Page 58 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"Do you want me to stop him? Arrange a delay that keeps him away until after the holidays?" Patrick's tone suggests he's already considering options. "A disabled vehicle, perhaps. Or we could have him detained—"
"No. But slow him down. Make sure he arrives Christmas Eve morning, not before. I want him to see exactly what I've accomplished here, but not until I'm ready."
"Understood. A few strategic delays should push his arrival to late morning on the twenty-fourth. Nothing permanent, nothing traceable."
"Perfect." I can already envision the scene—Aaron arriving to find Kyra wearing my ring, my mark, completely transformed from the girl he threw away. "And Patrick? When he does arrive, I want him to understand exactly how thoroughly he lost her."
"Sir?"
"I want him to see that she chose me. Not because she was forced, not because she had no other options, but because she wanted me more than she ever wanted him." The satisfaction in my voice is unmistakable. "Let him live with that knowledge for the rest of his miserable life."
I end the call, setting the phone aside. Christmas Eve morning. That gives me tonight and most of tomorrow to complete Kyra's transformation. To claim her so completely that when Aaron sees us together, there will be no doubt about where her loyalties lie.
The water stops running in the bathroom. I hear the subtle splash as she rises from the tub, the soft sound of droplets hitting marble. My cock stirs at the mental image, anticipation building in my chest.
I've been patient. Careful. Strategic in my approach to breaking down her resistance. But patience has its limits, and tonight those limits have been reached.
I adjust myself through my slacks. The knowledge that in a few minutes I'll finally have her completely sends heat racing through my veins.
Moving silently to the bathroom door, I lean against the frame and watch through the gap as she reaches for a towel. Her skin is flushed from the heat, water droplets catching the light as they trace paths down her curves. She's humming softly—a Christmas carol, of all things—completely unaware that I'm watching.
The innocence in that moment, the domestic tranquility, makes what I'm about to do all the more delicious.
"Beautiful," I say quietly, making her startle and spin toward me.
Her eyes widen as she clutches the towel to her chest, but there's no real alarm in her expression. Not anymore. Whatever internal war she'd been fighting since our confrontation, some battle has been decided.
"I didn't hear you come in," she says, her voice slightly breathless.
"I've been watching you for a while." I step fully into the bathroom, the space immediately feeling smaller with my presence. "You look... peaceful. Content."
"I feel..." She pauses, searching for words. "Like I've finally stopped fighting something I never wanted to fight in the first place."
Exactly what I hoped to hear. What I knew would happen once she stopped lying to herself about what she wanted.
"And what is it you want, Kyra?" I move closer, backing her gently against the marble vanity. The towel is the only barrier between us, and we both know how easily that can be removed.
"You," she whispers, her green eyes meeting mine with startling directness. "I want you. All of you. Even the parts that should terrify me."
"Especially those parts," I correct, my hands coming up to frame her face. Her skin is still warm and damp from the bath, smelling of jasmine and something uniquely her. "The darkness doesn't scare you anymore, does it?"
She shakes her head slowly. "No. It... excites me. The danger. The forbidden nature of this. The way you look at me like you want to devour me."
"Because I do." My thumbs trace her cheekbones, feeling the delicate bone beneath soft skin. "I want to consume every inch of you, mark you so completely that there's no question who you belong to."
Her breath catches, pupils dilating. "Then do it."
I kiss her. She opens for me immediately, her tongue meeting mine with equal desperation.
The towel falls to the floor, forgotten.
My hands map her body with possessive thoroughness—the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the way she shivers when I trace the line of her spine. Every touch brands her as mine, claims territory I've wanted for so long.
"Victor," she gasps against my mouth, her hands fisting in my shirt. "Please."
"Please what?" I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, to see the desire burning there. "Tell me exactly what you want, sweetheart."
She hesitates, color flooding her cheeks. "I want you to take me. Completely. No more holding back, no more gentleness. I want to be yours."
