Page 23 of Submitting to Daddy
The city outside the car dissolves into a parking garage. We spiral upward, level by level, until he eases the car into a reserved spot near an elevator. The moment the engine edge cuts off, I nudge his shoulder and try to move from his lap. “This isn’t my home,” I mumble, the soft words echoing in my head like a snare drum.
“No,” he agrees softly. “It’s mine.”
“I can go to my own place,” I insist, though the words are flimsy and halfhearted. “I’m fine. I just need?—”
“You can,” Cillian interrupts, cradling me in his arms as he opens the door to the car. “But I’ll be coming with you. You’ve been in and out of consciousness the whole ride. There’s no way you’re being left alone tonight.”
I want to argue, but I know his concern about a concussion is valid, and I don’t have anyone else to come watch over me. “Fine.” I sigh as he carries me toward the elevator. “But I can walk.”
“You can.” He uses his hand beneath my knees to push the button to call the elevator. “But you’re not going to.”
With my arms around his neck and my head resting on his shoulder, he cradles me in his arms for the elevator ride and the short walk into his penthouse.Holy shit…His place is all shadow and glass—high ceiling, low lighting, charcoal furniture, and rich woods. It’s gorgeous; everything about it looks ungodly expensive.
He carries me toward the windows showcasing the sprawling city skyline and lays me on the leather couch with the utmost tenderness. My body sinks into the cushions, the room spinning slowly. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, his footsteps quickly fading as he walks away from me.
Gently, he brushes the hair from my face, startling me. I open my eyes to find him kneeling beside the couch with a cold compress wrapped in a towel. He presses it to my cheek, and I flinch—both from the cold and the pain. “Sorry.” He carefully readjusts the compress. “But this will help the swelling.”
My gaze roams over his unsavory appearance. His knuckles are cut and bruised, but they’re nowhere near bad enough to account for the amount of blood on his hands and shirt. Needing to know, I hesitantly ask, “Did you kill him?”
His expression remains unreadable and tight, just like his lips that don’t part to answer. I close my eyes again, and the cold seeps into the ache beneath it. Cillian holds his hand steady, his thumb lightly tracing an absent-minded circle over my temple. This tenderness from him is so foreign that, for a second, I wonder if he’s concussed, too.
Cillian slides a blanket from the back of the couch and drags it over my body. He pulls it up to my collarbone and smooths it over my shoulder, his fingers lingeringfor a moment before dusting my tender jaw. Bending over me, he presses a soft, reverent kiss to the center of my forehead. “Yes,” he whispers, the lone word vibrating against my skin.
“Cillian… Don’t…”
I can’t hear this…
I close my eyes as he continues his confession, “Knowing what he was going to do to you, I should’ve done far worse.” A breath leaves my lungs that I didn’t know I’d been holding. Battered and bruised, lying on the couch of a hardened killer, I somehow feel dangerously close to safe. His lips brush against my forehead again, then to the bridge and tip of my nose.
He places a tender kiss on the crack in my lip. I wince at the discomfort, but I don’t pull away. I should. IknowI should. I need to maintain what little control I still have. But right now—sitting in the dark with his hand cradling my cheek like I might break apart—I forget why I’ve been pushing him away so hard. Or maybe, I just don’t want to pretend I don’t want this anymore.
“I hate how you make me feel,” I whisper with my eyes still closed.
“I know.” His warm breath blows over my lips. “I hate how you make me feel, too. Absolutely fucking powerless.”
Shifting my weight, every muscle in my body screams, and I sit up. My fingers curl around the front of his shirt like they did in the car. I pull myself toward him, sliding from the couch until I’m straddling him on the floor. Brushing my tender lips against his, I whisper, “You’re going to ruin my life.”
Cillian’s lips flutter against mine as he lightly shakes his head. “No. I’m going to take care of you, firecracker. Daddy will always take care of you.” His hand cups the back of my neck, fingersthreading into my hair as he pulls me in. He kisses me slowly and intentionally—nothing like the wild desperation of that night in the office. He moves with the confidence of a man who knows he owns every breath I take. It’s patient, commanding, and laced with tenderness—steady and sure—like he already knows I won’t pull away. Not this time.
He parts his lips, his tongue darting between them, coaxing mine open, and I eagerly let him in—all my resolve dissipating. His tongue caresses mine in a slow, commanding dance, as if he’s taking his time savoring every broken piece of me. I can tell he’s holding back and trying to be gentle, but I don’t want gentle. I wanthim—every rough, jagged piece. My fingers weave into his hair, and fighting through the pain, I pull his mouth more firmly against mine.
A groan rattles low in his throat, rumbling against my chest and spreading fire down my body. He tugs at my locks just hard enough to make me gasp. Swallowing it, he deepens our kiss. It grows needy and sloppy—his hands roaming my body as I grind against him. “Please… don’t stop, Daddy.”
Lifting us both from the floor like I weigh nothing, he breathlessly growls, “Not a fucking chance.”
I can’t get enough of Madison’s lips or how she feels in my arms. Carrying her across the penthouse—her thighs locked tightly around my waist—I can’t bring myself to pull my mouth from her. Her fingers lacing through my hair and brushing over the shaved nape, she repeatedly moans into my mouth as her tongue dances with mine. Her body instinctively knows where we’re going.
The spiral staircase creaks beneath the thud of my boots as I climb it quickly but carefully. I can’t go slow, not with her hips rolling subtly against mine—teasing me through my pants. Teasing us both. Her lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, wet and needy. The flutter of her breath blows against my throat as her heaving chest rises and falls against mine.
Fuck…
When I enter the bedroom, I kick the door shut and carry her in without flicking on a light. The ambient glow of the moon casts shadows over the bed and the navy walls. I set her down gently—splaying her across my sheets in nothing but her sheer lingerie—salivating over the offering laid out before me. She stares up at me with need, her hair fanning across the soft gray sheets. Her lips are red and swollen, and the flush of her cheeks burns through the bruise on the right.
I tear off my shirt and crawl over her. Planting a hand beside her head and hovering above her, I watch her deep brown eyes dilate in the dark as her hands roam over my bare chest. With her legs wrapped around my waist again, a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth when she uses them to pull me down.
I crash my lips against hers, giving her what I know she wants. Our tongues brush together as I claim her mouth—swallowing every metallic-tinged moan and whimper as her split lip bleeds into our kiss. Her hips lift as she silently pleads for more. Moving her hands between our bodies, she fumbles for my belt. One at a time, I grip her wrists and pin them above her head. When both are in one of my hands, I shift my weight and fully settle between her thighs, my rock-hard cock resting firmly against the warmth of her panty-covered pussy. She’s firmly pinned beneath me, completely helpless. “You’ve made me wait, and now I’m going to return the favor. If you want to come, you’re going to need to be a good girl.” I pepper the words up and down her neck with a trail of wet kisses before whispering against her ear, “Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy?”
She whimpers, nodding before the words even form. “Yes, Daddy.”
