Chapter 27
I wake slowly with the soft sheets tangled around my waist, warmth radiating against me, and the steady rhythm of Mackenzi’s breathing against my pec.
When I open my eyes, I find the pale gray morning light filtering through the curtains, washing the room in muted dawn and softening everything around the edges.
For a moment, I don’t move, not wanting to disturb her. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, and feeling an unfamiliar notion settling in my chest. The usual pang of danger, responsibility, and exhaustion has been replaced with something equally as dangerous. Contentment.
I’ve spent decades sleeping in war zones, safe houses, and God knows where else under active threat.
It’s been years of conditioning myself to wake instantly, alert and detached, with every nerve wired for violence before my eyes fully opened.
But this morning, I’m waking up entwined around a girl who has somehow managed to subdue every instinct I possess, leaving me vulnerable in an entirely different way.
My gaze lowers, and I find Mackenzi curled against my side, half sprawled across me beneath the sheets, her hair a wild mess across the pillow.
There’s still the faintest flush from my roughness painted across her skin from last night.
The tiny marks I left scattered along her hips and waist are barely visible in the dim light, but seeing them sends heat crawling through my body all over again.
Jesus Christ.
I should feel guilt. Regret. Even some sense of professional shame, considering the fact her father entrusted her safety to me. Instead, having her in my arms with my cum deep inside her, all I feel is possessive satisfaction. Because Mackenzi Bradenburg is mine.
Her lashes flutter seconds before she shifts against me, the movement dragging a low ache through my chest so sharp, it catches me off guard.
I’ve spent most of my life learning how not to need things.
Attachment creates weaknesses that enemies can exploit.
But this fucking girl makes me want things I stopped allowing myself to wish for a long time ago.
Her eyes slowly open, still heavy with sleep. The second they land on me, her expression softens into adoration and trust. “Hi.” Her whisper is rough from sleep, quiet and warm.
I brush a strand of hair away from her face, my knuckles dragging gently along her cheek. “Morning, trouble.”
A sleepy smile curves her mouth as she tips her face up to kiss me. It’s soft and slow, but devoid of any hesitation. Her warm lips press against mine like she woke up wanting me this morning. And God help me, I melt into her instantly.
I kiss her back harder than I intend to, one hand sliding into her hair while the other settles against her waist, beneath the shirt she stole from me sometime overnight. She makes a quiet whimper against my mouth that travels in my bloodstream, straight to my fucking cock.
When we finally pull apart, she stays close enough that our noses still brush. “Morning, Daddy.”
My eyes close briefly as I exhale through my nose. “Fuck… I love hearing you say that first thing in the morning.” Her smile widens slightly, shy satisfaction flickering across her face.
I pull her closer until she’s nearly on top of me, wrapping both arms around her and burying my face in her neck. She smells like a mixture of her perfume, my cologne, and sex. I can’t imagine anything better. If the world would let me, I would stay right here for the rest of the day.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly. Last night was intense—physically, things definitely steered toward less than gentle, and it was emotional in a way that even I hadn’t prepared for.
Her expression warms at the question. She shifts slightly, and awareness flickers across her face as she takes stock of herself. “A little sore,” she admits softly. Instant guilt stirs in my chest, having already seen the bruises my fingertips left behind, until she smiles. “But it’s a good sore.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods against the pillow, eyes bright despite the early hour.
“I’ll try to be more gentle next time,” I promise, brushing my thumb along her hip.
The second the words leave my mouth, her expression changes, and a brazenness flares to life behind her eyes. “Who says I want gentle?”
My brows lift slightly, caught off guard. The shy uncertainty that used to define her every reaction around me is gone this morning. In its place is confidence, curiosity, and a dangerous spark that heats my blood instantly.
I study her carefully, my fingers flexing against the soft curve of her waist.
“You sure you want to say things like that to me this early in the morning, trouble?”
She shifts closer instead of backing down. “Yes, Daddy.”
Fuck.
I roll us smoothly until she’s beneath me, sinking into the mattress as I brace myself above her. My shirt rides up her thighs when my body settles between them. Her lips part slightly as she looks up at me, and she’s fucking beautiful, splayed out beneath me.
As my hand slowly slides up her thigh, my fingers flexing possessively against her warm skin, I dip my head to hers. “You’re playing with fire, trouble,” I whisper against her mouth.
Her breathing stutters, but she still doesn’t back down. “I’m not afraid.”
I kiss her hard. This time, hungry and possessive. My mouth takes hers with enough force to pull a breathless mewl from her throat. Her arms wind around my neck, and her fingers slide into my hair, tugging just enough to make my pulse spike and my cock grow rigid against her thigh.
I’m completely fucking hopeless. One night. That’s all it took for my body to become addicted to her.
