Page 84 of Cinderella and the Daddy
"Are you hurt?" I ask, my hand running over her face and her arms, checking for injuries I might have missed in my haste to get her out of that room.
"I'm fine," she says, but I can feel the tremor in her hands.
Shock, probably. Or fear is finally catching up with her now that the immediate danger has passed.
"Cindy." I frame her face with my hands. "Baby, talk to me. What did they do to you? Did they hurt you? Did they?—"
She silences me with her mouth, her lips crashing into mine with desperate hunger. The kiss tastes of fear and relief and something darker, something that speaks to the primal part of my brain that's been screaming since the moment I saw her disappear into that van.
She's alive. She's here. She's safe.
But the rational part of my mind knows that could change in an instant. Her siblings are still out there, still hunting. This building could be crawling with reinforcements, and we're trapped in a windowless room.
We should be moving. We should be running. We should be getting as far away from this place as possible.
But I know it’s safer here than out there.
She's pulling at my shirt, her fingers desperate and clumsy as she tries to get closer to me, tries to prove to herself that I'm real and solid and here.
I get it. I understand the flood of adrenaline. The need to be reminded you’re alive.
"I thought you were dead," she whispers against my throat, her voice breaking. "I heard the gunshot, and I thought?—"
"I'm not going anywhere," I promise, my hands tangling in her hair. "I'm not leaving you."
In the darkness, I can feel her need like a living thing between us. The way her breathing has changed, how her hands shake as they touch me—she needs this. Needs to feel alive after coming so close to death.
"Luka," she breathes. There's something raw in her voice that goes straight to my cock.
I lift her onto the desk behind us, my hands sliding up her thighs as I step between her legs. The wood creaks under her weight, but I don't give a damn if the whole thing collapses. All that matters is the heat of her body against mine, the way she's holding onto me like I'm her salvation.
"I need you," she whispers, her fingers working at my belt with desperate efficiency. "Right now. I need to feel you."
The shock, the fear, the overwhelming relief of being alive—it all has to go somewhere. And right now, it's going into this. Into us.
I capture her mouth again, swallowing her gasp as my hands find the waistband of her jeans. She lifts her hips, helping me strip them away along with her underwear. The fabric hits the floor with a soft whisper.
"Are you sure?" I ask, even though my body is screaming for her. "After what you've been through?—"
"I'm sure," she says fiercely. "I need this. I need you."
My jeans hit the floor next to hers. In the pitch black of the office, everything is sensation and sound. Her sharp intake of breath when I position myself at her entrance. The way her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.
I sink into her slowly, savoring the way her body accepts me. She fits around me like she was made for me. She's tight and warm and perfect. Mine. I’m the only man that’s ever touched her. That’s ever felt this sweet, tight pussy.
Mine.
For a moment, I forget about everything else.
There's only her.
"Move," she demands, her nails digging into my back. "Please, Luka. I need?—"
I give her what she needs. What we both need. My hips snap forward, driving deep. She cries out against my throat. The desk rocks under us with each thrust, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down. The desperation is driving me, the knowledge that I almost lost her, that she almost?—
"Harder," she gasps.
I comply without hesitation.
