Page 86 of Enforcer Daddy
He stirred under my touch, muscles shifting beneath warm skin, but didn't wake. Not yet. I had these stolen moments to just look at him, to marvel at the impossibility of being here. Three weeks ago I'd been sleeping in a storage unit, stealing to eat,invisible to everyone except as a problem to avoid. Now I woke in Egyptian cotton sheets beside a man who'd mobilized an army when he thought I was in danger, who built me blanket forts and read me fairy tales, who'd made me family in ways that legal documents could never capture.
The need hit me sudden and overwhelming—not just desire but something deeper, a hunger to confirm this was real through touch and taste and the weight of him inside me. I shifted carefully, throwing my leg over his hip to straddle him, the sheet falling away to leave me bare in the morning light.
His eyes opened immediately, dark and alert despite the drowsy second it took him to focus on my face. His hands found my hips with automatic possession, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin where thigh met pelvis.
"Good morning, little one," he rumbled, voice rough with sleep and something else as he registered my position, my nakedness, the intent that must have shown in my eyes.
Instead of answering with words, I leaned down to kiss him. Not the desperate, claiming kisses from last night, but something slower, deeper. My tongue traced his lower lip, tasting morning and man and mine, and he groaned into my mouth as I rocked against him, feeling him harden beneath me.
"Eva," he said against my lips, a warning or a prayer.
"Please," I whispered back, reaching between us to guide him to my entrance. "I need you."
He let me control it, let me sink down onto him inch by careful inch, watching my face with an intensity that made me feel worshiped and consumed in equal measure. The stretch of him, the fullness, the perfect way we fit together—it punched the air from my lungs in a gasp that was part pleasure, part overwhelming emotion.
"That's it," he murmured, hands steadying my hips as I adjusted to him. "Take what you need, baby girl."
I braced my hands on his chest and began to move, slow rolls of my hips that had us both breathing hard within seconds.
His hands roamed my body with reverent possession, cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until I gasped and ground down harder. One hand slid to my throat, not squeezing, just holding, feeling my pulse race beneath his palm. The gesture was possessive and protective at once, and it made something in my chest crack open with want.
"Moya milaya devochka," he growled, words I'd learned to recognize if not fully understand.
His thumb found my clit, circling with exactly the pressure he'd learned I needed, and the dual sensation of him inside me and his thumb on me had me climbing fast toward that edge. My movements became less controlled, more desperate, chasing the pleasure that built at the base of my spine.
"Look at me," he commanded, and my eyes snapped to his. The connection was electric—not just physical but something deeper, a recognition that went beyond bodies and into whatever souls were made of.
"Dmitry," I gasped, feeling myself start to shatter.
"I've got you," he promised, thumb working faster as his hips rose to meet mine. "Let go, little one. I've got you."
I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him in waves that seemed to go on forever. He followed me over, groaning my name as he pulsed inside me, hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks I'd treasure later.
I collapsed against his chest, both of us breathing hard, hearts racing in a rhythm that slowly synchronized. His arms came around me, holding me against him like I might disappear if he let go. We stayed like that, joined and tangled, while morning light kissed us and Bear snored in his dog bed.
"I have something planned for tonight," Dmitry said eventually, his voice a rumble I felt through his chest. "Somewhere special."
I lifted my head to look at him, still drowsy with satisfaction. "What kind of somewhere?"
"A surprise." He smiled, the expression softening his harsh features into something almost boyish. "But I've had dresses delivered for you to choose from. They should arrive this afternoon."
"Dresses? Plural?"
"Five options. I wasn't sure what you'd prefer, so I had them send a selection." His hand stroked down my spine, casual intimacy that still made me shiver. "Dress fancy, little one. I want to show you off."
The normalcy of it—planning a date, choosing dresses, being someone worth showing off—made my throat tight with emotion. "I don't know how to be fancy," I admitted.
"Honestly? You're already fancy," he said, kissing my forehead with unexpected tenderness. "The dress is just decoration. You're what makes it beautiful."
Heat flooded my cheeks at the compliment, and I hid my face against his neck, breathing in his scent—cologne and gunpowder and something uniquely him.
"I have to go soon," he said reluctantly. "Alexei needs me for something."
"Violence?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Business," he corrected, though we both knew they were often the same thing. "Nothing dangerous. Just enforcement of existing agreements."
Enforcement. Such a clean word for whatever he actually did to make people honor their deals with the Bratva. But I understood now that this was part of loving him—accepting the violence that made our safety possible.