My mouth drags from her lips to her jaw, then lower, to her throat as she arches beneath me. The movement presses her chest against mine, and her nipples drag along my pecs through the thin cotton barrier. “I can’t get enough of you.” I kiss the words over her soft skin.
A knock raps on the bedroom door, and I freeze for a brief second before lavishing her neck with my lips and tongue. Another knock pounds at the door, louder and more urgent.
For the love of fucking God.
“Go away,” I call roughly without lifting my head.
“Sorry, Damon,” Gunnar calls through the closed door, sounding far too amused for this hour of the morning. “The ambassador is on the phone. He wants a status update on Mackenzi.”
I close my eyes and groan directly against her neck. Mackenzi starts laughing softly, the sweet sound showing she is entirely too entertained by my suffering.
I kiss the side of her throat again, unwilling to surrender the moment. “Then give him one,” I mutter. “She’s good.”
“Yeah.” Gunnar laughs dryly from the other side of the door. “Pretty sure he wants it from you.”
Of course he fucking does.
I drop my forehead against Mackenzi’s shoulder dramatically. “I hate everyone.”
Her laughter billows out freely, bright and impossible not to react to. The sound alone almost makes staying in bed worth whatever professional disaster awaits me downstairs.
I lift my head enough to glare at the door. “Tell him I’m dead.”
“Already tried that one,” Gunnar replies. “He didn’t buy it.”
Liar.
Mackenzi grins up at me as I sigh, like the world is out to get me. I groan before leaning down to steal one more kiss from her. “We’ll finish this later.”
The look she gives me at that promise nearly changes my mind about getting out of bed. I force myself upright and drag a hand down my face as Mackenzi remains tangled in the sheets, watching me with appreciative eyes that absolutely do not help the situation.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I teasingly grumble while reaching for my pants.
Her smile only widens.
Hopeless.
I pull on my clothes, piece by piece, trying very hard not to notice the fact she’s still sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but my shirt. A shirt I need back.
By the time I fasten my holster and manage to pry her from my shirt, I’m already mentally preparing for whatever fresh hell the ambassador intends to deliver over the phone.
Before leaving, I cross back to the bed and lean down, cupping her jaw gently.
“This might take a while.” She nods. “Once you’re up, come downstairs for breakfast.”
“Okay.”
I kiss her again, because, apparently, I’m incapable of walking away from her.
Gunnar is waiting in the hallway, a cup of coffee already in hand. He takes one look at me and smirks. “Rough morning?”
I take the coffee from him. “Choose life today, Gunnar. Choose life.”
His grin widens. “I have him on hold in the command center. If he asks, you were on a perimeter check.”
“Thanks”
After taking a seat at the desk, with all the professionalism I can manage, I press the speakerphone to take the call off hold, “Sir.”
“Finally,” Ambassador Bradenburg huffs immediately, his voice echoing around the office through the speakerphone. “I was beginning to think my daughter’s security detail had vanished.”
“The perimeter is quite a distance from the residence, sir.”
“My daughter is under your protection. That delay doesn’t exactly bestow confidence.”
I lean back in the chair, rubbing tiredly at my jaw. “Everything is secure. The perimeter is clear. No movement overnight.”
“And Mackenzi?”
I glance briefly toward the hallway outside before answering, “She’s fine.”
“Fine?”
I already hate where this conversation is headed.
“Yes, sir.”
“She’s behaving?” he inquires after a pause.
Jesus Christ.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sir…”
“You’ve been her primary detail long enough. It’s a reasonable question.”
I hear papers shuffling on his end of the call before he asks, “Is she giving you trouble?”
My eyes close for a moment, and I take a deep breath to compose myself. Gunnar is never going to let me live this down. “She’s being good,” I reply carefully.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Gunnar snickering.
The ambassador hums thoughtfully. “Good. I assume you are taking proper care of her?” My jaw tightens because, unfortunately, I hear every word coming out of his mouth through an entirely different lens. “Well?”
I stare at the ceiling. “Yes, sir. She’s being well taken care of.”
Gunnar is laughing so hard across the room that I throw a marker at him.
“And she got proper rest?”
Unbelievable.
“Yes.” I drag a hand slowly down my face before deadpanning, “I made sure she got to bed early last night.”
“Excellent. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” The ambassador, thankfully oblivious, sounds satisfied and ends our call, while Gunnar nearly falls out of his chair.
“I fucking hate everything about you right now,” I snarl at Gunnar, only making it worse.
He bends forward in his chair, laughing boldly, with one hand pressed against his ribs, as tears gather in the corners of his eyes like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all year. Gunnar manages to wheeze out, “Proper rest,” before losing his shit all over again.
I’m so fucked.