The ice cubes clink against the glass.
My third whiskey sour is sweating in my hand.
I don't care.
Let it melt.
Let everything melt.
The hotel bar is too loud.
The bass from the jukebox vibrates through the floorboards and up my bare legs.
It matches the throbbing in my chest.
Three years.
Gone.
In a text message.
That's all it took.
Marcus didn't even have the guts to do it in person.
He stood in the lobby, phone in hand, smirking at me like I was a joke.
Like I was nothing.
"Coward," I whisper.
The word tastes like ash.
I take a long pull of my drink.
Burns going down.
Doesn't touch the pain.
My cheeks feel hot.
My eyes sting.
I wipe them with the back of my hand.
Don't cry.
Don't give them the satisfaction.
But a tear slips.
Just one.
It lands in my whiskey.
Ripples the amber liquid.
A shadow falls across the bar top.
I don't look up.
Men come and go.
They see a girl crying over a drink.
They see an easy target.
Or a joke.
My hand trembles around my glass.
"She doesn't need another drink."
The voice stops me cold.
Deep.
Rough.
Like gravel wrapped in velvet.
It vibrates in my chest.
Makes my nipples harden under my thin cotton top.
My breath hitches.
My stomach flips.
Not from nausea.
From something else.
Something hot and heavy.
I finally look up.
He's sitting on the stool next to mine.
Close enough that I can smell him.
Sandalwood.
Leather.
And something darker.
Masculine.
Primal.
He's wearing a suit.
Black.
Tailored to perfection.
It hugs broad shoulders.
A chest that looks like it could crush me or hold me forever.
His hands are large.
Veined.
A gold signet ring on his pinky catches the light.
He's older.
Definitely older.
Late forties?
Maybe fifty.
Silver threads lace his dark hair.
A strong jaw shadowed with stubble.
But it's his eyes that lock me in place.
Dark.
Intense.
Golden flecks in the iris.
They aren't looking at my face.
They're scanning me.
From my messy bun to my bare legs.
Assessing.
Claiming.
"Order me a bourbon," he says to the bartender.
His eyes never leave me.
"And make it a double."
He slides a fifty across the wood.
The bartender takes it without blinking.
This man moves with authority.
Like he owns the place.
Like he owns me.
The thought sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
My panties are damp.
Already.
I haven't even spoken to him.
He turns his head.
Leans in.
His cologne wraps around me.
It makes my head spin.
"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be crying over some boy."
His voice is a caress.
A command.
It goes straight to my groin.
I swallow hard.
My throat feels dry.
I hate that he heard me cry.
He reaches out.
His fingers brush my cheek.
Rough skin against my sensitive flesh.
He catches the tear before it falls.
"You're lying," he murmurs.
His thumb strokes my jawline.
The touch is electric.
My skin burns where he touches.
I should pull back.
I should tell him to back off.
But I'm frozen.
Paralyzed by his presence.
He's everything I shouldn't want.
Too old.
Too powerful.
Too much man.
"Marcus is an asshole," I blurt out.
The words spill before I can stop them.
"He broke up with me. Via text. In front of his boss. Like I was nothing."
I laugh, but it sounds like a sob.
"I'm thirty years old. And I'm drinking alone in a hotel bar because I'm stupid enough to let someone like that walk away."
He takes a sip of his bourbon.
Swallows slowly.
Eyes never leave mine.
"You're not stupid."
He sets the glass down.
Leans closer.
His knee presses against mine.
Firm.
Unyielding.
"You were just looking for the wrong thing."
He reaches out, tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
His hand lingers on my neck.
His pulse hammers under my fingertips.
"What do you want, little one?"
His voice drops an octave.
A growl.
"You want a boy who can make you cry?"
I shake my head.
"No."
"Then you need a man."
The word hangs in the air.
A promise.
A threat.
A gift.
My heart is racing.
Thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird.
But it's not fear.
It's anticipation.
My body is reacting before my brain can catch up.
My nipples are pebbles against the fabric.
My core is throbbing.
Aching for him.
For that knee.
For those hands.
I don't know his name.
But I know he's mine.
The thought slams into me with the force of a truck.
Instalove.
It hits me in the chest.
A wave of warmth.
Belonging.
He's looking at my stomach now.
