Page 15 of Claimed By Daddy

The smell of Eavan’s shampoo lingers in the air as I step through the open doorway, the subtle mix of honey and something floral I can’t quite place flooding my nostrils as I walk into Cillian’s bedroom. I pause just inside the bathroom, watching as she wraps a white towel around herself. Her back is to me, her copper-red hair clinging to her shoulders in damp waves, and water is still dripping in lazy streams down her porcelain skin.

She turns, catching my gaze tracing over her curves and memorizing every perfect inch of her. She doesn’t shy away—instead, a small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Imatch it and tease, “I still think we could’ve saved water and showered together.”

“I wanted to get clean during my shower. Not dirty.” She smirks, walking past me with an overzealous sway in her hips. It causes the tightly wrapped towel to part slightly, garnering me a peek at her hip. My amusement at her playfulness fades the moment my eyes land on the bruises. Faint—but unmistakable—and scattered like ink dots on her thighs and the curve of her hips. My stomach knots with guilt, knowing I marred her perfect skin.

I reach out, and my fingertips brush over one particularly dark mark about the size of the pad of my thumb. She twitches under my touch, and I’m uncertain whether it’s from pain or surprise. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you, princess?”

She glances down at the bruise I’m tenderly rubbing my thumb over and shrugs. “They don’t hurt. Really,” she insists. “I don’t even know they’re there unless I look in the mirror.” I let my hand fall away—not satisfied, but unwilling to argue about them. Accidental or not, I left them on her, and I hate not knowing if I was too rough with her.

“Get dressed and come downstairs. We need to talk about a few things.”

She stops in her tracks, the towel clutched tighter to her chest, and her brows furrowing, alerting me that my tone might’ve been a little too gruff. “Is something wrong? Because I swear, I’m perfectly?—”

“No, princess.”I lean in and press a soft kiss to her forehead—hoping to comfort her in a way I don’t know how to with words. “Nothing’s wrong. There are just a few things we probably should’ve talked about before we had sex last night.”

“Oh.” The single word sounds more curious than understanding as she blinks at me. “We can talk now. While I get dressed. It’s fine.”

“No. Get dressed,” I repeat, stepping back to give her space even though I don’t want to. This isn’t a conversation we need to have with her naked when my thoughts would be on anything but what we need to talk about. “I don’t like to have to repeat myself,” I gruff walking toward the door. “We’ll talk downstairs. With clothes on. I’ll go make coffee and find us something for breakfast.”

In the kitchen, I pour two mugs of coffee—black for me, cream and too much sugar for her—as she dresses upstairs. By the time she makes her way downstairs and into the kitchen, I’m smearing the last of the jelly over her toast.

She’s fucking radiant—effortlessly. Damp hair twisted into a messy bun on top of her head, my dress shirt hanging off her shoulder, and another pair of black leggings that might as well be painted on.Fuck, I hate how badly I want to touch her again.

Eavan climbs onto the barstool opposite the island from me and eyes the plate I slide toward her. “I’m downstairs. I have clothes on. Can we talk now?” she sasses with dramatics and an exaggerated sigh.

“Such a brat,” I mutter, shaking my head. “And if this weren’t so important, I’d let you knowexactlyhow much I dislike that attitude and sharp tongue of yours.”

Trying to hold my focus, I take a sip of my coffee instead of bending her over the counter and painting her round ass red with handprints. “I don’t trust myself with you,” I admit. “You make me want to do things… risky fucking things. If we’re doing this, there are at least two things we need to be responsible about—a safeword and birth control.” She watches me, chewing on her mouthful of toast and unable to respond. “I’ll run out in a bit and grab condoms,” I add, waiting for her reaction.

She swallows and shakes her head. “You don’t need to.”

“Yes. I do.” I overemphasize each word, my thoughts drifting to how compelled I was—and still am—to come inside her.

“I’ve been on birth control since I was fifteen.” Lifting her borrowed shirt sleeve, she shows me the small scar on her inner arm just above her elbow. “My father had two of his goons with muscle hold me down so a doctor could insert it. Two years ago, they did it again, so it could be replaced with a new one.” She lifts her toast from her plate and leans forward with her elbows on the granite. “He couldn’t be certain he could keep me pure, that the men he kept at my side day and night wouldn’t take advantage of me. But he could damn well make sure to try and pass me off as a virgin bride.”

Her confession throws me. I stare back at her and blink, not certain which part stuns me more—her casual account of the assault or the fact that it occurred at the hands of her ownfather. I see fucking red—heat creeping up the back of my neck and blood turning to lava at the mere thought of someone having the gall to put their hands on her. I could fucking kill him—if I hadn’t already put a bullet in his chest.

“That’s one,” she says, drawing me back from my thoughts. “So… safewords?” Her voice ticks up an octave, the concept clearly foreign to her.

“A safeword,” I correct, pleased she’s taking this seriously. “A single word, or hand signal when you can’t speak, to let me know you’re at your limit. That I’m being too rough or pushing you too far.”

“Wait?” She scrunches her face in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be able to speak?”

I try to hold back my chuckle at her naivety. “It’s hard to speak when you have a cock buried deep in your throat. Among other reasons.” Her eyes blow wide at my statement, and it’s accompanied by a silent gasp. “Pinching me hard—really hard—three times will let me know.” She nods her understanding. “But you still need an actual safeword.”

“No, I don’t need one.” The genuine trust in her statement catches me off-guard as she shakes her head. “A week ago, I probably would’ve thought you’d kill me on sight,” she confesses softly with warmth sparkling in her emerald eyes. “Now, I don’t think you’re capable. Not only could you never do that to my brother, but I’m certain you would never hurt me.”

“It’s not just for you. It’s for me, too. To ensure I don’t cross a line with you. I can’t hurt you like that. Even by accident.And if I ever did… it would break me, princess. This isn’t something that I’m willing to compromise on.”

I lift my cup and take a sip as she lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine. If you insist…Cillian.”

I choke on my coffee, droplets of it spraying across the counter. “You cannot seriously pick your brother’s name as your safeword.”

“It’smyword, right?” she quips. “And I’m pretty sure if I scream it, you’ll stop…andhe’ll come running.” A wicked and triumphant smirk spreads across her face, like she just won a game I didn’t even realize we were playing. I can’t help but chuckle.She’s right, though…I don’t think a thing in this world would take me from hard to flaccid quite like her screaming her brother’s name while I’m thrusting into her.

“Cillian is another thing we need to talk about.” My tone is serious, killing the lighthearted mood.

She immediately shakes her head. “No.”

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