Page 30 of Tame Me Daddy

I did, meeting those amber eyes that saw all of me and accepted all of me.

"You're in control here," he said, serious now. "We stop any time you say."

The gift of control in this moment of surrender nearly undid me. I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat, and lifted my hips in silent invitation.

Grant entered me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch and fullness made me gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders to steady myself. He paused, watching my face carefully.

"Okay?" he asked, tension evident in every line of his body as he held himself still.

"More than okay," I assured him, wrapping my legs around his hips to draw him deeper.

He began to move then, setting a rhythm that built slowly. Each thrust was measured, controlled, his focus entirely on my pleasure despite his own need. I marveled at his restraint even as I urged him toward abandon.

"You can let go," I whispered, nipping at his earlobe. "I won't break."

Something flashed in his eyes—a hunger barely leashed. "You sure about that, Baby Girl?"

The question held layers of meaning beyond the physical. Was I sure I could handle all of him—not just the careful lover but the Dom, the man who would push me to my limits while keeping me safe?

"Yes," I said firmly, meeting his gaze. "I'm sure."

The change was subtle but immediate. His thrusts deepened, his hands gripped me more firmly. Not rough, never that, but no longer holding back. The couch creaked beneath us as our bodies moved together with increasing urgency.

I lost myself in the sensation, in the fullness, in the connection that went beyond the physical.

When the tension built again, stronger this time, Grant sensed it. One hand slipped between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that would push me over the edge.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "Let me feel you, Cherry."

The combination of his touch, his voice, and the fullness of him inside me was too much. I broke apart with his name on my lips, waves of pleasure washing through me more intensely than before.

Grant followed shortly after, his rhythm faltering as he buried his face in my neck with a muffled groan. I held him through it, my hands stroking his sweat-dampened back, my legs still wrapped around him.

As our breathing slowed, he shifted to avoid crushing me, but kept me tucked against his side. The leather was warm beneath us, our skin cooling in the quiet office. Grant pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my lips—gentle now, the hunger temporarily sated.

"You okay?" he asked, fingers tracing idle patterns on my hip.

I nodded, too blissfully spent for words. The transformation was complete—from discipline to comfort to this profoundconnection. I'd never felt more fully myself, more fully accepted, than in this moment.

Chapter 5

I woke before my alarm, feeling the soreness in my muscles like a pleasant memory written on my body. Today, I didn't immediately reach for the baby blanket hidden beneath my pillow. Instead, I stretched, savoring the tender spots where Grant's hands had gripped me, claimed me, remade me. My lips still carried the ghost of his kisses, and I traced them with my fingertips, a smile spreading across my face.

Light filtered through my thin curtains, casting patterns across my simple room. I rolled onto my side, hugging my pillow against my chest. Last night felt like a dream—one that had been waiting for me, hiding in the corners of my mind. Grant's voice still echoed in my ears, deep and steady, a hand reaching into the darkest parts of me and pulling them gently into the light.

"Good girl," he'd whispered against my neck as I'd trembled in his arms. Instead of shame, I'd found release. Instead of judgment, I'd found acceptance.

I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the memories. The scent of him—leather, cedar, and something uniquely male—had clung to my skin even after I'd showered. His hands had been rough with calluses but impossibly gentle in their touch. They'd moved across my body with purpose, finding places I didn't know could feel so much. But more than the physical sensations, it was the way he'd looked at me—as if he could see every cracked and broken piece of me and wanted them all.

When it had finally been time to leave, Grant had cupped my face in his hands.

"The ranch wakes early," he'd reminded me, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. "And we should be careful until we decide how to navigate this."

I'd nodded, understanding the practical nature of his concern. A ranch manager involved with a new hand would raise eyebrows,create gossip, potentially undermine my already tenuous position.

"This isn't about shame," he'd continued, reading my thoughts with unsettling accuracy. "This is about giving whatever's happening between us the space to grow without the weight of everyone else's opinions."

"What is happening between us?" I'd asked, my voice smaller than I'd intended.

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