Page 49 of Nicky

“Stop staring like you’re trying to set me on fire with your brain,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “You look like a creepy statue.”

The corner of his mouth tugged up in a slow, infuriating smile. “Statues don’t stare.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, heat crawling up my neck.

He didn’t rush me. Daddy never rushed me. Instead, he reached out, cupping my jaw with a hand that was all callouses and warmth, grounding me in ways I didn’t know I needed.

“You good?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone.

I wanted to roll my eyes and shove him off just to prove I could, but my body betrayed me, leaning into his touch like a flower toward the sun.

“I’m fine,” I grumbled. “Can you stop asking every five seconds? You’re worse than a?—”

The thumb brushing my cheek shifted, pressing lightly against my lips. Not harsh, not silencing—just a reminder.

“Watch it,” he said, low and steady. His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with something I couldn’t quite name.

And damn it, that little press of his thumb sent a jolt straight through me.

I let out a breath and leaned closer, until there was barely an inch between us. “What if I don’t?” I challenged, my lips quirking into the hint of a smirk, daring him to take control, to meet me where I was.

His other hand landed on my hip, strong and sure, pulling me flush against him. The sudden contact stole the air from my lungs.

“Then I’ll remind you,” he said, his voice dropping into a rough, almost teasing timbre, “why you love it when I take charge.”

Heat flared in my chest and lower, a mixture of anticipation and defiance.

It wasn’t just about him asserting control—it was about trust. About how he read me so easily, how he knew exactly when to push and when to hold back. And though I’d never admit it, that balance left me breathless.

But no way was I going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affected me. Not yet.

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t done anything about it,” I shot back, tilting my chin in defiance.

That got me a full-on laugh, low and rich and utterly unfair. “Oh, you’rethatkind of brat tonight?”

Before I could fire back, he grabbed my hips and lifted me. Before I could catch my breath, Markus was striding along the hallway and into his bedroom. I yelped as I fell onto the mattress, glaring up at him, even as heat pooled low in my stomach.

“What the hell, Daddy?”

“What? You didn’t see that coming?” He knelt on the mattress, bracing himself over me. “Thought you were smarter than that.”

I opened my mouth to snap something back, but the words got stuck when he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to my throat—soft at first, then firmer, his teeth scraping just enough to make me gasp.

“Still want to sass me?” he murmured against my skin.

“Yes.” My voice was defiant, but my body betrayed me, arching up into him.

His chuckle was a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. “Good.” He nipped at my collarbone before lifting his head to look at me. “I like it when you make me work for it.”

I wanted to respond with something sharp, but his hands were already slipping under my hoodie—the hoodie he’d loaned me that first night. The reminder of where we started, of how far we’d come, made my chest tighten.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asked, his hands resting warm and steady against my sides.

I met his gaze, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

“Words, Nicky.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered, the words a quiet promise.

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