Own Me, Daddy (Dangerous Daddy Book 2)

Leaving the main floor of the library behind, heading to the back corner, Phoebe climbed the two flights up the small brass spiral staircase to the upper level loft. With the books on math, science and military history on the lower levels, this part of the library containing books on local history, poetry and art did not see as much traffic. Since it was also the dinner hour, the majority of the midshipmen would be in the mess hall. Phoebe tossed her shoulder bag onto the worn window seat of the large bay window which overlooked Buzzards Bay and created a cozy nook between the stacks and began her search. She was hoping to find a few volumes on the Wampanoag and their shaman beliefs. Phoebe wanted to know if there was more than one way to kill a wendigo, perhaps by strangling.

Phoebe was so absorbed in her search, she didn’t hear his approach.

“Taking a sudden interest in local lore, little one?”

She turned with a start. Michael filled the tiny space between the book stacks. His wide shoulders practically touching each shelf. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in his blue uniform. So authoritative. So…male. The recurring unwanted thought brought a familiar tingling reaction.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Phoebe placed the book she was reviewing back on the shelf as nonchalantly as possible. Although there was nothing suspicious about reading a local history book, she had this instinctive feeling that Michael would find it so.

He took a step toward her.

In a panic, Phoebe turned her back on him. Facing the stacks, she nervously fingered the bindings of the books as she tried to calm her erratic breathing. The air was filled with the scent of his cologne and old leather from the books. She felt rather than heard him take another step closer. His hand appeared slightly above her head to the left. He gripped the hard wood edge of the book shelf. His hand seemed large and masculine with just the faintest crisscross pattern of white scars across the knuckles. A souvenir from fights in the past. Fights he’d probably won.

With the alcove to her right and his large form blocking her exit to the left, she was trapped. Caged between his body and the bookshelf.

There was the brush of his hand along the pleats of her skirt. She was wearing a purple pleated skirt with her knee-high black boots and a gray V-neck sweater. As she felt the soft fabric brush the back of her thigh, she became painfully aware of the fact she wasn’t wearing any stockings. His hand brushed the skirt again. This time the tips of his warm fingers played with the hem, skimming her thigh.

“You’re lying,” he said gruffly just over her shoulder as the back knuckles of his right hand brushed the curve of her ass. “Little girls who lie to their daddies get spanked.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Still she needed to brazen this out. He couldn’t possibly have found out she was a journalist…could he?

“No, I’m not. I’m here in the local history stacks,” she anxiously whispered as she tried to shift away from his taunting touch.

Phoebe could feel a tremor rock his body right before he grabbed her shoulder and twisted her around, slamming her back against the books. Placing his right hand on the shelf by her head, he had her well and truly cornered. Even in the dimmed lighting between the stacks she could see the bright light of anger in his eyes. He wasn’t just resting his hands on the shelves, he was gripping them. His whole body radiated rage.

“You’re lying to me,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I—”

“No. Don’t you fucking dare deny it. I know about the blood on your door. The warning. How could you not come to me?”

“I—”

“I don’t know why you are investigating these murders, but I can tell you this. It stops right here…right fucking now.”

“You can’t order me to stop!” she fired back.

“The hell I can’t. I am your commander and you will not defy me in this.”

“You’re not my commander and nothing you say is going to stop me from finding out the truth about what happened.”

His head reared back as he sucked in a long breath through his nose. The heat of his anger was palpable. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock as it pressed against her stomach. It was a threat…a promise.

“Not your commander?”

She could feel the rumble in his chest as he practically growled the words.

Phoebe hesitantly shook her head no. Her stomach clenched as she tightened her inner thighs, mashing them together. God help her but this clash of wills turned her on. There was this sick thrill in courting danger…and there was no mistaking that defying Michael was courting danger.

“You’re right. I’m not your commander. I’m your fucking daddy and it’s about time you recognized my authority and accept my protection.”

