Page 5 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

I am his. He is mine.

His body shivers against mine, and he maintains the kiss long after his orgasm has faded. I don’t know what will happen when we tear our mouths apart, but for one moment—for this moment—he’s content.

His breath is warm and tastes of bubblegum. I swallow the flavor and each of the small, aching sounds he makes. I take all he gives, and I take it gladly. Proudly.

When he finally pulls away, there’s a look of pure joy pouring out of him, but it does not last long. When reality hits and he sees the evidence of his pleasure painted on my chest, panic sets in. His arm rears back and he slaps me with all his might.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouts, gasping for air as he repeatedly slaps my shoulder. “Seriously, what the hell?” I tighten the hold I have on him, but he’s squirming like crazy, trying to get away from me. Reluctantly, I ease my finger from his hole and lift him off my lap, setting him on the floor in front of me.

“I wanted you to come. You came. I’m not sure where the confusion lies, my love,” I say. He slaps me again, but there’s no removing the smile from my face. Not after what we’ve just shared.

“Stop calling me weird stuff like love and pretty baby. It’s fucking creepy.”

“What’s creepy about—” Before I can finish my sentence, the pantry door swings open, and Tatum’s body goes stiff in my arms.

“If you’ve finished, I’d really like to get this show on the road,” Fee deadpans, her feet clacking against Scotty’s hardwood floors. “I’ve been in that damn closet for fifteen minuteslistening to you two. I’m not sticking around for round two.” When she reaches us, she nudges me with her shoe. “You okay?”

I nod. “Just a cracked rib. Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” Fee flings her hands in the air as she walks around the room. “Just a cracked rib, he says. You’re going to be useless for the next month. I’ll have to carry your dead weight.” She points a finger at Tatum. “You hit me in the head. Prick.”

I watch as Tatum slowly reaches for whatever he’s been using to tame me into submission. When he grabs it, he quickly holds it above his head threateningly. “Back the fuck away from me,” he says to Fee. To my surprise, he does not stand and scurry away, just scoots closer until he’s in my lap again, seeking protection. Even as he clings to me like a second skin, his eyes are glaring at Fiona as if he has the upper hand.

He’s precious this way. All bark, little bite. Try as I might, I can’t hide my smile. He’s adorable, thinking he’s in control. He must see the way I snicker, because his eyes narrow and lock on mine.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

“You,” I answer, pointing at his hand. “You threatened my life with a rolling pin?”

He shrugs before carefully popping me on the elbow with his weapon of choice. It stings a bit, but I push past the pain. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but . . . a rolling pin?”

“It was on the counter, so I grabbed it. It doesn’t matter why I have it—all that matters is it’ll split your skull wide open.”

As fun as this game is, Fee’s right. We really need to get this show on the road. The quicker we learn Scotty’s whereabouts, the quicker we can leave. With little effort, I stand, and Tatum wraps his legs around my waist, holding on for the ride. My ribs burn and ache, but I tuck the pain into a tiny ball and swallow it down, not wanting him to see me as weak. Once I’m up, I cock an eyebrow. “Remind me why you believe you have the upperhand.” He hits me on the shoulder with his rolling pin, but I simply blink at him for emphasis.

“Are you made of solid fucking steel?”

“I have twelve inches of steel, if you’d like to see.”

His eyes bulge and his mouth hangs open. “You’re lying.”

“If you want proof, I’m happy to show you.”

He shakes his head, looking dazed. “No one has a penis that large.” He gasps as I reach beneath his shorts and run my finger down his crack. My finger finds his hole and slides in with ease, like he’s been form-fitted for me. His eyes widen at the intrusion, but then the corner of his lips curl up.

“He’s not lying,” Fee says, flopping down on the sofa and pulling out her phone. “He made me measure it in front of my husband once as part of a sex bet. Just over twelve inches. I’m honestly surprised my cervix is still intact.” I don’t know what she’s looking for on her phone, but her eyes are glued to it, determined. When I look at Tatum, there’s an expression I can’t quite read. Sadness? Anger? Disappointment? I am not sure. Tatum is in my arms, right against my chest, but it feels like he is a million miles away.

I slide my finger in as deep as it will go. “What’s wrong?”

He startles as if I’ve just woken him from a dream. “Huh?”

“Your face. You look sad. What happened?”

His eyes dart to Fee, then to me. “You two are together?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?”

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