Page 40 of Watch Me, Daddy

When he finally pulled away, my whole body was simmering with heat.

“I’m looking forward to teaching you a lesson tonight,” he said, his gaze searching mine for a long moment, as if he was looking to see whether or not I wanted it along with him.

“Me too, Daddy,” I answered, unable to stop myself from smiling a tiny bit with anticipation. With a soft kiss to my forehead, he turned around and left the closet. The room felt empty without him, and I quickly picked out an outfit to change into.

I slipped into a pair of well-worn, faded denim jeans that fit me just right, the soft fabric embracing my curves with a sense of familiarity. Tying a loose knot in the hem of a vintage graphic tee, I reveled in the way the soft cotton brushed against my skin. A cozy, oversized cardigan in a muted shade of gray completed the ensemble, its warmth cocooning me as I fastened a few of the buttons. With a final touch, I laced up a pair of scuffed leather ankle boots and walked out of the bedroom, feeling confident and sexy and comfortable all at the same time.

As instructed, I kept my pussy bare, feeling delightfully naughty to not be wearing anything beneath my jeans.

Descending the stairs, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and fluffy pancakes filled the air, beckoning me to the kitchen. Aidan stood by the stove, a picture of focused concentration, as he expertly flipped a pancake with a practiced hand. The rhythmic sizzle of bacon in the skillet filled the air. My mouth watered at the sight before me—golden-brown pancakes stacked high, their edges slightly crisp, and a plate of perfectly cooked eggs, the yolks a vibrant, inviting orange.

I was going to enjoy this.

I settled into a chair at the table, my gaze still lingering on the spread before me, when an unexpected sound shattered the peaceful morning—the loud chime of a doorbell. Aidan and I exchanged startled glances, his stark surprise reflected in his eyes. I knew that he had taken every precaution to keep our whereabouts a secret, yet the sudden intrusion sent a jolt of unease through the air.

From what he’d told me, we weren’t expecting company.

“Stay here. If you hear anything suspicious, run out the back door into the woods. I’ll find you,” he stated, his tone deadly serious. There was no playfulness in his voice now. This was a directive meant to be obeyed.

His movements were swift and deliberate as he stepped away from the stovetop, his stance shifting into one of controlled readiness. With a glance in my direction, his eyes held a silent promise, a reassurance that he would protect us both.

“Okay,” I breathed. I grabbed the steak knife, a bit relieved by the sharp serrated edge.

I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

With a curt nod, he showed that he understood.

CHAPTER12

Aidan

My heart raced as I crept out of the kitchen and into the living room, a sense of urgency pulsating through my veins like a live wire. With each step I took, my movements were deliberate, masking the nervous tension that coiled within me. Along the way, I veered slightly, my hand instinctively reaching for the concealed compartment where I knew I’d stashed a weapon. The cold, unyielding metal felt familiar against my touch, and the desire to shield Irina from it burned like a fierce flame within me.

The gun’s weight was both reassuring and foreboding as I approached the front door, the seconds stretching like taut strings of anticipation. My fingers curled tighter around the weapon, and I leaned forward enough to peer out of the window. Immediately, my heart skipped a beat as recognition flooded through me.

It was Irina’s father, Maxim Morozov.

Oh. Fuck.

A rush of anxiety washed over me, threatening to swamp my resolve as I stared at Maxim’s imposing figure beyond the door. My mind raced through scenarios of possibilities. By sheer force of will, I reined in my emotions, reminding myself of the control I had cultivated over the years. Irina’s safety was paramount, and I couldn’t afford to succumb to panic.

With a deep breath, I straightened my spine, my grip on the doorknob firm and unwavering. I could almost hear the drumming of my own heart, a steady rhythm beneath the cacophony of uncertainty. Composing myself, I opened the door, my expression a mask of calculated calm as I met his unflinching gaze.

The seconds stretched out in a silent exchange of unspoken tension as we locked eyes.

“Morozov,” I acknowledged with a controlled nod, allowing my voice to carry a modicum of detachment. Inside, my instincts screamed to protect, to defend, but I held my ground, my mask one of complete composure. I held onto it like a vice.

“Aidan Murphy,” he nodded.

“Come in. Irina and I were just about to have breakfast.”

I stepped back, my gaze never leaving Maxim’s piercing eyes as I allowed him to enter the house. The weight of his presence seemed to fill the room. His steps were measured, his movements a careful mix of power and authority. As he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, his eyes landed on Irina, and I saw a flicker of something—surprise, concern, perhaps even a trace of relief—flash across his features.

Irina sat at the table, her expression a mask of apprehension and curiosity. Her gaze flitted between Maxim and me, uncertainty etching lines on her forehead. I could feel her tension radiating across the room, a palpable energy that mirrored my own unease. Maxim’s attention settled on her, and for a brief moment, I saw a softening in his stern countenance.

“Father,” Irina’s voice broke the silence, and I detected a note of vulnerability beneath her composed exterior. She swallowed hard and looked from me to him again. A pink glow painted her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze as she placed the knife she’d had clutched in her fist back on the table.

“I’m so glad to see you’re alright,” he breathed.

---