Page 39 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
Pink, blue, yellow, green.
The kind of colours they used for nurseries. For onesies. For hope.
I stared down at it for a long moment, the ache in my chest spreading like warmth.
Hello, Daddy.
That was me.
I cleared my throat and set the frame gently on the kitchen counter between us.
Then I walked around and took the glass pot from her hands.
“Forget the coffee,” I murmured, my voice low. “I want to thank you properly for my gift.”
Before she could protest, I took her hand and led her straight to the bedroom.
I slipped her cardigan down her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
She stared at me—wide-eyed, lips parted—but I smiled.
“Take off your dress.” My voice dropped to a purr. “I didn’t forget how you like it, sweetheart. Deep and dirty.”
She licked her lips and swallowed like her throat had gone dry. Her gaze darted briefly to the door.
I tilted my head. “Or do you need my handcuffs?”
A slow shake of her head. No. But her eyes told me everything.
Good girl.
Her hands rose to the front of her dress. She worked at the small pearl buttons while I grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and tugged it over my head.
“You gave me a gift I’ll cherish.” I unbuckled my belt, slow and deliberate. “Now I’m going to make sure you scream my name so loud, every damn neighbour you have knows exactly who owns this sweet pussy.”
Her hands faltered at her stomach—just for a moment.
“Off.”
Her eyes dipped to my chest… then lower. No argument. No hesitation.
She slipped her arms free from the dress and let it fall in a quiet whisper to the floor.
Goddamn.
Bronze skin kissed with gold, rich and warm like slow-poured syrup.
She wore cream lace—soft and delicate—but there wasn’t a granny pant in sight.
No.
She’d dressed for me.
“Are you wet for me again, Juliette?” I asked, toeing off my boots.
“Yes,” she whispered, breathless.
“Good girl.” I pushed my jeans down, watching the way her eyes stayed locked on me. She was waiting—still, quiet, obedient.
