Page 30 of Submitting to Daddy
I hit send, and the lie lands like a rock in the pit of my stomach. I’m not okay.
I’m not remotely okay.
Swiping across the screen, I pull up the messages from the unknown number.
UNKNOWN
You didn’t come home the other night
Where were you, Madison?
I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are and what you’re doing.
I’m watching you very closely, little girl.
My stomach drops, and my chest heaves, a wave of nausea building in the base of my throat, at the cold truth staring me in the face from behind the glow of the screen. The high of last night—of Cillian—evaporates like mist under the heat of daylight. I stare at the messages before me, and the weight of what I’ve done settles heavily in my chest. My fingers curl around the phone, white-knuckled, as my pulse ticks louder in my ears.
I barely remember who I was before Cillian King touched me—before he buried himself inside me and made me his in away that no man had before him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.Hewasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve made mistakes before—cold, calculated ones. But this? This is different. I can’t just up and walk away from this. This mistake has a heartbeat and consequences that could destroy us both.
After sliding into the driver’s seat, I fire off a quick text as the engine purrs beneath me.
On my way. I’ll be there in 20. We’re having dinner with my family. Anything you want to wear is fine.
Her response buzzes before I can even shift into reverse.
MADISON
My face…
I don’t want to go out in public yet.
I figured as much. Skin the shade of muddled berries clings to her jaw—a reminder of the hands that madethe mistake of touching her. It’ll be at least a few more days before it fades enough that makeup could cover it.
I know. My place. Enzo is cooking.
I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll drag you out naked over my shoulder if I have to.
She opens the door the moment I knock. She’s wearing a dark teal summer dress—the kind that clings just enough to hint at her amazing curves beneath it. The thin shoulder straps dip to the low but tasteful V, displaying just a hint of cleavage. It cinches at her waist, and the hem brushes below her knees. Her hair is loose and tousled—messy in the perfect way—and shielding some of the bruising on her face. She looks effortlessly gorgeous, and it almost takes my breath away.
Not bothering with pleasantries, I roughly pull her into me and kiss her. Not just a kiss. I claim her mouth with mine, slow and deep, until I feel her melt against me. Her fingers curl around my collar like she’s trying to ground herself. She pulls back, breaking our kiss with a look in her eyes I can’t quite place. “We should go,” she mutters, breathlessly.
I can’t argue with her—even if something about this feels off—because if we don’t leave, we’re seconds from being back in her bed.
The ride to my place is quiet. Too quiet. Madison stares out the window, eyes distant, as the city passes in a blur of lights. Something’s definitely different from when I left her early this morning. I can feel it in the way she’s struggling to hold my gaze. I keep one hand on the wheel and place the other on her thigh.
“You okay, firecracker?” I keep my voice low. Barely looking at me,she gives a small shrug. I try again, softer this time. “Talk to me. You can tell Daddy anything.”
That gets a reaction. She lets out a soft breath and turns her face slightly my way. She forces a smile. “I’m fine,” she says quickly—tooquickly. “Really. It’s nothing. I’m just tired.” I watch her as I drive. Her eyes flicker to the passing lights, and her fingers tap lightly against her thigh, nervously, distracted—or both.
I fight the urge to press further as we pull into the parking garage. Her fingers lace with mine as I help her from the car, and she falls against my side—everything suddenly feeling right again.
Enzo went all-out. The penthouse smells like garlic and slow-simmered tomatoes when we step through the door. So good, you’d think we’d walked into his nonna’s house. The kitchen table is already set with thick white plates, stemless wine glasses, and linen napkins none of us ever bother using. In the center, there’s linguine tossed in a silky pomodoro sauce with fresh basil and shaved parmesan, crispy veal cutlets accompanied by lemon wedges, roasted zucchini bathed in garlic butter, and a loaf of crusty bread.
Eavan kisses my cheek before dragging Madison into a hug.Madison hugs her back without hesitation, but there’s tension in her shoulders as we all take our seats around the table.
Nikolai raises his glass. “Christ. I thought this was just dinner, not a wedding feast.”
“You’re welcome,” Enzo mutters, sitting down and grabbing the bottle to refill his glass.
