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Just as her wanting to go down on me, her liking the things I did to her, too.
And the lust, the like recognizing like, grinds the excuses into nothing more than dust.
“Fina died—horribly—because her life wasn’t deemed important, not like a rich girl’s life.”
“Not my fault,” she whispers.
“It doesn’t have to be. Feelings don’t make sense.”
“So, that’s it?” she asks.
“That’s it.”
“You don’t want me is the bottom line.” Dakota rises. “You don’t need to like me, and maybe I’m as horrible as you say. But I’ve got a couple of things going for me. I want you. And I’m alive.”
I don’t say a word.
“Good night, Daddy.”
I close my eyes as she leaves and take another swallow of the rum she handed back.
Fuck.
I cap it, set it down, and make my way below deck. Then I knock on her door.
She rips it open, rage glittering in her harsh gaze.
“I never said I didn’t want you, baby girl. Because I do. Way too fucking much.”
EIGHTEEN
dakota
“You want me?”
I can barely get the words out. I grip the door handle, the boat pitching as we hit a rough patch of deep ocean waves. I stare up at him, my heart pumping hard where it’s lodged in my throat.
“Yes.”
He holds my gaze and my bones turn liquid as heat licks me inside. It makes me tingle, vibrate, ache, right between my thighs.
I know he wants me, but this is something else. Something different. He’s admitting something I never knew I hungered for. He’s rough, hard, and not the kind of man I’ve thought about in this way.
If I’ve ever thought of anyone this way.
But I know I haven’t. And he’s admitting the one thing I need to hear.
He wants that deep, personal connection, one that’s caught up in desire and need and lust. One that assuages all the itches and aches inside.
I want him to command me, tell me what to do. But I want a softer touch that comes along with the game. I want him dark, terrifying, commanding, but I need him loving and coddling and proud of his little girl. I want him to parade me around as his.
He wants that, too. That’s what he’s admitting. Maybe he doesn’t want the exact game I do, but he wants to possess, to own, to control, and to command. He wants to dominate me.
I’ve never played these kinds of games. But there’s an instinct that runs through me, one that urges me to step aside, lower my head, and say, “I want you, too, Daddy. Desperately. Let me be your good little girl.”
“I don’t think you can.” He pushes me against the wall, the breath rushing from me as he holds me in place with a hand at the base of my throat.
After kicking the door shut, he raises my chin with a finger. And the hunger, fire, and savagery in his eyes scrapes along my senses in the best of ways, right down to my clit.
