Page 68 of Her Possessive Daddies

ABBIE

Istare at myself in the mirror, my chest still rising and falling like I’ve just sprinted a mile. My cheeks are flushed, my lips slightly swollen, and my eyes—God, my eyes look wild, like I’ve just done something I shouldn’t have. Because Ihave. Donovan’s hands, his voice, the way his eyes looked like he wanted to devour me—it’s all replaying in my head on a loop. My legs are still trembling, and I can feel the slickness between my thighs, a reminder of how quickly he’d undone me.

“What the crap is wrong with you?” I whisper to my reflection, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at the smudged eyeliner under my eyes. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely fix my makeup. “You’re in Corey’s house. Corey, who’s been nothing but sweet to you. And you just let his best friend—hisbest friend—finger fuck you in the hallway like some kind of… I don’t even know what.”

I wince as I clean myself up, my mind racing. I should feel guilty. Idofeel guilty. But there’s this other part of me, this part I didn’t even know existed, that’s buzzing with excitement. Donovan’s touch, his words—they’re still echoing in my head, and I replay the moment. The way he’d pinned me against the wall, his breath hot against my ear, the way he’d told me to be quiet, to be good. And I had been. I’d been so, so fucking good.

“Stop it,” I hiss at myself, tossing the tissue into the trash. “You’re not some character in a romance novel. This is real life. And in real life, you don’t let your boyfriend’s best friend finger you in the hallway while your other… whatever Seth is… sits downstairs drinking wine.”

I brace myself for what waits for me downstairs. My heart is still racing. I splash some cold water on my face, hoping it’ll snap me out of whatever trance I’m in. It doesn’t. All I can think about are Donovan’s hands, his lips, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

I smooth down my dress and check my reflection one last time. I look… normal. Or as normal as I can look after what just happened. My cheeks are still pink, but I can blame that on the wine. My lips are a little swollen, but maybe no one will notice. And if they do, well, I’ll just have to come up with an excuse.

I take another deep breath and open the bathroom door, stepping out into the hallway. The sound of laughter drifts up from downstairs, and for a moment, I just stand there, listening. Corey’s deep voice, Seth’s easy laugh, Donovan’s low rumble. It’s all so… normal. Like nothing happened. Like I didn’t just let Donovan—God, I can’t even think it without my stomach flipping.

I force myself to walk down the stairs, my heels clicking against the hardwood. My legs are still shaky, and I have to grip the railing to keep myself steady. When I reach the bottom, Corey is standing there, a smile spreading across his face.

"Everything okay?" Corey's hand settles on my waist, warm and steady, his touch sending an involuntary shiver through my body. "You were up there for a while."

"Just freshening up." My voice comes out higher than usual, almost squeaky. I try to regain some semblance of composure. "Your house is so big, I almost got lost. The hallways all look the same after a while."

He chuckles, his hand softly massaging my back as he guides me toward the dining room. The gesture would normally be comforting, but right now it only adds to my anxiety. "I should have given you the grand tour first. I was worried you might have gotten overwhelmed. This is all... a lot, I know."

If he only knew what had actually overwhelmed me. Donovan stands by the wine cabinet, pouring another glass like nothing happened. Like his fingers weren't just inside me five minutes ago, like he hadn't reduced me to a trembling mess against the bathroom door. My cheeks burn hotter, and I have to fight not to touch my still-sensitive skin where his stubble had scraped against my neck.

"No, no. I'm fine." I force a smile, hoping it doesn't look as fake as it feels, praying they can't see how my lipstick is slightly smudged despite my best efforts to fix it. "Just needed a moment to... make sure I was presentable." The lie tastes razor sharp on my tongue, but it's better than the truth.

Seth raises his glass as we move toward the living room. "Welcome back, princess. Thought we'd lost you up there."

I follow Corey silently, hyperaware of Donovan's presence in the room. A pang of guilt churns inside, mixing with the lingering arousal that won't seem to fade.

"The food smells amazing," I say, desperate to change the subject. To think about anything else besides what just happened upstairs. Besides how much I wanted it to happen again.

Corey beckons me to follow with a gentle wave of his hand. "Come on, let me introduce you to my son." His voice carries that familiar warmth I've grown accustomed to, making the invitation impossible to refuse.

My stomach does a little flip as we round the corner into the foyer.. The massive front door stands open, revealing two figures silhouetted against the deep purple evening light, their shadows stretching long across the threshold.

"Abbie, I'd like you to meet my son Chandler, and his date Mara." Corey's words hit me like a physical blow, and suddenly I can't breathe.

The wine glass slips from my trembling fingers against my will, shattering against the marble floor with a crash that seems to echo through the entire house. Icy liquid splashes across my ankles and the hem of my dress, but I barely notice the warm wetness seeping into my skin.

There, standing in Corey's doorway like some twisted nightmare come to life, is my ex-boyfriend. The same Chandler who dumped me for being "boring" not too long ago. The same Chandler who said I wasn't fun enough, wasn't outgoing enough, wasn't enough, period. The same Chandler who's now staring at me with his mouth hanging open, those familiar blue eyes wide with shock. Next to him stands a tall, willowy blonde who must be Mara, looking between us with growing confusion.

"Holy fucking shit."

34

COREY

Abbie’s nails dig into my arm like she’s trying to anchor herself to the floor. Her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open, and she breathes out, “Holy fucking shit.”

Chandler’s face goes from pale to beet red faster than I’ve ever seen. He’s staring at her like he’s just seen a ghost, and not the kind that disappears when you blink.

“Abbie?” His voice cracks, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound this unsure of himself. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Her grip tightens, and I feel her pulse racing through her fingertips. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at him like she’s trying to decide if this is real or some twisted nightmare.

“You two know each other?” I ask, my voice calm, but my brain is already rewriting the last few weeks in my head, scrambling to make sense of the pieces. And I don't like what I'm coming up with.

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