Page 23 of Daddy's Rules

Jesus. I deserve my aching, heavy balls with no end to my misery in sight. I yank open the bathroom door and try to quell my temper. It isn’t her fault I’m a dumbass. But my hopes that she’s distracted vanish when I nearly collide into her.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide as she jumps back so we don’t smash into each other. “I was looking for a hamper for dirty clothes...” Her voice trails off when her gaze falls to my bare chest. She swallows hard.

“You work out,” she blurts, causing her ears to flush pink. Clearly embarrassed, she looks down and in a flash looks back up finding a spot on the wall to stare.

Damn, she’s cute.

“Yes,” I say, biting the side of my mouth to keep from smiling at how frigging adorable she is. “Weights do a body good.”

“Why, yes... uh, they do,” she says breathily, before she slams her mouth shut as if she regrets saying anything. I want to gather her up in my arms and kiss her for being so endearing. I want to ravage that pretty, pouty mouth of hers and swallow her moans. I want to lay her down in that bed and make her beg, cry out in pleasure, and howl my name. I want to pull her onto my chest and hold her there, protected and cared for, while her carnal tremors ease. I want to wake up in the morning with her tucked into my side, her breathing slow and steady because in the deepest, most subconscious part of her mind, she knows she’s safe, secure, and loved.

Instead, I stalk past her and gesture to the bathroom. “Hamper’s in there,” I tell her. “Now get some sleep, young lady.” Obediently, quietly, she tosses her dirty clothes in the hamper, then heads to the bed. I want to tuck her in and kiss her head, but getting near her is too dangerous. My self-control is waning.

“What time do you get up in the morning?” she asks, blinking innocently at me. My throat goes dry. My t-shirt has tightened against her breasts and her nipples are clearly visible. Chewy little gumdrops begging to be sucked. Fuck!

I shrug. “It’s Saturday, so whenever I feel like it.”

“Okay. Well, I do early morning yoga, and I don’t want to wake you.”

Honey, you can wake me anytime you want. Hell, I doubt I’ll sleep.

I swallow. “Sure. Yeah, all good. As long as it’s not the one they do with tribal drums, I’m sure it’s fine.” She grins, and I wave to her like she’s my neighbor and not the woman I’m in love with. Stifling an inward groan, I head to my living room. Fucking pert pink gumdrops.

It’s too quiet. And yet, the clock in the kitchen ticks like a gong, and the refrigerator hums like a muscle car. I try to get comfortable, but the couch was not meant for a full-grown man of my height. I swear there are springs in this thing that could be used as torture devices and what the hell is that smell? I toss and turn and finally fall into a fitful night’s sleep but I’m plagued with weird dreams about musty socks and sleeping on a pile of lumpy clothes. I wake a few times and listen, but hear nothing from my bedroom. I fall back into slumber, only to wake at daybreak. I forgot to pull the shade last night. Groaning, I pull the pillow over my head but it does no good. I’m wide awake and exhausted. I toss the pillow, eyeing it with malice. How can down feel like rocks? Sitting up, I rub my face and listen for movement in my bedroom.

She’s awake. I glance at the clock. It’s six a.m. She must be doing her early morning yoga. This I want to see.

I rise, yawning, and stretch with my arms high above my head. Quietly, so I don’t disturb her, I go to the doorway of my room.

God, she’s beautiful. Her hair’s all tousled and gorgeous in a messy bun. Her face is serene and at peace as she lays on the carpeted floor with her hands in front of her and chin facing heavenward. I know shit about yoga, but assume she’s doing something at the end of her routine, since her body’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat and this looks like some sort of cool down or something. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing in and out with deep, focused breaths.

My t-shirt swims on her, but it rides up in the back, revealing the perfect curve of her ass covered in sheer pink. My cock swells and I swallow hard. I should walk away. I should pretend I never saw her. That I don’t want to lift that t-shirt even higher and run my hands along the curves of her hips, her abdomen, and the fullness of her breasts as they hang heavy.

With the effort of a Tibetan monk, I turn away but her voice captures me.

“Owen? I mean, Daddy.” She sounds both surprised and amused. So much for escaping.

“Yeah, baby?” I look at her.

“Come join me?”

I want to join her alright, but not by sitting on the floor and facing the earth or whatever the fuck.

“I was just gonna make some coffee,” I tell her, turning away again. And I think I’m actually going to walk away—that I have the power to resist her when her sweet siren’s voice pulls me back.

“I’m just doing one more move before I shower. You can handle one move, can’t you?”

It’s all I need for permission to go to her. I enter my room and sit on the floor when she pats the carpet.

“Have you ever done yoga before?” she asks.

“Yeah, no.”

Her pretty eyes smile at me. “You said yesterday it’s important to keep your body in shape.”

“That I did, little girl.”

Her smile widens. “Well, then...”

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