Page 94 of Daddies Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies)
My back arches from the sharp pleasure.
Oliver is so different in the way he takes me. Still, he keeps total control over me, but it’s the quiet kind. The kind where every move is meant to dominate me.
When I find the strength to lift my hands and brush my fingers across his ribs, he tips, bracing on one elbow to cover my throat with his palm. A firm press, enough to make my eyelids flutter, and it mixes with the grinding thrusts of his hips. My pleasure has me at his mercy.
Oliver’s gaze never leaving mine, he is with me every second, watching, gauging, holding me down. He unearths new levels ofbliss like the hunter he is. He only asks one thing of me—not to fight my response.
So I don’t. I’m open and bare. Raw around my heart. I need him to soothe it.
There’s only one way. And because I give him what he wants, he reciprocates, letting me see the pleasure as it takes him over.
He tightens his grip, and I’m spiked through with the rush of an oncoming orgasm. He gives me his fervor, his need, the most he ever lets himself lose control, and we crash together.
Oliver takes a moment to savor me, before I’m handed around again until sleep begins to take a firm grasp on my overactive brain.
They carry me to the shower, keep me upright in the spray. I’m not sure who asks if I want to get my hair wet, but it’s with a bleary laugh that I say yes. I need a full wash, even if I can’t control a single muscle in my body.
They’re thorough with me, but gentle, and I come again with someone washing my hair.
34
OLIVER
I’ve set up a single means of communication for this guy to get a hold of us. Of Harper specifically.
It didn’t take many words for the three of us to come to that conclusion while we watched her sleep. Working her to exhaustion was the only way to let her sink into it and properly rest. That woman’s mind gets wound up too tightly.
I sit across the room as she snuggles up to Grant’s side in bed. She looks so innocent there. It’s the softest she ever looks. All the attitude and brattiness has vanished. Instead, she just looks vulnerable.
Or maybe that’s because I know she’s the intended target of a traitor. And he’s going to try to get to her first. Lure her out. Put her in danger.
Fury strangles my breath when I think of whoever this man is hurting her.
It’s worse that I know he’s one of our men, but I can’t pinpoint who.
I want to put a bullet in the man’s head before he comes close to Harper.
Trent is prowling the grounds of the safe house, leaving the room abnormally quiet, even with the soft breathing across the room.
An oil heater hums to life between us, adding to the low thrum of the computers I have set up to allow contact and track said contact when it occurs.
Instead of staring at Harper through a screen, I enjoy tracking the way her chest rises and falls from feet away. Although, strangely, I’ve found that watching her when she’s sleeping next to me is all the more pleasurable.
Feeling her is more pleasurable. Calming. Sometimes, I actually sleep.
Such a novelty for me.
Sleep has never been my friend, and that served me well in Afghanistan.
The comm I set up blinks once—soft but bright enough to punch through the dark.
Incoming transmission. Harper’s line. I’m proven right. This traitor wants Harper.
“Grant.” I barely say his name, and he opens his eyes. No jerking upright, no twitching, just awareness.
I gesture to the comms.
“Harper,” his voice is low, soft, but she still wakes with a start. She’s not made for this kind of situation. Smart, yes. Determined, yes. Strong, yes. But no one has ever tried to kill her before.
