Page 24 of Meow

“Good girl,” he pants, voice gravel-dry now. His palm slaps my ass, hard enough to sting but gentle compared to the bite on my hip. “Gonna breed that tight little womb. Gonna see you swollen.”

A wet chuckle vibrates against my skin as he slumps forward, forehead pressed to mine.

I sag against him, trembling not just from my climax but the weight of his possession—cum coating us both, my thighs slick with evidence of how deep he’s buried himself. His fingers probe between my folds, spreading his warmth back inside me.

“Still full,” he grins, teeth gleaming. “My mark stays.”

My legs tremble like wet paper, clinging to him for balance.

“All of this…” His fingers trail down my spine, trembling now, as if even his strength can’t outlast the aftershock. “All of this belongs to me. Now and forever, little kitty.”

I sag against the sofa, lungs burning.But he’s already hauling me into his lap, his still-hard length against my ass. His pulse thrums under my palm where it rests on his chest—a storm trying to slow down.

I’m boneless and breathless. The pain’s receded to a dull ache, but I’m too sated to mind.

“You okay?” His voice is rough, reverent almost, as his thumb brushes away sweat from my temple.

I nod, catching the faint outline of half-moons where my nails bit into his chest earlier. “Better than okay,” I tease, though my smile wobbles.

He snorts, tugging me tighter against him. Then, softer, so soft—he says it, the words slipping out like a confession even alpha gods aren’t supposed to make. “I love you, Kitten.”

I press my lips to his shoulder, heart pounding. Now there’s velvet and sweat and this impossible ache between us—a brand hotter than any burn. “I think I loved you the moment you rescued me.”

“Rescued you?”

“From Miss Pinch-nose,” I say, and smirk as I add, “I love you, Daddy.”

Chapter Eight

Tabby

Istand at my bedroom window, stretching deliberately to make my top ride up, wondering where Duffield hid his cameras. He installed them yesterday himself, while Nana and I were doing cat box duty.

It was a fun Friday night. After our time at work, mostly spent in his office behind the new blinds he had installed, he took me to his place. There, the sex festivities continued, but that wasn’t all. It was also a bath and a foot massage.

Fresh juice he had delivered to rehydrate me and help my poor little cock-battered body heal from the intrusion of his baseball-bat dick.

Incredible what a body can take. We are mismatched in so many ways, but we fit together perfectly.

That was fully sealed in my heart when we entered his penthouse and I met Seymour and Delilah, his cats.

They don’t just each have their own rooms with climbing walls and automatic feeders and cat box cleaners. They have awhole terrace, with real grass and some military-grade webbing that makes sure they can feel like they are outdoors without ever escaping and putting themselves in danger.

It was incredible seeing how the other half lives, but all that from a pet food chain? He’s got to be a billionaire from what I saw, and yeah, Bark and Purr is a great store and all, but doesn’t seem to be the entirety of what might be supporting that sort of lifestyle.

He acquiesced to Nana’s directive that I would be here one more night. They had some sidebar conversations that neither would explain when I asked, but after last night, the word on the street is, I won’t be sleeping here again.

A pinch of sadness squeezes around my heart at that.

Nana and I have been peas and carrots for so long. How will she feel without me here? Am I abandoning her? Especially with the stupid Mortons next door and their ridiculous ordinance proposal up for vote on Monday with the city council.

Duffield is sending over cat carriers for Butterbean, Misty, and Gumball. Nana tried to be strong when we talked about which cats would stay where, but Duffield assured her she would have full access to visit them anytime, then grumbled about her not staying in this house at all anymore, but she would hear none of that.

This is her home, she fought for it, paid for it... She can’t help that the neighborhood has turned all gentrified and polished. The conversation then turned to the Mortons, and it took all the sugar-coating and begging I could muster to keep Duffield from marching over there and doing some damage to them that would likely get him fifteen to life.

When he finally left last night at Nana’s order so we could have one last night of popcorn and Yellowstone—she has a hard thing for Rip—he said he would be watching me. So, why not give him a show?

Besides, I'm wearing my cat ears. Without them, I feel exposed in ways even nudity doesn't touch.

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