Chapter 18 - Vince
Vince
She was still asleep when I opened my eyes.
Curled against me, mouth parted slightly, legs tangled through mine. My hand had stayed on her back all night. I'd fallen asleep, tracing the faint marks I had left there.
Her fingers curled in my chain. Fuck I love that. I really fucking loved that.
For a minute, I didn’t move.
Just watched her. So fucking beautiful.
My girl.
My perfect sub sleeping on my chest.
I brushed my thumb down her spine, tracing the gentle slope of her back. She had given me everything last night. And her trust, had lit something in me. She had chosen me to be her first. Me. Fuck. If that didn't bring every primal part of me awake.
I’d mapped her body with my hands, my mouth, my cock last night, and it still didn’t feel like enough.
She gave me what no one else had ever touched. And, she agreed to be mine. To be my sub. To let me be Daddy.
Then the possessiveness slid in after it, dark, Crow-deep, ancient in a way I didn’t even bother pretending to fight. The kind of devotion that didn’t feel sane. Every primal part of me came awake at once like a switch had been thrown. My baby bled for me. Opened for me. Trusted me to teach her.
My cock throbbed instantly, mean with jealousy that I wasn’t already back inside her.
Already home where I belonged.
I couldn’t wait for the mornings when I’d wake up hard inside her, her body warm and wet around me, her sleepy voice whispering Daddy… before she even opened her eyes.
But right now?
My come was still nice and deep inside her, and the second I let myself think that, my cock went instantly hard and furious about not already being back there, filling her up again.
Fuck. Mornings were going to ruin me.
But right now, my beautiful girl needed soft.
And she was going to get soft.
From me.
From Daddy.
That was the one thing I’d never compromise on—she could break the world and I’d still be gentle with her.
She shifted under my hand, a tiny frown forming between her brows. Her breathing hitched as she woke.
For a second, she looked lost. Then her gaze found mine.
Recognition hit all at once. Her body tucked closer, like instinct had finally caught up to memory and decided this was home. Good. I wanted her body to sense mine and lean in.
“Morning,” I murmured, dipping my head to kiss her head. “How’s my babygirl?”
She went completely still. “You’ve never called me that before,”
One brow lifted. My hand smoothed slowly down her arm in long, claiming strokes. “Does it bother you?”
A tiny hesitation. Then the smallest shake of her head.
“No.”
Her voice was softer now.
“I thought… I used to think names like that would make me cringe,” her fingers tightened on my chain. “Like if anyone ever called me that, I’d die of secondhand embarrassment on the spot.”
A corner of my mouth curved. She had no idea what it did to me, hearing her say anyone like there could be someone else. “And now?”
“When you say it…” She swallowed, cheeks flushing as she stared at my chest instead of my eyes. “I melt.”
Fuck.
The smile that pulled at my mouth felt slow and dangerous and proud. Mine. I kissed her forehead. “Good.”
She tried to roll her eyes like she could balance it out. “You’re going to get smug.”
“I’m already smug.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re holding onto me like,” I pointed out quietly, brushing her hair out of her face so I could see all of it. “So which one of us wins that round, baby?”
Her lips twitched. The smile that slipped out was small but real. She didn’t move her hand from my chain.
I tipped my head, narrowed my focus on her face. “How are you really feeling?”
“Fine.”
The word landed too fast. Dynasty-trained.
“Madeline.”
She blinked. “What?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her jaw flexed. Her eyes dipped away.
She tried to blink the tears back, but they pushed over anyway, spilling hot down to the pillow. My baby, my brave little sub, who took everything I gave her, was crying because it hurt and she still tried to hide it from me.
“It hurts,” she whispered. “It hurts so fucking bad, Vince.”
Something in my chest split clean down the middle. The Crow in me bared his teeth at the idea that I’d hurt her, even if it was inevitable, even if she’d asked for it. It didn’t matter. Pain on her body felt like failure written across mine.
“Oh, baby…”
The blanket sat bunched around her waist. Carefully, slowly, I eased it back.
Her breath hitched.
She froze. My gaze followed hers—down the soft line of her stomach, over the curve of her hip, to the inside of her thigh.
Blood stained. Not enough to be dangerous. Just enough to punch through every protective instinct I had and light them on fire. More than I’d planned for. More than I was ever going to be comfortable seeing on my girl.
My first instinct was violent—at myself, at every lesson I’d ever been taught. Crow men were raised on blood. I’d never hated it until I saw it on her.