His gaze lingers on my midsection.
Hunger in his eyes.
Dark.
Possessive.
"You're trembling," he notes.
"Good."
He smiles.
A slow, predatory curve of his lips.
"It means you're awake."
He signals the bartender.
"Refill her whiskey sour. Neat. No ice."
"And bring a menu," he adds.
"We're moving."
My heart skips.
"Moving?"
I look around.
The bar is dim.
Shadows lengthen.
"Last call," the bartender announces.
The PA system crackles.
"Last call for alcohol, please."
My stomach drops.
"I have to go."
I reach for my purse.
His hand snaps out.
Grips my wrist.
Not hard.
But firm.
Inescapable.
"No."
The single word stops me dead.
His grip tightens.
I can feel the strength in his fingers.
Iron wrapped in silk.
"You're not going anywhere," he says.
His eyes are dark pools of desire.
"Not yet."
He stands.
Tall.
Imposing.
He towers over me.
Even seated, he feels huge.
He pulls me up with him.
My body collides with his chest.
Hard muscle.
Heat.
I gasp.
He wraps an arm around my waist.
Pulls me flush against him.
I can feel his erection pressing into my hip.
Thick.
Heavy.
Instantly hard.
For me.
Already.
"Name," he demands.
He leans down.
His lips brush my ear.
His breath is hot.
"Tell me your name, Chloe."
I blink.
"How do you know my name?"
He chuckles.
A low rumble I feel in my bones.
"The bartender told me. Also, you have a tattoo on your ankle that says 'Chloe Rose'."
He looks down, though I'm wearing jeans.
"You were wearing sandals earlier."
The way he knows everything.
The way he watches me.
It's intoxicating.
"Chloe," he tests the name.
"Prettiest thing I've seen all night."
His hand slides down my back.
Over the curve of my ass.
Squeezes.
I moan.
A soft sound escapes my throat.
He growls.
"Good girl."
The praise makes my knees weak.
"Come with me, Chloe."
He doesn't ask.
He tells.
"Let me take care of you."
His eyes drop to my lips.
Then lower.
To my chest.
"I'm going to fill you up until you forget his name."
The raw promise shocks me.
But it also ignites a fire in my belly.
I want that.
I want to be filled.
I want to be owned.
I look into his eyes.
Those golden-flecked abysses.
And I nod.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay, Daddy."
The word slips out before I can stop it.
I've never said it.
Never thought it.
But it fits.
He is Daddy.
He commands.
He protects.
He breeds.
I feel it in my gut.
Instinct.
He freezes for a microsecond.
Then his grip on my waist tightens.
His eyes flash with triumph.
With hunger.
"Daddy," he repeats.
"You say that so sweetly."
He presses a kiss to my temple.
Possessive.
Marking me.
"You have no idea what you just invited, little one."
He guides me toward the exit.
His hand stays on my waist.
His other hand covers mine.
Interlaces our fingers.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Room 412."
He doesn't hesitate.
"My suite."
"My bed."
"Your future."
The words hang in the air.
My breath catches.
He knows.
He knows what he's going to do.
He knows he's going to knock me up.
And I...
I want him to.
"Yes," I breathe.
"Yes, Daddy."
He squeezes my hand.
"Good girl."
We walk toward the elevators.
My heart is pounding.
My pussy is dripping.
I'm already imagining his weight inside me.
His cock stretching me.
Filling me.
Claiming me.
Making me his.
No more boys.
No more cowards.
Just this man.
My alpha.
My breeding stock.
My everything.
The elevator doors open.
He pulls me inside.
Presses me against the mirror.
His body caging me in.
"You're mine now, Chloe."
"Say it."
"Say you're mine."
I look up.
His lips are inches from mine.
"I'm yours," I whisper.
"I'm your pussy. Your baby maker. Your girl."
He groans.
Buries his face in my neck.
Inhales deeply.
"Mine," he growls.
"All mine."
The elevator dings.
But he doesn't move.
He just holds me.
Like I'm the only thing that matters.
Like I'm already carrying his heir.
And as I lean into him, I know he's right.
This is just the beginning.
Last call for my old life.
First call for my new reality.
My reality is him.
And he's going to breed me until I'm bursting.
Until I'm full.
Until I'm forever his.