Page 60 of Claimed By Daddy

Her breath catches, and her throat bobs as she swallows hard.

“I know the timing is crazy,” I admit, “but I mean it. I want to wake up beside you every day and know you’re mine in every way. Not just in this life, but in name, too. I want to build something amazing with you… as my wife.”

Eavan’s eyes don’t falter from mine, but she doesn’t say a word. My answer comes as she leans forward and presses herlips to mine. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my hand wrapping around the back of her neck. I pull her lips back to mine and claim her mouth—kissing my forever.

“I never thought I’d have something this good,” I murmur against her lips. “Someone as amazing as you. Not with all the things I’ve done...”

“You have me,” she vows. “I don’t care what you’ve done or what you’re going to do. I only care about the man you are inside these walls. The man who puts me on a pedestal and worships me like a queen.”

“Because you are,” I whisper. “Every king needs their queen.”

She rests her head against my chest again, and we lie like that, wrapped around each other, breathing in the same rhythm. The apartment is empty, but it already feels full—with our promises of the future we plan to build together.

I press a kiss to her temple and close my eyes. I’ve protected a lot of things in my life—territory, money, power—but nothing like this. Nothing likeher.

My everything. My home.

And someday soon, my wife.

ABOUT A MONTH LATER

This apartment has been filled with the rumble of power tools, short-tempered shouts of contractors, and the constant scent of paint and sawdust. Movers delivered the last of our furniture today, and this placefinallylooks like a home. Tonight, it smells like one, too. A very Italian one—the warm, rich aroma of garlic and roasted tomatoes floating in the air, causing my mouth to water.

Enzo is standing at the stove, his back to me, stirring the sauce like he’s terrified it’s going to burn to the bottomof the pan. “You’re holding that spoon like it’s a weapon,” I tease, leaning against the kitchen island.

He smirks over his shoulder. “Everythingis a weapon if you’re creative enough.”

I laugh, not doubting his response. “Should I be worried?” I tease, grabbing a spatula to defend myself.

He turns toward me, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. “Only if you plan on insulting my culinary skills before tasting this.”

“I’m just saying... The last time you cooked by yourself, we ended up with the fire alarm screeching and you cursing at the stove.”

“That was a fluke,” he insists, stalking toward me with mock determination. “And you were of absolutely no help. Actually, if I recall correctly,youwere the distraction who caused me to burn everything.”

I take a small step back, snickering. “I helped by staying out of the way.”

“Splayed naked on the counter is not the same as”—he pauses to air quote—“staying out of the way.” Enzo corners me against the counter, his arms boxing me in.

I shrug, trying to keep a straight face. “Technically, I wasnotin the way.”

He’s so close that I can feel the warmth radiating from him—close enough to steal some of my breath. His hands slidealong the counter, his forearms resting lightly on my hips. Looming over me, he quips, “For a woman who can handle just about anything, you’re awfully mouthy about a guy trying to cook you dinner.”

“And for someone with such a dangerous reputation,” I counter, lifting my chin, “you’re awfully sensitive about your pasta sauce.”

He chuckles, soft and low, the vibrations of it rattling beneath my skin. “You’re lucky I like your sass.”

“You love my sass, Daddy.” I wink at him.

He narrows his eyes in mock warning, then, without hesitation, lifts me effortlessly and sets me on the edge of the counter. I let out a surprised laugh, gripping his shoulders for balance. “You can’t just manhandle me like that.”

A devilish grin pulling at his lips, he growls, “Oh, but I can.” He slides his hands up the outside of my thighs—slow and confident—and plants a kiss at the corner of my mouth. His fingers gather the loose skirt of my dress, pooling it on my lap. “Watch me.”

I smile against his lips and tease, “I haveveryhigh standards.”

“And I exceed them daily,” he retorts—not a question, just a fact.

I laugh again, threading my fingers through his hair. “God, you’re so full of yourself.”

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