Her hand flew for the blanket again, reaching to yank it up, to hide from me. I caught her wrist gently before she could.
“Don’t hide. Not from me, angel.”
Humiliation flared hot across her face.
“I’m sorry,” her eyes squeezing shut like she owed me perfection instead of pain.
“Don’t you dare apologize.”
My thumb stroked slow lines over her thigh, careful to avoid the red, just touching the skin I worshipped.
In my head I went straight into triage. First time.
No condom. Tight fit. Long stretch. I’d gone careful, slower than I’d ever gone in my life, checking every sound she made, every breath—but still.
Had there been a tear? Had I taken too much from my girl?
“Listen to me,” I murmured. “I’m going to check you, okay? Just to make sure everything’s healing the way it should. Daddy’s not going to hurt you.”
Fear flickered behind the shame.
“Okay,” she nodded.
I moved like she was made of glass and I was the idiot who’d already cracked her once. Gently easing her knees apart, watching everything— every tiny flinch that felt like a knife across my own nerves.
She winced when I nudged her thighs apart. It still killed me. Every little sound might as well have been a gunshot.
If I could have taken the pain out of her, I would’ve done it without blinking.
Warm skin. Swollen muscles. No fresh blood.
From what I could see, there were no obvious external tears, no jagged edges, no split skin. Just tenderness everywhere, her body shouting new and first and mine.
“I don’t see any damage, baby,” I said, smoothing a hand up to her hip, my thumb circling slow. “You’re not bleeding anymore. It’s just what’s dried.”
Her eyes stayed glassy. Her jaw locked like she was bracing for a verdict.
“And if you had torn?” she asked quietly. “Would you tell me?”
I didn’t even consider lying. “I’d take you to the hospital. I wouldn’t risk you for anything.”
She swallowed that down and nodded, even as the humiliation sat there, raw and bleeding in a way the skin wasn’t.
I bent and brushed my kissed her hip, reverent. “It’s blood, sweetheart. That’s all it is. It’s proof of how new this is. Proof you let me into places no one else has ever been, that you bled for Daddy first. I will never be ashamed of that. Ever.”
The words landed. I saw them hit. Saw the way they warred with a lifetime of dynasty poison in her head. She still looked like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin and disappear under the floor.
She shifted a fraction and the sound she made— wrecked me. That was my line. Pain had gone from necessary to unacceptable.
That was enough.
“Stay here for me.” I kissed her hip, then her stomach, before I got up.
Leaving the bed felt wrong, like I was abandoning my post. But the bathroom was three strides away.
I turned on the tub and kept the water warm, nothing too hot.
The bottle of soak I’d packed sat exactly where I’d shoved it a weeks ago, obsessive kind of planning—just in case she let me have this.
I added a capful, watched it cloud the water, imagined her there where I could hold her and fix as much of this as possible.
Soft, doctor-approved, skin-safe. Only the best for my girl. Instead I’d brought it. Of course I’d been preparing for her long before she knew. Now, I was extra grateful, because at the time, I hadn’t known she was a virgin.
When I came back, she had turned away from the door like if she didn’t see me, I wouldn’t have to see her like this. Like she was trying to spare me from her own pain.
“Hey.” I forced myself to be slow, dropping back down on one knee beside the bed, kneeling for her, where I belonged. “No. No, angel. Look at me.”
She turned reluctantly. “I hate this,” she choked. “I hate that it hurts. I hate that I’m crying. I hate that you’re being so nice.”
I touched her temple, “I’ll stop being nice, then. I’ll be cruel and sarcastic and make you beg for toast instead.”
A breath escaped her, broken halfway into a laugh. I pushed her hair gently back from her face, thumb catching another tear before it could fall.
“Please, baby. Let me take care of you. That’s all I want right now.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You’re not.”
“I feel…” Her mouth trembled. “Ruined.”
That word cut deeper than it had any right to. Ruined. Like what we’d done had broken her value instead of crowning it. Like giving herself to me had made her less.
I slid my arms under her, wrapping the blanket around her first so every inch of skin stayed covered and protected.
I held her tighter as I lifted her. “You’re not ruined. You’re mine.”
She clung to me as I picked her up, arms wound around my neck, legs curling automatically despite the soreness. Every little flinch, every shaky exhale, every way she still chose to hold on—to me—only tightened the vow anchoring in my chest.
Carrying her felt… right.