Page 90 of Off-Limits Daddy
“You’re ridiculous when you’re injured.”
He reached out, hand sliding over my wrist and up my forearm. “But you love me anyway.”
“I do.” The words came out before I could stop them. Soft. True. “Even when you’re the worst patient in the world.”
He tugged me in closer. “You spoil me.”
“Someone has to.”
“And you’re doing a damn good job of it, baby.”
Daddy watched me like I’d painted the sky. Like every small thing I did—bringing him breakfast, brushing away crumbs, putting the tray on the nightstand—was more beautiful than it had any right to be.
“You take such good care of me, baby.”
My chest tightened. He didn’t say it like it was a passing compliment. He said it like it mattered.
He shifted a little, his hands light on the comforter. “Let me take care of you back.”
That look in his eyes—that heat and gravity wrapped up in something soft—I felt it in my spine.
“You’re on doctor’s orders,” I said, trying for breezy. “Remember?”
Daddy’s mouth tugged into a slow smirk. “It’s only the head on my neck that needs rest.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“It’s your whole damn body, Daddy McStubborn.”
That got him.
His grin widened, lazy and smug, and his voice dipped low. “So come and lie on top of me.”
I stared at him.
He patted his chest—his big, broad, infuriatingly tempting chest—and raised an eyebrow like hedaredme not to.
My resolve didn’t just crack. It folded completely.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered, already tugging my shirt over my head.
Daddy’s eyes darkened.
“Come here, boy.”
I did. Carefully. I helped him ease the soft cotton tee over his head, eyes sweeping over the curve of his chest, the tattoos I’d come to know by heart—lines I wanted to trace with my mouth.
I climbed into the bed, careful of his ribs. He caught my hips and tugged me into place with a quiet, breathless sound that went straight to my gut.
“Slow,” I said. “We go slow.”
He nodded, but his hands said different things. They saidmine. They saidcloser.
I lay down over him—skin to skin, chest to chest, hips flush—and kissed him like I had all day. Kissed him like I’d been holding it in since the ambulance.
His lips were warm and sure, mouth parting easily under mine. I kissed down his jaw, over the tattoo on his collarbone, tasting salt and skin andhim. He let out a low sound when I mouthed along his pec, my tongue tracing the lines of ink like I had every right to worship them.
“That’s my good boy,” he murmured, voice rough with heat.
