Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
My mind spins, caught off guard. "But I thought—"
He lays a finger against my lips, silencing me. "It's time to sleep now. We'll play again after you rest. Close those pretty green eyes, little girl." His voice is soft, yet there's no mistaking the command.
I can't help but obey, my eyelids fluttering shut as I sink deeper into the bed beneath him—and deeper into trust. His arms are a fortress around me, strong and secure.
In this moment, I'm untouchable.
No. I'm his.
Chapter Four
Carver
The sizzle of bacon fills the kitchen as I flip it over, golden and crispy just how Lena said she likes it. Personally, I prefer mine burnt. But what my little angel wants, she gets.
She's perched in a chair at the table, her green eyes wide as she watches me cook for her. Those eyes have been on me all morning. She's fucking adorable, staring like she can't look away.
"What's your favorite color?" she asks, tilting her head to one side. She's been doing that all morning too, peppering me with questions as if she's determined to learn every single thing there is to know about me.
I guess that's what I get for not letting her come before I hauled her out of bed to feed her. She's much more docile after she's had an orgasm. But if I'm going to be her daddy, I'm going to do it right. As much as I want to fuck her every moment of the day, her needs come before my own.
"Black," I reply, cracking eggs into the hot pan.
"Like your soul?" she teases, making me chuckle.
"Exactly like my soul, little angel." The edges of the eggs bubble up, and I flip them, letting them cook for another minute or two.
She bounces in her seat, eager for another tidbit. "And your favorite food?"
"Anything you eat straight from my hand," I say, giving her a hot look.
She gulps, blushing as her gaze drifts from mine. But the smile dancing at her lips tells me she loves that answer.
I have a feeling no one has ever taken care of her the way she deserves. She laps up any little bit of attention as if she's starving for it. I'm guessing her grandfather has been too busy building his empire to notice that she requires a soft hand and a softer toucher. That pisses me off.
"You mentioned that you have a cousin," I say, trying to learn more about her. "Are you two close?"
"He's my best friend," she chirps. "Our grandfather raised us both, so he's basically my older brother."
"What happened to your parents, pretty angel?" I slide the eggs onto a plate, next to the bacon and two slices of buttered toast.
"Plane crash," she says quietly, and my fucking heart clenches. "They were flying back from New York and the plane got hit by lightning. Everyone on board died."
"Jesus," I mutter.
"I barely remember them," she whispers. "I was just little. It was harder for Dalton. He was thirteen. He remembered his parents."
"His parents were on the plane too?"
She bobs her head in a nod. "Gramps took us both in and raised us both. He could have hired nannies or let us go to foster care, but he raised us himself, said it's what our parents would have wanted."
Maybe the old man isn't so bad, after all. Foster care is no place for a sweet little thing like her. I know from experience. I grew up that way.
"He and your cousin don't get along?" I ask, removing the hot pan from the burner.
"They do, but he's set in his ways," she says softly. "And Dalton is just as stubborn. Gramps expects him to marry before he takes over the company, and Dalton doesn't agree with this plan. So…fireworks." She grimaces, her nose scrunching. "Lots and lots of fireworks."
"Ah," I say. No wonder she wanted to escape. I wouldn't want to be caught in the middle of that shitstorm, either. Trying to force a man to get married before he's ready? That's a goddamn hornet's nest.
"What about you?" she asks.
"I'm not taking over a company, little angel," I tease, carrying our plate to the table.
She huffs an adorable breath. "I meant your family, Carver. Where are they? Are you close? What do they do?"
"They eat breakfast when it's ready instead of asking so many questions," I say, not sure I have the heart to tell her how I grew up. Her world and mine are light years apart. She's a pretty little princess. I'm the fucking pauper who doesn't deserve to put his filthy hands on her. I have no family, no home, and no roots. All I've ever had was whatever family wanted the check they got for keeping me for a while, and then the military.
She bounces up out of her seat with a little squeak, scurrying around the table toward me. Her soft body molds to mine as I drag her down onto my lap.