Page 5 of Submitting to Daddy
I turn slowly, trying to stow my expression and keep my overwhelming interest unreadable. But with him this close—and my gaze flitting between his sharp jaw and the bulging muscles—it’s out of the question. Taking a measured breath, I retort, “I’m sure you say that to all the women you pick up in bars.”
His grin morphs into a smirk. “Only the ones who make loaded fries look like an orgasmic experience.” Unable to hold it back, I laugh—just a little.Damn it!The bartender approaches, clearly familiar with him, and waits without a word. “Whatever she’s having, put it on my tab.”
“I’m good, actually.” I slide my empty mug toward the bartender, even though I did actually want another. I don’t need him buying me drinks. I don’t need him turning this into anything.
“You sure?” he asks, watching me with those piercing hazel eyes. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who drinks one watered-down cocktail and runs home.”
He’s been watching me… Even before I was watching him.
“You don’t know what kind of woman I am,” I retort, my tone sharper than I intend.
He leans in, that assured smile still playing at the edge of his mouth. “Not yet.” God, he’s dangerous. Not just in the way he looks or the quiet confidence he wears, but in the way hetalks, like every word leaving his mouth is the foreplay to him undressing me.
“I’m Cillian King,” he provides the unnecessary introduction. I might be new in town, but the King brothers—as they’ve renamed themselves—are notorious. Even if he weren’t my new boss, I’m quite certain I would know his name.
“Madison”—I hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not to provide him with my full name—“Madison Roark.”
“You live nearby?” he asks.
I grab another fry instead of responding, dipping it in the ranch to stall for time.Oh, this is a bad idea…“I do.”
“You always come here on your own?”
“This is my first time. I actually just moved into the neighborhood.”
“Well, it’s already my lucky night.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head, but I’m smiling.Shit—I’m actually smiling.
He watches me for a moment, long enough for it to border on indecent, but his gaze doesn’t drop below my face—he’s not ogling me. He’s reading me, like he’s trying to figure out how I work and what I’m thinking. I’m a puzzle he’s decided he wants to solve.
“You here with someone?”
“No.”
“Meeting someone?”
“Nope.”
He arches an inquisitive brow. “Live with someone?” he asks, his tone now matching his curiosity.
Every savvy girl knows you don’t tell strange men you live alone. Yet, against my better judgment, I answer, “No.”
He tilts his head. “Then you’ve got no excuse not to let me take you home.”
I laugh. It slips out before I can stop it, and when I look at him, he has a full smile spread across his gorgeous face. He’s certain he’s getting what he wants. “You really think that works?” I snark, matching his raised eyebrow. “Dropping your name and a few compliments with strange women in bars and just… walking out with them?”
He casually shrugs, and his body language answers my question.Of course it fucking does!Fucking look at him. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about knowing what you want.” His eyes flicker with a dark heat, and my pulse thuds low in my throat. A flash of heat rolls down my spine and settles low enough in my belly that I unintentionally clench my thighs together to quell it.Apparently, my body agrees with his assessment of what I want.
I should say no. Firmly. Getting personal with Cillian King is a bad idea.A horrible one. I reach into my pocket and pull out two twenties before tucking them half under my plate to cover my bill and a tip for the bartender. After slipping from my stool, I inadvertently brush against his arm and static tingles across my skin. He turns on his stool to follow after me, and I plant my hand firmly against his chest, indicating for him to keep his seat.
The change in his demeanor is immediate—his easy, confident smile falters slightly, replaced with something more calculating. He’s clearly not a man used to hearing no. “I’m not the kind of girl who takes strange men home,” I whisper the lie, holding his golden gaze. “Good night, Mr. King.”
“Cillian,” he corrects too quickly as I slide my hand from his firm chest.
“I’m pretty certain you’ll be seeingplentyof me soon enough.”
Hegrips my wrist lightly before I can slip away. “I don’t come to this part of town very often. What makes you so sure?”
