Page 41 of Daddies Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies)
Her behavior has always intrigued me. Bratty. Combative. Needy. But her emotional empathy is highly tuned, and she can shift to meet the needs of the people around her. The people she cares for. The people influencing her life.
Hair falls from behind her ear, the loose ponytail hangs low at the back of her head, and my fingers itch to tuck those loosestrands back into place. Not that I particularly want her to be neat and put together.
No…when I allow myself to imagine touching her, she never stays tidy for long.
Grant waits with arms crossed, and she mimics his stance, only letting her gaze shift when Trent walks around her to go up the stairs with her suitcase and bag.
I forget how small she is when I’m watching her through a screen. But seeing her stand against Grant reminds me of how she has to puff herself up to match her big personality.
She takes up so much space with her attitude, but any of us could easily toss her over our shoulders, tuck her under us, control her body… That burn deepens.
We would do a much better job than any of her previous conquests have. We’d take care of her body and her soul and give her not only what she wants but what she seems to crave. We can give her a little debauchery.
Does Grant know what she’s into? Does Trent?
“Let me show you around.” Grant’s low timbre engages her frown. His even tone often disarms or terrifies others.
Everything that would scare a normal person seems to light Harper up. “Time for a tour of my jail cell?”
“Come with me, Harper.”
When he turns to go, she shoots a look my way before she follows.
Yes, you naughty girl, I’m still here. Watching. I won’t interfere or intervene, but I will certainly enjoy the show.
Part of me wants to follow them. To lurk and watch. Or to pull up our in-house feed.
Instead, I climb the stairs and meet Trent in Harper’s designated room.
I’ve already been in here to set up a few strategically placed cameras.
Trent turns from setting down her things by the bed and cocks his head to the side. “Not done setting up in here yet?”
“You found something while you were there.”
He raises a brow, and I gesture for him to hand it over.
“Watching us to be sure I had her?”
What a stupid, prodding question. Of course I was watching. I’m always watching. I gesture for it again, and he simply shakes his head before proffering it to me.
It’s a small journal. One of those pocket-sized ones she likes to write in while at work.
I lift it to my nose and take a deep breath. Faux leather, bleached paper, and the soft notes of her sweet perfume.
Half of the pages are used, giving the book a lopsided but pleasantly used feel.
A few pages are bent over at the corner, and I run my thumb over them. “Did you read this?”
“Not yet.” Our gazes meet and hold. I know he found it. I know he wants to read it, but my hands are locked on the journal. I have dig through every intimate thought she’s written down. Every little dirty fantasy.
“She left it in her nightstand. She meant to take it. Changed her mind.”
“No. She wanted you to find it.” Did she want him to take it? Want to give him a reason to make the last move in the tug-of-war they’re playing? It’s likely.
“You think she’s baiting us?”
“I think she’s smarter than we’ve given her credit for.”
