Page 36 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

And that’s when I hear it. My parents’ muffled voices through the wall. They don’t sound angry, but they don’t sound particularly happy. And, through all of the madness that’sprobably about to unfold, the smile never leaves Abi’s face. Yeah, well, I’ve got just the thing to wipe away that smirk.

Pulling my sweats up, I walk back to him, hop in bed, and hobble over to him. I squeak a little when he grabs my hips and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Why are you smiling?” His fingers dig into my ribs, tickling me mercilessly until I slap them away.

“No reason,” I say. He lifts his hands like he’s going to tickle me again, but I’m two steps ahead. Reaching down, I squeeze his package—not enough to hurt him, just enough to let him know I’m there. And if my thumb slowly rubs back and forth against his shaft, that’s not really any of your goddessdamned business.

“Clearly, there is,” he counters, his voice cracked with what I can only assume are nerves. “Or did you just want another round with Daddy’s dick?” When he says it, his soft cock twitches to life like he’s just pressed some magic boner button. I pinch the tip of his penis, enjoying the way he sucks in a quick, sharp breath.

“The thing is,” I say, sliding my hand lower and cupping his balls, “Mom and Dad are probably going to want to tag along with us today.” I trail my finger lower and bite back the moan that crawls up my throat when my finger delves between his cheeks. I could stare at his ass for centuries. For fucking millennia. Knowing I’m finally venturing into the depths of his valley for the first time, my dick swells a little. “And I’m pretty sure my parents just heard you call me ... what was it again? A ‘filthy fucking whore’?” His eyes widen and the color leaves his cheeks. “My dad has guns. Lots of them. All I’d have to do is scream, and you’ll be missing half your face within seconds.” When my finger reaches his virgin hole, I press the tip against it, fucking living for the look of panic on his face.

“Tatum,” he whispers.

“Best behavior, babe,” I say, leaning in and kissing the tip of his nose. “You step out of line today, I’ll do it. The second we getback in this room tonight, I’ll scream. I’ll say you’re trying to kill me.” I kiss the side of his face. “It would be such a shame to ruin such a pretty face with something as unsightly as a bullet wound. Don’t you think?”

His fear fades until all that’s left on his face is a goofy grin. “You think my face is pretty?”

I’m pretty sure my cheeks must be scarlet at this point.

Fuck. Fuck, fuckity, fuck-fuck-fuck.

“Hate your stupid face. Hate your stupid life.” I fully plan on continuing my list of things I hate about Abi Kincaid, but I’m silenced when he leans in and presses his ridiculously soft lips against mine.

“You can hate my face all you want. I love everything about you.” He kisses my chin. “The little indention in your chin.” His lips work their way up the side of my face, pausing briefly at my temple. “Your eyes, Tatum. Jesus Christ. I could get lost in them for days.”

My entire body shivers at the words. “Hope you cry.”

He chuckles, kissing even higher, stopping at my hairline. “Your hair, sweetheart. Every strand was placed by your Goddess herself. You’re perfect.”

“Hope you die,” I attempt, but I know the words don’t sound true.

He shakes his head and pulls away. “Hope I steal you and keep you for the rest of my life.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Would that be alright with you? May I keep you?”

I can’t bring myself to agree. Fuck, I can barely breathe, much less speak. And, since I’m apparently living out my whore era where shame and resistance have fled the scene, I lean in and lick that sexy-fucking Adam’s apple. His skin tastes like cologne and cream, and in my state of post-orgasmic arousal, I’m not content with a simple taste. So, I widen my mouth and suck his Adam’s apple for all it’s worth. I only stop when I dig my teeth in a little and he makes a pained sound. When I pull away, he’slooking at me with a level of hunger I’ve never seen before. He would probably bend me over and fuck me raw right now if I let him, and I kind of want to let him; agonizing pain be damned.

He cradles me in his arms, more tenderly than anyone has before. It’s like I’m his most precious, delicate possession. “Come on, love,” he says, giving me one final squeeze. “Let’s go pick out our wedding attire.”

CHAPTER 7

TATUM

Ithink I’m in shock. Thirty minutes ago, Abi Kincaid forced me to ejaculate as he screamed that I was a “filthy fucking whore.” Now, he’s sitting in the back seat of my dad’s car, right beside me, shooting the shit with his future father-in-law.

No. Absolutely not.

There will be no wedding. There will be no familial bonds forged against my will. We will stage a believable breakup for all to witness, stay for Scotty’s wedding, and return home. Or I’ll stay. Honestly? TBD ...

Dad and Abi have been discussing their shared love of soccer while Mom and I gab about Real Housewives. As a staunch anti-Lisa Rinna advocate, my mom can’t seem to understand my devotion to the unrepentant television villain.

“She’s a monster, Tatum. I didn’t raise you to worship the devil herself.”

“Bite your tongue,” I snap. “She knows what it takes to make good television. Do you want to sit around watching Kyle Richards being an absolute bore for forty-five minutes? Is that what you want?”

Mom looks at me through the rearview mirror, her eyebrows scrunched together in the center of her forehead. “I love Kyle.”

“You would,” I growl at her. Those words are treasonous. They’re like poison, and the only antidote is the seven-hundred-foot-tall giant sitting beside me, invading my space. “Abi. Tell her.”

Dad is still talking, but Abi must realize where his loyalty needs to lie, because he stops my father mid-sentence, barking, “Silence.” Dad startles behind the wheel, and we momentarily veer into oncoming traffic, which ... yeah, it’s less than ideal, but Dad’s a champ and he’s able to course-correct before killing us all. “The little one is speaking.” He turns to me, his face serious. “What is wrong?”

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