Page 27 of Twisted Princess

If she would let me, I could worship her like a goddess until the end of my days.

But not yet.

I can’t fail this test again. If I do and she runs, it will destroy me this time.

A groan of longing rips from my chest before I can bite it back, and Mel’s soft responding gasp makes my cock throb.

Then her arms wrap around my neck, her breasts pressing against my chest as her lips claim mine once more. Desire pounds through my veins, filling me with a ravenous need, so I kiss her more deeply, trying to satiate that hunger without taking more.

“M-Mama?” The little voice that reaches across the length of my living room sounds so sad and scared, and Gabby’s soft sobs reach me a moment later.

Mel and I tense as one, freezing in place, our lips locked in a passionate display. Fucking hell. I did not just make Gabby cry because I let this happen, did I?

Drawing back, Mel turns to find her daughter in the dark, her hips still straddling my lap. “What’s wrong, keiki?” she asks gently as her fingers blindly scramble for the location of her shirt. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Y-Yeah!” Gabby sobs, finally coming into view around the corner of the couch.

She looks so tiny in her little unicorn nightgown, her fists balled and pressed to her eyes to wipe the tears that fall. My heart plummets, and my body feels like it’s been doused in ice water to see her crying.

And before I know what I’m doing, I’ve carefully set Mel onto the couch so I can stand. “I can take her,” I offer because Mel’s still searching for her shirt.

“Are you sure?” she asks, but my legs are already carrying me toward her little girl, my instincts demanding that I fix the problem.

“I’m sure.”

To my relief, Gabby’s sobs start to taper, and she holds out her arms toward me as I reach her. The silent gesture is unmistakable. She wants me to hold her. I stoop to scoop her into my arms, and when her tiny fingers fist the collar of my shirt, her tear-stained face nestling against my neck, it makes my heart burst.

One arm beneath her hips, I splay my fingers across Gabby’s back, trying to soothe her as I carry her back toward the guest bedroom.

“Shhh, rybka. You’re okay,” I assure her, murmuring the term of endearment in my native tongue as I flick on the hall light.

Gabby hiccups, but I can feel her heartbeat starting to slow against my chest.

“Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

“The bad man found us this time,” she says, another sob racking her tiny frame.

My heart squeezes as her words knock the air from my lungs. She had a nightmare about our car chase that came to a screeching halt in New Haven—the accident that put Mel in the hospital for three days.

“It was just a dream,” I promise her. “The bad man won’t ever find you again. I won’t let him,” I assure her, though it makes a cold sweat break out across my brow.

Gabby nods against my neck, and one tiny hand slips between us as she puts her thumb in her mouth. As far as I’m aware, this is the first nightmare she’s had about that night. I hope it’s not a trauma that will continue to haunt her.

Opening the door, I can find my way across the guest room using the sliver of light that trickles in from the hall. I reach her bed, gently lay her back against the pillows, and tuck the blankets around her.

“You want me to tell you a story?” I suggest.

Gabby nods enthusiastically, her thumb firmly trapped between her lips. Then, with her free hand, she pats the mattress beside her. Dear god, this girl. If hearts could break from something adorable, mine would be in pieces on the floor.

Settling onto the bed beside her, I cross my ankles and lean back against the headboard.

“Alright, are you ready?” I ask as she snuggles in against my side.

Gabby nods, her big green eyes round as she looks up at me.

“This story is one my big brother used to tell our younger siblings growing up when one of them had a bad dream. It goes, ‘In a certain land, in a certain kingdom, there lived a king who had three sons…’”

Gabby snuggles in closer, resting her cheek against my ribs, and the corners of my lips curl. Her little body starts to relax, her breathing growing slow and steady as I tell her all about the three sons who were tasked with catching a firebird that landed in their father’s garden each night. And by the time I’ve reached the brothers’ adventure into the woods, where they face a terrible gray wolf, Gabby’s struggling to keep her eyelids open.

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