head to toe again.

He chuckles again, clearly not believing me. I'm not a very good liar. "You worried I'm going to hurt you, Lena?"

"No," I whisper. The thought didn't even cross my mind, actually. Well, maybe when he first burst into the cabin like a crazy man, but not since. I've been too busy thinking things I probably shouldn't. Besides, I'm pretty sure he meant it when he promised that I was safe with him.

"Good," he grunts, glancing around the room. It looks a little like a hurricane hit it, honestly. My stuff is everywhere. "Why a cabin?"

"I had to escape my cousin and my grandfather," I huff. "They were getting on my nerves."

"Oh yeah?" His lips twitch with amusement. What would they feel like pressed to mine? I bet he'd kiss me like he was starving for my taste.

"Y-Yes." I bob my head, trying desperately not to think about his lips on mine. "They argue all the time. It's exhausting."

"So you rented a cabin, huh?"

"I tried." My shoulders drop at the reminder that this place isn't actually mine for the week. It's his. "I guess I'm going home tomorrow, though."

Dalton will love that. He's already called twice today to check on me. Gramps called this evening, too, demanding I come home. But I told him the same thing I told Dalton—that I wasn't coming home until they learned to get along. I guess the universe is going to make me eat my words, though. I'm not ready to wade back into the war zone, but I don't have a choice.

"You know you don't have to leave at all," Carver says. His back is to me, a broad canvas painted with vivid artwork. "You can stay right here with me."

"W-what?" I blink, startled by the deep rasp of his voice. There's something in it…something dark and delicious. Something dangerously hypnotic and tempting.

"You don't have to leave at all." He turns to face me again as he repeats the words. That same darkness reflects in his eyes, daring me to step closer to the edge of something forbidden. "You can stay as long as you like."

"I can?"

"Yes. But it's going to cost you."

My breath catches, my mind snagging on the edge of curiosity. What price would he exact? What cost would he demand?

I hesitate for a full five-count, the possibilities rushing through me in a dizzying parade, before I can't stand the curiosity anymore. I have to know what he wants. The need to know is almost a compulsion.

"W-what will it cost me?"

The fire in his gunmetal gray eyes ignites an answering blaze inside me as he takes a step toward me. His hands clench and unclench as if he's trying to convince himself to keep them away from the flames.

"You on your knees, begging Daddy to fuck you, little girl," he snarls like a man pushed too far to the edge, one desperate for a single ounce of softness.

A wordless sob tears from somewhere deep in my chest. I press my legs together as the ache between them grows to a fever pitch.

He just called himself Daddy.

I shouldn't like that name, and yet…judging by the mess in my panties, I like it all too well. Hearing him say it flips a switch inside me, and all those foreign desires come roaring to the surface, all those secret things I've tried so, so hard never to think about. It's an awakening, a need that's been dormant, waiting for this man who embodies every fantasy I never knew how to explain.

With one word, he sets them free. I ache for him, for his control, to be the one he desires above all things. And this man, my God, this man would be the best damn Daddy.

But we can't do this…can we?

"I…I…"

He closes the distance between us in a single, purposeful stride, his shadow enveloping me in a way that sends heat searing through me. "If you agree to be my little girl for the week, you can have whatever you want," he says, his raw, wild gaze piercing through me.

My lips part, but no sound escapes, drowned out by the furious pounding of my heart. His stare is intense, full of a desperate hunger I feel echoing in my soul.

"I'll treat you like a fucking princess." The gruff promise makes my heart flutter. He's so rough and powerful, yet he speaks with a gentleness that touches something deep inside me. "But I've been overseas for too goddamn long, and it hurts, pretty baby." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. There's a vulnerability there, an exposed, brittle edge that makes him all the more beautiful.

My body trembles as much as my resolve. He's asking for my submission…and offering a brand new world in return. The desire to call him Daddy, to give myself over to those big hands and let them mold me into the little girl he craves, is overwhelming. It's filthy and wrong, and yet, I've never been tempted like this.

"Christ, you're making it hurt," he groans, his voice like gravelly sin.

My eyes fall to the bulge straining against his boxers—so big and hard. Hurting… for me .

My heart races, fluttering like the wings of a bird as I try to process that reality.

"Answer me, little angel," he rasps. "I need to know what it's going to be."

If I say no, he won't ask again. He won't force me. I'm not sure why I'm so sure of that, but I am. We'll sleep side by side, and he'll keep his hands to himself. But if I say yes…if I agree to pay his price…those big hands will be on my body. He'll touch me, make the ache go away. He'll teach me everything I'm so damn desperate to learn.