Before she could protest, his head swooped down, attacking her mouth, claiming her for his own. He tasted like whiskey and coffee. Warm hands ran up the side of her thighs to grip her ass. Phoebe’s eyes sprang open when she felt the tips of his fingers tease the seam between her bottom cheeks before they slid between her clenched thighs to caress her through the thin fabric of her panties.

“You’re already wet. For me,” he said against her mouth as he nipped at her bottom lip while two fingers played with the seam of her panties before dipping underneath to feel the soft lips of her pussy.

“Oh god,” moaned Phoebe as she clutched at his shoulders. The harsh feel of the damp wool of his overcoat strangely snapped her out of a heated seductive haze. “Wait! Stop! You can’t! Someone will see.”

“I don’t give a damn, princess.”

Easily lifting her against his strong frame, Michael stepped to the side and sat on the bay window bench, forcing her to straddle his hips. The soft lining of his thick overcoat cushioning her knees, Phoebe couldn’t focus. It was if she were floating under a warm sea of water.

Michael’s hands dipped into the V-neck of her sweater and ruthlessly forced it down, exposing the soft curves of her breasts. Keeping his intense gaze trained on her, he slowly lowered his head. She watched as the tip of his tongue flicked her pert nipple. Her head fell back, a moan escaped her lips as her eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at me, baby,” he ordered.

She obeyed.

Once again riveted by his gaze, she was transfixed as his tongue swirled around her nipple. Teasing her.

Phoebe rocked her hips, rubbing herself on his cock through the heavy fabric of his uniform pants, feeling a thrill of victory when he moaned in response.

His arms wrapped around her middle and yanked her closer as his mouth descended on her breast, sucking the nipple in deep, allowing his teeth to skim her flesh as he laved her with his tongue.

Phoebe’s fingers gripped his hair as she pulled him closer. The buttons and metals on his uniform coat scratched her delicate flesh. The slight twinges of pain and the cold, harsh feel of metal against her warm skin only spurred her on.

“God dammit, woman. I need to fuck you,” he ground out as he wedged his hand between their entwined bodies. Lifting her skirt up in front, he fisted the sheer fabric of her thong and pulled, snapping the tiny piece of material in two.

Over their harsh breathing she could hear him unbuckle his belt. Tilting her hips upward, she rubbed herself against the back of his hand as he lowered his zipper, freeing his thick shaft.

“Lift up on your knees.”

Phoebe hesitated. As with the last time, she felt a pang of fear over the idea of taking his large cock into her body, knowing it would give equal measure of pleasure and pain.

“Lift up on your knees,” he repeated, his voice harsh with lust. “If I have to ask again, I will flip you over and fuck you from behind.”

“I don’t—” breathed Phoebe, overwhelmed by his arrogant possession of her body.

The wide head of his cock pushed against her tight entrance. There was a sting of pain as he forced it in…but then he paused.

“Just say yes, daddy.” His demanding tone let Phoebe know he would give no quarter in the matter. “I want to hear you say it.”

Phoebe tried to sink her hips down, to push her own body onto his shaft but his large hands on her hips prevented her.

“No. Say it, little one.” His eyes glowed a dark, cobalt blue under lowered brows. His heavy, even breathing mingled with her own.

Running both her hands along the harsh planes of his jaw, feeling the scratch from his five o-clock shadow against her palms, Phoebe captured his gaze.

“Yes, daddy.”

With a guttural groan, Michael pushed down on her hips, impaling her small body on his cock. Her cry of painful pleasure was swallowed by his kiss. He started to move. Driving his hips upward, he thrust inside of her. Phoebe’s body was thrown against his chest from the force of his thrusts. Reaching past his shoulders, she laid her flat palms against the cold window panes.

The threatening black clouds had finally broken into a fierce storm. Heavy raindrops splattered against the glass as the wind outside raged and howled.

The tumult outside matched the one inside the library.

Grabbing her hip with one hand and covering her mouth with the other, he began to pound into her small body. His hips lifted off the bench with every thrust as she rode his cock.

“Come for me, baby,” he rasped along the column of her neck as he sunk his teeth into her skin.

