Page 25 of Claimed By Daddy

"Maybe you should remind me anyway," she gasps, her tongue flicking against her bottom lip. "Just so I don't forget."

I groan in surrender, dipping my head to taste her. She clings to me, her tits plastered to me as she moans so fucking sweetly.

The shrill ring of her phone cuts through the moment, making her jump slightly in my arms.

I pull back with a curse.

I hate that fucking phone. Every goddamn day, her cousin calls to check on her. Or her grandfather calls to demand that she come home. She's always quiet afterward, less vibrant, as if those calls are a reminder of a reality she'd rather forget.

She pouts at me before fishing the device out of her pocket. "Maybe I should ignore it," she says, her face twisting with annoyance as it rings again.

"You know he'll just keep calling until you answer," I say, earning a huff from her. I'm not wrong, though. If she doesn't answer, he calls until she does. And I get it. He worries about her. She's been mine for a matter of days and I worry endlessly, so I can't fault the man for that, as much as I wish I could.

As far as he knows, she's out here alone. She hasn't told him about me yet. I don't like it, but I get it. If she tells him, we'll have more than just phone calls interrupting our days. He'll show up. I have no doubts about that. Frankly, I want her to myself for as long as possible before I deal with her family—and I will be dealing with her family. They're done stressing her out and dictating her life. She's mine now.

As soon as she's ready to face them again, we're going together, and I'm putting my goddamn foot down. Or up their asses. Either way, her grandfather's house won't be a war zone for her. She won't be a mediator in their disputes. And she decides her own future. No one else.

I'm just hoping to God that she decides her future is with me. I don't care if it's in this cabin, in Nashville, or on the other side of the fucking planet. I follow where she leads. In quiet moments, when she looks up at me with her eyes full of trust, I think maybe she wants the same thing. But I'm hedging my bets, trying to eke out every second with her to ensure she's as tangled up in me as I am with her before we leave the sanctuary we've found here.

I tap her nose gently. "Why don't you take it outside while I start dinner, pretty baby? But don't stray too far," I say, the warning non-negotiable.

We've spent time in the woods together over the last few days. I fucked her in the pond half a mile from here yesterday. And on the trail the day before that. She's easily distracted and has no real concept of the danger the mountains pose. The thought of her out there alone worries the fuck out of me.

She nods, her smile returning as she leans up on her toes to press a sweet kiss to my cheek. "Promise," she says. "Just the porch."

She swipes to answer as she scurries out, already huffing and grumbling at her cousin. I watch, smiling as she tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, the sensual sway of her hips distracting me.

God, she's so fucking beautiful, wrapped up in one of my oversized shirts and a tiny pair of shorts that barely cover those thick thighs. She slips out the front door, her head thrown back as she laughs, and my goddamn heart clenches.

I'm so twisted around her little finger it's ridiculous. And yet…it feels as natural as breathing. This is what life is supposed to be. This is healing. I thought I was escaping to the mountains for peace and quiet, but I was wrong about that. I was coming for her—for this. This is what I needed more than anything. Time with her is healing my wounds in ways nothing else ever could. Her laughter, her touch, her sweetness is a fucking balm no darkness can withstand.

She isn't a magical cure, and I know that. But she's softness and light, two things I don't thing I ever realized how goddamn badly I needed in my life until she was in it. Being her daddy grounds me and steadies me, keeping the shadows at bay. Loving her is therapy that runs soul deep.

I turn back to the sink to finish scrubbing the sap from my hands, and then head to the kitchen to sort out dinner. Until her, I never knew that cooking for someone could be so fucking satisfying, but there's something intensely, immensely intimate in feeding her food that I prepared for her—in caring for her in that way.

Being her daddy isn't just about fucking her or the filthy games we play. As much as I love every dirty goddamn one of those, it's the moments between that bind me to her—the times when I'm holding her close while she sleeps, or cleaning her up, feeding her, or bathing her. When she trusts me to ensure every need she has is met, I'm on top of the world, untouchable. And I know she is too. This is our connection. This is who we are together.

I could have searched for a lifetime, but it never could have been anyone else because they weren't her. She's my little girl—my Lena. There is no one else. There never will be, not for me. Whether she knows it or not, there won't be for her, either.

I glance out the window to check on her, but don't see her on the porch. A ripple of unease washes through me. She should have finished her call by now. She always rushes Dalton off the phone, eager to get back to me.

"Lena?" I call, hoping she'll pop her head around the corner.

She doesn't.

"Little angel?" I try again, louder this time. I don't give a fuck if her cousin hears me. It's not like her to ignore me.

Still no answer.

Fuck.

Adrenaline spikes through me as I practically rip the door open and stride out, searching for her. No Lena leaning against the porch rail or standing further out in the meadow. She's not here, not near the cabin where she should be, where I can keep her safe.

A sick sense of dread rushes through me as I turn toward the back of the cabin—toward the treeline.

"Lena!" Her name is a shout this time—a command that demands an answer. But the woods don't reply.

"Dammit, Lena, where are you?" I growl under my breath, trying to figure out where she would have gone.