Page 54 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

His mouth captured mine fiercely, swallowing my cries as pleasure crashed through me, intense and overwhelming, leaving me shuddering uncontrollably beneath him. He groaned my name roughly, his hips jerking, thrusting deep one final time as he came, filling me, owning me—sealing every promise he made.

We lay tangled together afterward, chests rising and falling heavily, our bodies slick with sweat, hearts beating in perfect sync. Shooter brushed the damp hair from my forehead, placing soft kisses against my skin, uncharacteristically gentle as he held me tightly, protectively. I wanted to ask what happened while he was gone, wanted to know everything, but before I could even get the words out, he turned me in his arms, cupping my chin so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“I meant what I said. I’ll always come home to you, Parker.”

I pressed my lips to his, smiling softly to myself. “I’m holding you to that, Mr. Mosley.”

PARKER

A Month Later

T h e w a r m t h o fShooter’s body was wrapped around me when I stirred awake, his slow, steady breathing against my neck. I stretched lazily, blinking up at the soft morning light creeping through the penthouse windows. Shooter groaned slightly, his grip tightening as if he could keep me there forever.

“Where you goin’?” he murmured against my shoulder, his voice thick with sleep.

I smirked, shifting just enough to turn in his arms. “I gotta pee.

“What time is it? We got a brunch to get to.”

Déjà vu hit me hard. I thought back to the first time he told me we had a brunch to attend, back when I was still fighting him every step of the way. I had given him the hardest time, dragging my feet, throwing attitude, acting like I was being forced into some arranged marriage.

Now I just sighed dramatically and stretched. “What’s the dress code?”

Shooter chuckled, squeezing my hip. “Dress your ass off like you always do.”

I grinned. “Say less.”

An hour later, I was stepping out of the penthouse in a form-fitting, burnt-orange sweater dress that hugged every curve just right, paired with gold heels and matching accessories. My hair cascaded in soft waves down my back, makeup flawless. Shooter was in a crisp black suit, looking every bit the powerful, dangerous man he was. We were a problem together.

Outside, an awaiting limo was parked, sleek and polished. The driver opened the door for us, and as soon as we slid inside, I noticed the setup: two chilled glasses, an open bottle of champagne, and a small plate of fresh strawberries. My eyes cut to Shooter suspiciously. “Okay… what are you up to?”

His smirk was slow and knowing as he grabbed the bottle and poured us both glasses. “Damn, can’t I just wine and dine my wife?”

I scoffed playfully, taking the glass he offered. “You can, but you being extra smooth right now. What’s the occasion?”

Shooter clinked his glass against mine before leaning back against the seat, his powerful presence filling the space. “Ain’t no occasion. Just wanted to let you know I really fuck with you.” He took a sip, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Our future lookin’ real bright, baby.”

Something warm bloomed in my chest, but I couldn’t help myself. I arched a brow. “Damn, are you getting soft on me?”

Shooter shook his head, a deep chuckle rumbling from his chest. “See? This why I don’t be sayin’ shit. You always got a smart ass mouth.”

I grinned, sipping my champagne. “And yet, here you are. Still stuck with me.” His blue eyes darkened, gleaming with something possessive.

Eventually, the limo slowed, and I glanced out the window in confusion. We weren’t at some fancy restaurant or private club. Instead, we were parked in front of a commercial building, and standing outside were my girls, my father, and Seth, sitting in a wheelchair.

I turned to Shooter. “What’s all this?”

Instead of answering, he stepped out, walked around to my side, and opened the door for me. “Come on.”

Still confused, I let him help me out. My girls were all grinning, looking way too excited, and my father was watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. Shooter pulled something from his pocket and placed it in my hand. It was a set of keys.

My breath caught. “Sebastian… what—”

His gaze burned into mine. “It’s yours.”

I blinked, looking from the keys to the building, realization dawning on me. “This… this is mine?”

Shooter nodded once, his expression unreadable. “Your name’s on the paperwork. Full ownership. No more talkin' about it, no more dreamin' about it. You want a store? It’s yours, baby.”

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