My mind says sharing a bed with him without surrendering to his touch would be the sanest choice. But my body…my body screams for something different. It wants his claim and the lessons those dark stares promise. And my heart?

Well…I've always been more likely to listen to it than anything.

I look up at him through my lashes, my breath trembling on my lips. "I'm sorry…Daddy. I didn't m-mean to make it hurt." The words are a whisper, but they echo like a gunshot in the stillness of the room.

He groans—a raw, guttural sound that vibrates all the way to my bones. In an instant, he's on top of me, his arms steel bands dragging me up against the hard wall of his chest. I get lost in the heat of him. In the spicy, masculine scent of him.

"Tell me no, little girl," he growls, his breath blowing warm against the side of my face. There's a glint in his eye, a spark of something feral and fierce. It sets my blood on fire.

I press closer, eager to burn, to melt under the searing roughness of his hands.

"Tell Daddy he's a bad man who shouldn't touch you."

The response he wants climbs up my throat, but what spills out is anything but a denial. "T-touch me, Daddy. Play with me. I'll be a good girl, I promise." The words tumble out, reckless and honest as I cling to him, already drowning in desire.

His roar of approval reverberates through the room, a primal, feral sound that tightens every muscle in my body. His grip on me tightens as he yanks me closer, and then his lips crash down on mine, obliterating any lingering doubt.

I'm swept away by the savage intensity of his kiss. He takes command of me, devouring me with unrestrained ferocity. His tangy taste invades my senses, sending my mind reeling.

His tongue plunges deep into my mouth, each stroke sending a wave of pleasure rippling down to my toes. I didn't even know it was possible to kiss like this—to be consumed like this.

He nips at my lower lip before soothing it with a lick, his groan vibrating through me.

"Mine," he growls against my lips, his fingers finding the hem of my nightie. Fabric tears, and my world narrows to the heat of his skin against mine.

"Carver," I gasp, my mind a swirl of confusion and want. "D-Daddy."

"Christ. Say it again," he commands, his hands branding every inch of me as they glide over me, claiming every roll and curve as his—his territory, his sanctuary, his little girl.

"Daddy," I repeat breathlessly, the forbidden name tasting like sin and salvation on my tongue.

His hand snakes down my side, hot and heavy against the swell of my breasts. His thumb brushes over me, and I gasp at the bolt of pleasure that shoots through me.

"Look at you," he croons, the rumble of his voice sending shivers racing down my spine. "So pretty and sensitive for Daddy."

I whimper as he toys with me, pinching and rolling my nipples until I'm arching into him, silently begging for more. His lips drift toward my ear, his tongue tracing a hot path along the shell.

"You're going to be such a good girl for me, aren't you?" he murmurs, his words like a dirty promise whispered into the dark. "You like when Daddy plays with your nipples?"

"Yes," I gasp, shivering under his touch. "Oh, yes."

He chuckles softly at my response. "Tell me how it feels when I suck on them, pretty baby."

My cheeks heat up at his demand. "Y-you can't do that," I manage to gasp.

"No?" He cocks a brow, a smirk playing at his lips. "And who's going to stop me, little angel? Judging by the way you're squirming, you aren't. You like what Daddy is doing to you even though you shouldn't."

"I…I…" He pinches my nipples again, twisting, and I nearly come unglued. But there's something about this game, something about pretending we shouldn't be doing this, that he's my daddy and this is bad, that I like a little too well. The dark look in his eyes says he likes it, too. "It's w-wrong. I'm your little girl."

He growls, his smirk widening into a wicked smile. "And that's exactly why it's so fucking right, pretty angel. Because you belong to Daddy. You're mine to play with however I want."

He dips his head, latching onto one nipple while teasing the other with the pads of his fingers.

His gaze never leaves mine, the intensity of it holding me captive. He sucks, his teeth scraping lightly, drawing a strangled moan from my lips.

"Daddy…" I sob, clutching at his head, my fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair.

He switches to the other breast without warning, repeating the same sweet torture until I whine and squirm beneath him, unable to stay still beneath the onslaught of pleasure.

"Fuck," he groans, pulling back to look at me. The predatory gleam in his eyes is full of satisfaction as he presses his body to mine again. "You're so fucking sweet."

"Carver," I whimper, feeling him against me, hard and demanding. I claw his shoulders, silently pleading for…something. Anything.

He knows what I need. His hand slips down my belly and then over my mound.

"I want you to scream for me," he grunts, shoving his hand between my legs to cup my center in his palm.

I cry out, startled at the way he grips me as if he owns my body, as if it's his to do with whatever he will.

"Feel that?" He growls low in his throat as he grinds his palm against my center, pressing my panties firmly against my clit. Sparks of pleasure shoot through my core. "That's how wet you are for your daddy."

