Page 37 of Use Me, Daddy

I couldn’t get his threat out of my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I’d never had my ass fucked before…

Of course, I’d had sex before. I wasn’t a virgin. I’d even thought about doing anal with the right person, but the right one had never come into my life. I’d dated around in college and grad school, but nothing ever stuck.

Truth be told, none of them had gotten into my head like Aleksei Morozov had.

No matter how fast I walked, how hard I tried to focus on the cold wind biting at my cheeks, or the sounds of the city buzzing around me, my thoughts kept circling back to Aleksei. To the way he had looked at me, the heat in his eyes that felt like ithad seared right through me. And worse, the way my body had responded to him, betraying me completely.

How I’d let him take me over his knee, spank me, and make me come harder than I’d ever come in my life.

And I couldn’t take any of it back, not even if I wanted to.

Shame and anger twisted inside me, tightening my chest with every step I took. He had played me like a finely tuned instrument, and the worst part was that I had let him.

God, I’dwantedit.

Fuck. I wantedmoreof it.

Even now, the memory of his hands, his voice, the way he had commanded my body so effortlessly… it sent an unwelcome heat flooding through me. How could I have let him break through my walls? How could I have let him do that to me?

I shook my head, quickening my pace as if that would somehow help me outrun the memories of what happened between us.

It was infuriating.

Hewas infuriating.

I was supposed to be smarter than this, stronger than this.

I knew better than to get tangled up with a man like Aleksei, a man who wore power like a second skin and who could unravel me with a single dark look. But no matter how hard I tried to bury it, the truth was there, simmering just beneath the surface: I couldn’t get him out of my head.

By the time I reached my apartment building, my hands were trembling—not from the cold, but from the frustration ofwanting something I knew I shouldn’t. I fumbled with my keys, finally managing to unlock the door, and stepped into the quiet, familiar warmth of my home.

My apartment was small but cozy, filled with things that reminded me of who I was—or at least, who I used to be before I got caught up in whatever this was with Aleksei. The walls were painted a deep, calming green, the color of a hidden forest, with shelves lined with books and small pieces of art I had collected over the years. A few framed photographs dotted the walls.

Home was supposed to be a comfort, but tonight, it really wasn’t.

I kicked off my heels by the door, sighing as my feet hit the cool wood floors, and headed into the kitchen. My stomach growled as I opened the fridge, staring blankly at its contents before pulling out the fixings for a simple pasta. Something quick, something to keep my hands busy while my mind continued to race.

As the water boiled on the stove, I poured myself a generous glass of red wine. I took a long sip, letting the warmth spread through me, trying to drown out the way my skin still tingled from his touch. I wanted to forget the way he’d made me feel, the way he’d peeled back my defenses as if they were nothing.

How I’d called him Daddy…

I wanted to hate him for it, but the truth was… I didn’t. That was the most infuriating part of all.

The pasta boiled over, steam rising in a rush as I hastily turned down the heat, cursing under my breath. I couldn’t let him do this to me. I couldn’t let him take up this much space in my mind. And yet, as I stirred the pot and took another sip of wine, I knew I was already losing that battle.

When my dinner was finally ready, I made myself a plate. As I sat at my kitchen table, I twirled my fork absently through the pasta. The wine helped a little—enough to take the edge off, to drown out the biting sting of embarrassment and the lingering, maddening desire that wouldn’t leave me alone. But it was far from enough to drown him out.

I took another sip of wine, then another, trying to force myself to relax, to forget the way his hands had felt on my skin, the way he’d looked at me like he already owned me.

But it was useless.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel his breath on my ear, the ghost of his touch on my waist, between my thighs, the stinging smack of his hand against my ass, and it sent my stomach fluttering with a mix of rage and something far more dangerous.

Desire for more.

After pushing my half-eaten plate away, I sank deep into the couch, clutching the wineglass as though it could somehow anchor me. I tried to focus on a movie on Netflix instead of him, but it was a losing battle. It was like trying to push back the tide—futile, exhausting, and entirely pointless.

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