“You own my ass, Daddy.” I flush hot again. Is that gonna happen forever? Every time I say Daddy?
“I do.” He searches me for … something. What’s he looking for? He pushes the hair off my face. “What brought this on?”
My jaw locks. I don’t want to talk about my dad with Luke. It’s stupid anyway. Stuff we should have dealt with years ago. It’snot from lack of trying. We just got tired of arguing in circles, left to burn in purgatory.
“Just … father and son bullshit.”
He presses my nose. “Language, McKinnon. And it can’t be bullshit.”
Yeah, guess it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.
“Are you gonna make me talk about it?”
“Definitely.”
Huh. I thought I’d hate that. My nose wrinkles about it. But I don’t hate it. Maybe Luke can help?
“But not right now. You’re going back to your house to get cleaned up, and then you’re going to pull out your books. You have an essay due first thing Monday morning.”
I groan. I hadn’t planned on finishing that one—not that I’ll tell him that. “And where do we stand on the whole jacket thing?”
If he takes it away, I’ll die. I hope he knows that.
“Give it here, McKinnon.”
I’m forced to leave the safety of his arms to reach for “formerly” my letter jacket and hand it to him.
He slides it on me like he’s taking me to prom. Having it back after the threat of almost losing it does things to my insides. I want to chain it to my body.
Still haven’t gotten my kiss, yet, and it doesn’t look like it’s going that way. I guess what we did wasn’t sexual, but it was intimate. It felt like more. Am I misreading things? No. Can’t be. I don’t go around calling everyone Daddy and he sure as fuck better not be calling everyone princess.
“Why are you pouting now?” he says.
“Never mind.” I shove my hands into my jacket pockets instead of doing what I wanna do and climb back into his arms.
Luke’s fingers dig into the waistband of my jeans, pulling me toward him. He uses the thumb of his other hand to tug on my bottom lip. He’s done that a few times now.
“Don’t worry. These pouty lips of yours are taunting the hell out of me, but if I kiss them,” he says, voice dropping to a sinful octave. “You’re getting fucked, princess, and I can’t fuck you here, as much as I’d like to.”
His grip on my waistband tightens, and his hand moves from my lips, knuckles pressing against my lower belly, just above the ache he put there.
“Kiss me anyway,” I plead.
Luke chuckles, low and devious, his lips brushing dangerously close to mine without touching.
“Patience, McKinnon. When I finally take you apart, I won’t stop. I’ll leave you in ruins.”
He can’t talk like that or I’m gonna come in my fucking pants.
“Go write your essay,” he says, like he didn’t just threaten to rearrange my insides. “I can’t wait to read it. If it’s not done right, you’ll be reading it to me—over my knee with your bare ass in the air.”
Lord have fucking mercy on me.
Or don’t.
Or fuck. I dunno, just that I’m so fucked. And I think I’m gonna enjoy every minute of it.
Luke’s voice drones on somewhere in front of me, but I can’t focus. Convincing myself to come to class took Olympic-level mental gymnastics that the best life-coach gurus on earth would be jealous of.
