Page 46 of Hero Daddy

"Hungry?" I asked, opening the refrigerator to survey our options. The adrenaline from competing had long since faded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness coupled with anunexpected sense of accomplishment. My body ached in places I hadn't known could ache, each twinge a reminder of how hard I'd fought, how far I'd pushed myself.

"For food?" Chad's voice came from directly behind me, closer than I'd expected. His hands settled on my hips, strong and certain. "Not particularly."

The heat of his palms penetrated my thin leggings, fingertips pressing slightly into the soft flesh with a possession that made my breath catch. I straightened, letting the refrigerator door swing closed as I leaned back against the solid wall of his chest. His breath was warm against my hair, his heartbeat a steady rhythm I could feel through my shoulder blades.

"You were magnificent today," he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. One hand slid from my hip to my stomach, splaying wide across my abdomen in a gesture that was both protective and claiming. "Every time I think I've seen the limits of your courage, you surprise me."

I turned in his arms, needing to see his face, the sincerity I knew would be written there. His gray eyes were dark with an emotion that made heat pool low in my belly—pride, desire, and something deeper I still sometimes couldn't believe was meant for me.

"I couldn't have done it without you," I said, my hands finding his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath his T-shirt.

Chad shook his head slightly, one hand rising to cup my cheek. "You had it in you all along, Daliah. I just helped you find it." His thumb traced the curve of my lower lip, a whisper-light touch that sent electricity skittering across my skin. "Do you have any idea how breathtaking you were on that mat? How powerful? How beautiful?"

Before I could respond, his mouth claimed mine, swallowing whatever words might have formed. The kiss was explosive, nothing like the gentle praise of earlier—this was hunger, rawand demanding. His tongue swept inside, not asking permission but taking what belonged to him. My fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring myself against the storm of sensation as his hands moved to my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter.

He stepped between my parted thighs, the position bringing us flush together, his hard chest against my softer curves. Even through our clothes, I could feel his arousal pressing insistently against me. When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes had darkened to the color of thunderclouds.

"I need you," he growled, his voice dropped to that register that never failed to make my insides melt. "Now."

The single word carried such command that a shiver ran down my spine. This was Chad at his most primal—the disciplined instructor, the controlled Dominant giving way to something more elemental. And it was my strength, my victory that had unleashed it.

He lifted me again, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carried me from the kitchen. We barely made it to the bedroom, his mouth reclaiming mine in hungry kisses that made walking a challenge. My back hit the bedroom wall as Chad pressed me against it, grinding his hips against mine in a way that made me gasp into his mouth.

"These clothes need to go," he muttered, setting me on my feet only long enough to pull my shirt over my head. His eyes devoured the newly exposed skin, lingering on the lace of my sports bra. "All of them."

My fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans, suddenly clumsy with urgency. Chad had no such difficulty—his clothes seemed to melt away, revealing the sculptured planes of his chest, the taut ridges of his abdomen, the powerful thighs I'd wrapped myself around countless times. By the time I'dmanaged to shed my jeans and underwear, he stood gloriously naked before me, his arousal evident and impressive.

"My fighter," he murmured, stepping forward to help with my bra, his fingers unexpectedly gentle despite the hunger in his eyes. When the last scrap of fabric fell away, he took a small step back, his gaze traveling over my body with such raw appreciation that I felt beautiful despite the bruises forming on my hip and shoulder from the day's matches. "My beautiful, fierce girl."

He guided me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, then followed me down as I sank onto the mattress. His larger frame covered mine, his weight braced on forearms planted on either side of my head. The position felt like both protection and possession—he surrounded me completely, yet was careful not to crush me.

"I'm going to worship every inch of you tonight," he promised, his lips trailing down my throat, leaving fire in their wake. "Every strong muscle, every soft curve. Every part of you that fought so bravely today."

His mouth continued its journey southward, paying homage to my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the sensitive peaks that tightened under his attention. Each kiss, each gentle bite seemed to carry a message: You are mine. You are precious. You are strong.

I arched beneath him, shameless in my need, my hands roaming the broad expanse of his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath smooth skin. He moved lower still, his attention shifting to the bruise forming on my hip—a badge of honor from a particularly hard fall during my second match. His lips pressed against it, impossibly tender, then continued their path to the juncture of my thighs.

The first sweep of his tongue against my center had me gasping his name, my fingers tangling in his short hair. He was relentless, skilled, knowing exactly how to build my pleasurewith the same precision he brought to everything. My thighs trembled on either side of his head, my body responding to his expert attention with an eagerness that still sometimes surprised me.

Just as I teetered on the edge of release, he pulled away, rising above me once more. His eyes locked with mine as he positioned himself at my entrance, his length hot and insistent against my slick heat.

"I want to see you," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "I want to watch my strong girl come apart for me."

He pushed forward slowly, filling me with a careful control that belied the hunger in his expression. My body yielded to him, taking him in, adjusting to his substantial size with a familiarity born of frequent lovemaking. When he was fully seated inside me, he paused, his forehead coming to rest against mine in a moment of connection that transcended the physical.

"My Daliah," he breathed, the words almost a prayer. "My brave, beautiful fighter."

Then he began to move, each thrust deliberate and deep, angled perfectly to hit the spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids. I wrapped my legs around his waist, meeting him stroke for stroke, our bodies finding the rhythm we'd perfected over these months together.

Unlike our first time, when he'd been so careful with me, or the times in his discipline room where his dominance had been absolute, tonight felt like a celebration of equal strength. He didn't hold back, and neither did I—we moved together with an athletic intensity, giving and taking pleasure in equal measure.

"That's it," he encouraged when I tightened around him, my release building with each powerful thrust. "Show me, Daliah. Show your Daddy how good you feel."

The combination of his commanding tone and the exquisite fullness of him inside me pushed me over the edge. My orgasmcrashed through me in waves, my body clenching around him as pleasure radiated outward from my core. I cried out his name, my nails digging crescents into his shoulders as I rode the crest of sensation.

Chad followed me moments later, his rhythm faltering as his own release overtook him. He buried himself deep, his body tensing above me, a low groan torn from his throat. The vulnerability in his expression in that moment of ultimate pleasure never failed to move me—this strong, controlled man, undone in my arms.

Afterward, he gathered me against his chest, his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my ear. One hand stroked lazily up and down my spine, the gentle touch a counterpoint to our passionate coupling. In the quiet aftermath, words seemed unnecessary. Our bodies had said everything that mattered—I am yours, you are mine, we are stronger together than apart.

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