Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CALEB
I wake to find Nola’s honey-blonde hair spread across my chest. For a moment, I don’t move, afraid that any shift might disturb this perfect stillness.
I study her face in the dim light filtering through the windows.
Without makeup or the careful composure she maintains during the day, she looks younger.
Vulnerable. The slight furrow between her brows even in sleep speaks of worry that doesn’t fully disappear.
One small hand rests against my chest, directly over my heart, fingers slightly curled as if she’s holding on even in unconsciousness.
I still can’t believe she was a virgin.
The memory sends another pulse of possessive heat through me.
No one else has touched her the way I have. No one else has heard her gasping “Daddy” while coming apart. When she first whispered it against my ear, something cracked open inside me, some need I hadn’t known existed. A role I never thought I’d want suddenly fitting me like a second skin.
Her breathing changes subtly, a slight catch before evening out again. I brush my lips against her forehead, inhaling the scent of her hair. My expensive shampoo somehow smells different on her.
With careful movements, I extract myself from beneath her, easing her head onto the pillow when she makes a small sound of protest. She curls into the warm spot I’ve left behind, still deeply asleep.
The sight of her in my place, seeking my warmth even unconsciously, sends a pulse of satisfaction through me.
I stand beside the bed, looking down at her. The sheets have slipped to her waist, exposing the gentle curve of her spine, the marks my mouth left on her shoulder. The urge to wake her, to claim her again before the day begins, is almost overwhelming.
But she needs rest. I wasn’t gentle last night. Not the second time. Not when she surrendered so completely, begging for more with those sweet lips and eager hips.
Reluctantly, I gather my discarded clothes from the floor.
Dress pants wrinkled beyond salvation. Shirt missing a button. When did that happen? No tie. I must have left it in her bathroom. The evidence of my loss of control scattered across her floor like breadcrumbs leading back to her bed.
I dress quickly, not bothering with the missing button. It’s still dark enough that I might make it back to my suite without being seen. One last look at her sleeping form, and I slip out the door, closing it silently behind me.
The hallway is dark, climate-controlled to the same perfect 68 degrees as every other part of the compound. The cameras track my movement with their tiny red lights, silent witnesses to my walk of…not shame. Never shame with her.
My walk of...aftermath.
I’m halfway to the west wing when Franklin materializes from a side corridor like he’s been summoned by my thoughts. He stops abruptly, taking in my appearance with one comprehensive glance. Rumpled clothes. Hair a disaster. Coming from the direction of Nola’s room before dawn.
“Sir,” he says, his tone as neutral as ever.
“Franklin.”
A moment of silence stretches between us. In another life, with another person, this would be awkward. But Franklin has been with me since I built this place.
He gives a small nod, almost imperceptible, and continues on his way.
I continue to my suite, the vast space feeling emptier than usual after the warm cocoon of Nola’s bed. Everything here is exactly as I left it yesterday. Pristine. Controlled. Lifeless.
The realization presses against me, uncomfortable.
I strip methodically, dropping yesterday’s clothes in the hamper where they’ll disappear and reappear laundered and pressed, as if last night never existed.
My body bears its own evidence, though. The shallow crescents of Nola’s nails on my shoulders.
A faint mark on my neck where she got bold during our second round, her mouth exploring with newfound confidence.
The shower is scalding, exactly how I like it.
Hot enough to scour away thoughts, doubts, complications.
But not today. Today, the water sluices over me and all I can think about is her.
The way she looked up at me with absolute trust as I pushed inside her for the first time.
The small gasp when the discomfort gave way to pleasure.
The way she said not Caleb but Daddy, with such natural ease, like she’d been waiting to call me that her entire life.
My cock hardens at the memory. I wrap my hand around myself, giving in to the inevitable.
It’s ridiculous. I had her twice last night, left her thoroughly satisfied if her boneless collapse into sleep was any indication.
And yet here I am, because the memory of her tight heat around me is still so vivid I can almost feel it.
I close my eyes, letting the images flood back.
Nola beneath me, eyes wide with discovery. Nola moving with me the second time, those small, perfect breasts bouncing with each thrust. Nola whispering “Daddy” as she came apart around me.
My hand moves faster, grip tightening. She’s crawled under my skin in less than forty-eight hours, making me crave things I’ve denied myself for years. Connection. Warmth. Someone to see past the scar to the man beneath.
“Mine,” I growl into the empty shower, coming hard, my release washing away down the drain. Not as satisfying as being inside her, never that, but enough to take the edge off.
After, I dress with my usual precision. Dark suit. Crisp white shirt. Silk tie knotted with mathematical exactness. The familiar ritual should center me, return me to myself.
Instead, I find myself thinking about what Nola might like for breakfast.
I head to the kitchen, a part of the compound I rarely enter. Franklin usually handles meals, delivering them to my office at precisely scheduled times. But this morning feels different. This morning, I want to bring Nola breakfast myself.
I gather fruit from the refrigerator. Berries.
Sliced melon. A perfect green apple that I cut into precise wedges.
The pastries are in a warming drawer, kept fresh by whatever magical system Franklin has implemented.
I select two, one chocolate, one filled with what appears to be apricot preserves.