The windows behind him had begun to cloud over with condensation from the heat of their bodies. She could hear the hum and bustle of people on the floors below them. Yet nothing else mattered but the strong feel of his arms wrapped around her middle and the pulsing thrust of his cock between her legs. Feeling her body tighten as the pressure built, Phoebe leaned back, trusting in his grasp. Her upper body felt suspended in mid-air. Tightening her knees against his hips, his cock went in even deeper. Opening her mouth on a silent scream, her eyes screwed shut as she threw her head back, relishing in the waves of dizzying pleasure which crashed over her.

She was only dimly aware of his muted groan as he came deep within her tight passage. His large hand splayed over the soft skin of her stomach as they both waited for the final tremors, the pulsing pleasure to ebb.

Phoebe felt shy and anxious as they descended the small brass spiral staircase. Michael insisted on carrying her stack of books. Searching the faces of the few midshipmen hanging about the lower level as well as the older man who was checking out her books, Phoebe was relieved to see no censorship. Tucked away in the quiet upper loft, no one seemed to have suspected what she and the commander had been about.

Exiting the library, the frigid blast of air tinged with stinging raindrops cooled her heated cheeks.

“I…well…um…I guess I’ll be going now,” she said awkwardly as she tried to shove the books on local Indian tribes into her shoulder bag.

His only response was a low chuckle. “Where is your coat?”

“I don’t have one with me. It’s fine. It’s only a short walk to my building.”

Ignoring her protests, he shook off his wool overcoat and placed it over her shoulders. She was instantly enveloped in the warmth of his scent. Then taking her shoulder bag from her, he placed an arm around her lower back and guided them past the archway onto the rain slicked path back to her building.

Neither said a word as she pulled open the heavy metal door to her building. She shrugged out of his coat and started to say thank you, hoping to leave him at the entrance.

Michael grabbed her hand and led the way down the hall.

Once at her door, Phoebe tried again to get him to leave. She needed time to process what had just happened.

The passion. His anger. His accusation. The daddy kink.

It was all swirling about her head.

After another awkward attempt, Michael grabbed her by the chin and forced her gaze to his. “I’m not leaving, princess.”

With a sigh, Phoebe rummaged through her shoulder bag till she found her room key. As she pushed it into the lock, she realized the door was already opened. Pushing it wide, she flicked on the light and let out an exclamation. Before she could utter a word, Michael’s arm swept in front of her, immediately placing her body protectively behind his own.

“Step back. Stay in the hall,” Michael ordered as he took a step into her room. He maneuvered quickly around the confined space. Checking the closet, bathroom and under the bed.

Phoebe took a tentative step into her room.

Her trashed room.

The bed covers were ripped to shreds and the mattress tossed. Clothes were scattered about the room. The desk and chair were on their sides. On the wall over her bed, in blood, was the symbol of the wendigo, a large circle with several crisscrossing lines and the overlapping drawing of a skeletal face in the center.

She watched in shocked silence as Michael pulled her suitcase from the closet and began picking up her strewn clothes and tossing them in.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You’re not staying here. Grab your things from the bathroom. You’re coming with me.”

Rubbing her face, trying to quell the rising fear in her chest, Phoebe struggled to stay calm and focused. “It’s fine. I can pack my own things. I’ll grab a room at the motel in town.”

Circling around the bed, Michael stormed toward her. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he said, “Do you honestly think I’m going to allow you to stay in a motel?”

“This is not about what you will or will not allow! You can’t just order me about! You don’t own me!” she raged. It wasn’t really anger at him or even his high-handed protectiveness. She was frightened and lashing out. This was supposed to be just some quick story she did to please the owner of the paper. Now her life was being threatened by some crazy person who probably thought they were possessed by the fucking mad monk’s ghost! What the fuck!

“The minute you walked through my office door you became mine, which means you’re mine to protect. I don’t care if I have to toss you over my shoulder and drag you back to my place kicking and screaming, but rest assured, babygirl, you are spending the night with me…in my bed…under my protection. You got that?”

Faced with well over six feet of dominant male determination, Phoebe could only nod yes.