"I…I'm sorry," I sob, not honestly sure if I should be this wet or not. It seems excessive. Is that normal? I don't know.

"Sorry?" His dark chuckle has my entire body breaking out in a sweat. "Oh, little angel. I have so much to teach you," he breathes, brushing his lips against mine. "All that sticky juice means I'm making that bratty cunt feel good."

"S-so good!" I agree on a whimper.

A wicked gleam lights up his gray eyes, and a laugh rumbles deep in his chest. He grinds his palm against me again, pressing just right against my clit. I gasp, my hips grinding down onto him involuntarily as I clutch onto his biceps for dear life.

"You're doing so well, little angel. Taking Daddy's touch just like I knew you would."

I whimper in response, not trusting myself to say anything more.

He begins to move his fingers against me in delicious circles, and the whole world turns into a spiral of pleasure. The heat is almost unbearable, making me gasp and writhe against him. I can't stop myself.

He hooks one finger into the side of my panties and tugs them to the side, his eyes locked with mine. I lose the ability to think, to breathe. I'm just pinned, trapped in his gaze.

One thick finger swipes through my folds, touching me skin to skin for the first time.

I'm not sure which of us likes it more.

"D-Daddy," I stutter, my entire body threatening to ignite.

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a desperate growl and a broken groan, his eyes blazing as he drops to his knees before me suddenly, staring up at me like I'm the only thing anchoring him to reality. That look on his face… God. He's so fierce my legs tremble.

"I have to smell it," he mutters, almost as if he's talking to himself. "Right now. Can't stop thinking about it."

"I t-t-thought you wanted me on my k-knees, Daddy?" I don't know where the question comes from, but it tumbles out of my mouth before I even think it.

"Later," he grunts, dragging my leg up over his shoulder. His nose presses against the thin fabric covering my center, inhaling deeply.

I feel exposed, seen in ways and places I never imagined, but I like it. His approval is a dark rumble that sets my pulse to racing.

"Ah, goddamn. I knew it," he mutters, half to himself, half to the universe. "Fucking perfect bratty cunt."

His tongue, bold and unapologetic, flicks across the seam of my panties, tracing the edge where the drenched fabric clings to my overheated skin. My knees wobble precariously, as though they're one touch away from collapsing.

"You like that, little girl? You like Daddy's mouth on you right here?" His growl vibrates against the tender flesh he torments with his tongue.

"Yes," I sob, gripping his broad shoulders for support, afraid I'll dissolve into nothingness if I let go. "Don't stop."

He doesn't. Instead, he flicks my panties aside, and the flat of his tongue presses against me, warm and insistent. "Rock your hips, little angel. Grind your cunt all over my face."

Obeying feels like breathing—natural, necessary, and sustaining. I move against him, riding the waves of pleasure that crash through me, one after another. "W-why does it feel so good, D-Daddy?"

Carver's movements still. His gaze locks with mine, his eyes wide with something close to reverence. "No one has ever even touched your pussy before, have they?" His voice is a whisper, rife with realization.

"No," I confess quietly, a flush of embarrassment climbing up my cheeks.

"It's all mine, isn't it?" The possessiveness in his question sends a thrill spiraling through me. Embarrassment dies a quick, painless death.

"Yes," I breathe, not lying to him. "It belongs to you, Daddy."

"Ah, shit, Lena. I'm going to lick this little thing so good, pretty angel." His words are a fervent oath. "By the time I'm done, you won't remember anything but my name and what it feels like to be mine."

He pulls at my panties impatiently, and they quickly pool around my ankles, leaving me bare to his gaze. He groans at the sight, the sound so loud it hurts my ears.

"Carver…" My voice trembles on his name, my heart pounding away in my chest. I've never been this turned on or this nervous before.

"Shh," he hushes me, his voice both calming and demanding as he spreads me open with two fingers. "Daddy's going to eat his little girl's pussy now. Don't let anyone hear you. You know they won't understand, pretty angel. They'll try to stop me."

The words are utterly filthy, bordering on depraved, and yet, I revel in them. He dips his dark head immediately, his tongue spearing into me.

I sob his name, clinging onto him as the tremble in my legs ripples outward, overtaking my entire body until I'm sure I'm going to shatter into a million pieces.

He slowly laps up my arousal before delving deeper inside me. His hands grip my thighs possessively as if to anchor me down, but even then, I feel like I'm on the verge of floating away.

"Eat your cunt," he mumbles against my center. "Suck all that sweet cream right from your perfect little hole."

A strangled gasp tears itself free from my throat as he plunges his tongue in and out of me. My body begins to shake under the onslaught of sensations threatening to consume me whole.