Coffee is simpler; I know how to operate the elaborate machine that produces perfect espresso at the touch of a button.
The act of preparing this tray feels foreign to my hands but somehow necessary.
I carry the tray to my office, expecting to find it empty at this hour. It’s barely 6:00 AM, and while I typically start my day this early, I don’t expect Nola to follow the same schedule. Especially not after last night.
But she’s there.
Sitting at my desk, her bare feet tucked beneath her in the chair, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that exposes the slope of her neck.
She’s wearing the clothes she arrived in two days ago, the skirt and blouse now freshly washed, and she’s bent over a stack of papers, making notes in the margins with focused attention.
She looks up when I enter, and the blush that immediately colors her cheeks sends a surge of satisfaction through me.
“Good morning,” she says, her voice carrying that slight huskiness that tells me her throat is still raw from crying out beneath me. “I hope you don’t mind. I wanted to get an early start on these contracts.”
I set the tray down on the edge of the desk, my eyes never leaving hers.
“Stand up.”
She blinks, surprise flickering across her features, but complies immediately. She’s learning already.
I take the seat she’s just vacated, still warm from her body, then reach for her wrist, tugging her down onto my lap. She comes willingly, settling against me with only a moment’s hesitation.
“Mr. Asher,” she starts, but I cut her off with a finger pressed to her lips.
“You know what to call me now.” My voice drops to that register that made her tremble last night. “When we’re alone.”
Her flush deepens, spreading down her neck toward her chest.
“Daddy,” she whispers, the word still new on her tongue but gaining confidence.
“Good girl.” I reach for a strawberry from the tray, holding it to her lips. “Eat.”
She opens her mouth, accepting the fruit. A drop of juice clings to her lower lip, and I lean in, capturing it with my tongue before it can fall. She makes a small sound, surprise mixed with pleasure, and I feel the vibration against my mouth.
“I made you breakfast,” I explain, selecting a piece of melon next. “You need to eat after last night.”
She accepts each morsel I offer. Fruit, small bites of pastry, sips of coffee from my cup. The intimacy of feeding her, of watching her lips close around each offering, is unexpectedly erotic.
“We have a full day,” I tell her between offerings. “The Keystone Ventures contract needs finalizing. Davis will call at eleven about the quarterly projections. There’s the Thorne Industries presentation to review for Thursday’s meeting.”
She nods, all business despite sitting on my lap, despite accepting food from my hand.
“I’ve already drafted responses to the Keystone questions and pulled the relevant data for the Thorne presentation.”
Of course she has.
“We should discuss the investor call scheduled for tomorrow,” she continues, shifting slightly on my lap. The movement brings her ass into contact with my rapidly hardening cock, and her breath catches. “And the, um, the calendar invites for next week’s virtual meetings.”
I slide my hand beneath her skirt, fingers tracing the edge of her underwear while my other hand continues offering her fruit.
“Go on,” I encourage, my voice steady while my fingers push aside the fabric. “Tell me about the calendar invites.”
She tries to continue, her voice growing increasingly breathless. “There are three... three meetings scheduled for Monday morning. The first is with... with the development team at nine.”
“And the others?” I prompt, sliding one finger inside her. She’s wet, ready for me despite the soreness she must feel from last night.
“T-ten thirty with marketing,” she manages, her hips moving subtly against my hand. “And t-twelve with legal about the... the patent application.”
“Good,” I praise, adding a second finger, curling them to find that spot that made her scream last night. “You’re very thorough.”
Her breathing is ragged now, her attempts at professional conversation giving way to small gasps and bitten-off moans. I continue the dual assault, enjoying the way she struggles to compartmentalize.
“The development meeting needs additional materials,” I continue conversationally, as if my fingers aren’t currently buried inside her, as if my thumb isn’t circling her clit with deliberate pressure. “Please prepare a brief on the new security protocols.”
“Yes,” she gasps, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. “Yes, Daddy.”
I increase the pace of my fingers, feeling her internal muscles beginning to flutter around them. She’s close, her professional facade crumbling completely.
“Come for me,” I command against her ear. “Be a good girl and come for Daddy.”
She shatters beautifully, her body tensing and then releasing in waves that I feel around my fingers. Her head falls back against my shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted on a silent cry. I work her through it, prolonging her pleasure until she’s trembling and oversensitive.
Just as her breathing begins to normalize, my phone rings.
I kiss the side of her neck, the salt of her skin tasting like victory. I lift her off my lap, setting her on her feet. She sways for a second, her legs clearly unsteady, her face a mask of dazed, beautiful pleasure.
“I have to take this, baby girl,” I say, my voice returning to its sharp, professional edge. “Go back to your room and finish the London logs. I’ll be there in three hours to check your progress.”
She looks at me, her eyes glazed, and nods. She turns and walks toward the door, her gait slightly wide.
I watch her go. I watch the way she has to catch herself on the doorframe.
The satisfaction in my chest is absolute.
I pick up the phone.
“What is it, Davis?” I ask, my eyes still fixed on the empty doorway where my future wife just disappeared. “And make it quick. I have a very busy afternoon ahead of me.”