"Can't wait to fill this sweet pussy with my cum," Carver groans against me, the vibration shooting straight through me. "Daddy is going to breed you so good. Make you nice and round with my seed." His tongue flicks my clit, a sensation so shockingly sweet, it's as though he kisses my soul.

Something about his filthy declaration and that overwhelmingly sweet kiss sends me spiraling into an abyss of pleasure. I wail his name into the room, shattering into stardust. Everything vanishes in a blur of ecstasy, pleasure overriding reality.

My legs give way as I collapse into his arms, completely undone.

He doesn't give me a moment's reprieve. I don't think he has one to give.

"Goddamn," he growls, his grip on my waist like iron as he pulls me beneath him. His body is a solid weight, pinning me to the floor beneath him. "You look so fucking sweet. Taste so damn perfect, little angel. It hurts. Christ Almighty. Look what you've done to your daddy."

I can barely breathe, still dizzy from the whirlwind of pleasure, when he yanks his boxers down. His massive erection springs free, purple and angry, nestled in a thatch of dark hair. He's so hard, so beautiful.

My core clenches, aching for him.

He jerks himself off with quick, rough strokes, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Watch me, little girl," he commands, his voice gruff and thick with lust. "Watch Daddy come all over you."

I can't look away as his movements become more erratic. I can practically feel the tension coiling tighter in his body, and I have to know what he feels like right this second.

I reach out, running a single fingertip along the head of his cock. He shudders above me, a powerful moan ripping from deep within his chest. Every muscle in his body goes rigid.

"Lena," he growls. "Christ, Lena."

Hot spurts of cum land on my skin, marking me as his. I tremble under the hot cascade, feeling utterly claimed, possessed.

He works out every drop, stroking himself until he's practically shaking above me.

He's so beautiful like this. His eyes are wild, glazed over with lust in a way that's purely animalistic. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slightly parted as he pants and groans. His chest heaves, the rhythm of his breathing ragged and uneven. Every strained breath he takes sends tremors through his body, causing the muscles in his ripped abdomen to twitch and contract.

He's equal parts power and vulnerability, the most incredible man I've ever met. And for some reason, he's chosen me—messy, curvy, naive, never-been-kissed little Lena—to be his little girl.

In this moment, I think I fall in love with him. Not with the man who wants to be my Daddy. Not with the gruff man who probably doesn't laugh enough. But with every single rough, raw, vulnerable piece of him.

He releases his cock after a moment, reaching for me again. His fingers swipe through the sticky mess he left all over my thighs and mound, gathering it up. I tremble as his fingers slip lower, sliding through my folds.

"This goes right here, little girl," he growls, pushing his seed inside me. "We don't waste it."

My breath hitches, and my voice is just a whisper, "I-I'm not on birth control, Carver."

His expression shifts, a feral glint igniting in his gunmetal gray eyes. "Good," he snarls, a dark promise woven into that single word. "Then there's nothing stopping me from breeding this perfect little thing."

A visceral jolt surges through me at his words, my core clenching. He mentioned breeding me earlier. I thought it was the heat of the moment…but it wasn't. He wants it. And God help me, so do I.

His lips find mine in a kiss that's startlingly gentle, a stark contrast to the rest of him. He brands me with it, stealing little pieces of my soul and claiming them as his. But I think he hands over just as many pieces of his own in the process.

When he breaks away, he scoops me up from the floor into his arms, rising to his feet. I curl around him, feeling safe and secure in a way I never have. Sure, I have safety and security at home. I have a grandfather who loves me and a cousin who would do anything for me. But I've never had intimacy, never had someone care for me like this. It's instantly addictive.

Carver deposits me on the bed, his massive frame enveloping me as he drags me under him. The heat of his body sears me as he aligns us, pinning me beneath him as if to ensure I can't escape. My legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

"Carver," I gasp, caught between apprehension and unbridled need when I feel his erection pressing against my sex.

"Shh, little angel," he murmurs against my neck. "Daddy's got you."

Pinned beneath his massive form, his breath hot on my neck, I wait for him to take me, to make me his in every way. I may be nervous, but the throb between my thighs begs for more of him.

But he doesn't give it to me.

"Sleep now, pretty angel," he rumbles, pressing a kiss just below my ear.

My mind spins, caught off guard. "But I thought—"

He lays a finger against my lips, silencing me. "It's time to sleep now. We'll play again after you rest. Close those pretty green eyes, little girl." His voice is soft, yet there's no mistaking the command.

I can't help but obey, my eyelids fluttering shut as I sink deeper into the bed beneath him—and deeper into trust. His arms are a fortress around me, strong and secure.

In this moment, I'm untouchable.

No. I'm his.