Chapter 6
six
. . .
Lucas
I've been avoiding the house like it's full of land mines.
Ever since Kate climbed onto my lap in my office three days ago, feeling my hard cock beneath her and calling me "Daddy" in that breathy little voice, I've been sleeping at the office, coming home only to shower and change clothes when I know she's in class.
It's pathetic. I'm a grown man hiding from a slip of a girl.
But Christ, the way she felt against me—warm and soft and so fucking wet I could feel it through her shorts—nearly broke me.
I almost took her right there on my desk.
The memory of her scent, her weight on my lap, the way she rolled those perfect hips against my cock…
I've jerked off to it every night since, hating myself more with each release.
Today, I had no choice but to come home early.
A client canceled, and I ran out of excuses to stay away.
I find Kate in the kitchen, wearing leggings that might as well be painted on and another one of those crop tops that make my mouth water.
She's stirring something on the stove, her honey-blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, exposing the delicate nape of her neck.
I want to press my lips there, feel her pulse against my tongue.
"You're home early," she says without turning around, like she sensed my presence.
"Client canceled." I move to the fridge, needing distance, needing something to do with my hands that isn't touching her. "What are you making?"
"Pasta." She glances over her shoulder, those big hazel eyes meeting mine. No anger there for my avoidance. Just something soft and determined that makes my chest ache. "Hungry?"
My appetite these days is for things I can't have. "Sure."
We eat in strained silence. I try not to watch the way her lips close around her fork, try not to imagine those same lips wrapped around my cock. Fail spectacularly on both counts.
"Lucas?" she asks suddenly, setting down her fork. "Can I ask you something?"
I brace myself. "What?"
"Will you teach me self-defense?"
The question catches me off guard. Not what I was expecting. "Self-defense?"
She nods, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is innocent, girlish, and it makes my protective instincts flare alongside my baser ones.
"I've been thinking about college," she says. "And…you know, being on campus. Being around guys I don't know."
The thought of college boys—handsy, hormonal little fuckers—putting their hands on Kate makes my jaw clench so hard I hear my teeth creak. The image of some frat boy trying to corner her at a party, trying to touch what's mine—
I cut the thought off, shocked at my own possessiveness. She's not mine. She can't be mine.
But the idea of teaching her to protect herself? That I can do. That's what her father would want.
"Yeah," I say, voice rougher than intended. "We can start tonight if you want. I have a gym downstairs."
Her smile is like sunshine breaking through clouds. "Really? Thank you!"
An hour later, we're in my home gym. The room takes up half the basement—mats on the floor, weights along one wall, a heavy bag hanging in the corner.
I've changed into basketball shorts and a tank top.
Kate appears wearing tiny athletic shorts and a sports bra that leaves little to the imagination.
Not that my imagination needs the help—I've been picturing her naked for weeks now.
"First things first," I say, all business despite the heat coursing through my veins. "Basic stance."
I show her how to position her feet, how to keep her weight balanced. She mimics me, but her form is off. Her shoulders are too tense, her weight too far forward.
"Not quite," I say. "Here."
I hesitate for just a second before moving behind her. I place my hands on her shoulders, feeling her warm skin beneath my palms. She's so small compared to me, the top of her head barely reaching my chin.
"Relax your shoulders," I murmur, gently pressing down. "That's it. Now, your stance is too narrow."
I crouch slightly, my hands moving to her hips to adjust her position. The touch is meant to be clinical, instructional. But the feel of her—the gentle curve of her waist flaring into hips—sends heat straight to my groin. My cock stirs, beginning to thicken against my thigh.
"Like this?" she asks, shifting her feet.
"Almost." I nudge her feet apart with my own, still behind her, still holding her hips. "You want to be stable. Hard to knock over."
I'm close enough now that my chest brushes against her back. Close enough to smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo, to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. My hands tighten involuntarily on her hips.
"Now," I say, my voice dropping lower, "if someone grabs you from behind—"
I demonstrate, wrapping one arm around her waist, pulling her snug against me. It's a mistake. Her perfect ass nestles against my crotch, and my cock responds immediately, hardening to painful fullness in seconds.
"What do I do?" she asks, her voice breathy.
I should step back. Should put distance between us. But my body refuses to listen to reason.
"You—" I clear my throat, trying to focus. "You drop your weight. Create space between your attacker's body and yours. Then strike backward with your elbow."
She tries it, dropping her center of gravity as I've shown her. But instead of creating space, she pushes back harder against me, her ass grinding against my erection. A low groan escapes me before I can stop it.
"Like that?" she asks innocently. But there's nothing innocent about the way she's moving against me, the subtle roll of her hips that makes my cock throb painfully.
"Kate," I warn, my hands tightening on her waist. "Be serious."
"I am serious," she says, turning her head slightly so I can see her profile. "What if the attacker is much bigger than me? Like you are."
The comparison sends a fresh surge of blood to my groin. I'm fully hard now, my cock a rigid line pressed against her ass. There's no way she can't feel it.
"Then you use leverage," I manage to say, my voice strained. I adjust my grip, moving one hand to her arm to demonstrate. "You use their size against them."
I guide her through the motion, showing her how to break the hold, how to create space, how to strike. But she's not really trying. Every movement just brings her into more contact with me, her body soft and pliant against mine.
"What if I don't want to get away?" she whispers, turning in my arms so she's facing me. Her hands come to rest on my chest, small and warm through the thin material of my tank top.
I should push her away. Should end this lesson right now. But I'm frozen, trapped by the heat in her eyes, by the way her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip.
"Kate," I say, her name a warning and a plea.
She rises on her tiptoes, bringing her face closer to mine. "Show me what to do, Daddy," she breathes, the word soft and deliberate and devastating.
My cock jerks violently at the word, pre-come dampening the front of my shorts. My hands move of their own accord, sliding down to cup her ass, lifting her slightly so her core presses against my hardness.
For one dangerous moment, I consider taking her right here on the mat. Stripping those tiny shorts off her, spreading her legs, and burying myself in what I know will be tight, virgin heat. Making her scream "Daddy" for real as I fuck her into oblivion.
The image is so vivid, so consuming, that I nearly do it. Nearly give in to the madness that's been building since she moved into my house.
But some last shred of sanity pulls me back from the edge. I set her down abruptly, stepping away, putting much-needed distance between us.
"That's enough for today," I say, voice rough as sandpaper. "You…you did good."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. She didn't learn a damn thing about self-defense.
But I learned something—learned that I'm hanging onto my control by a thread so thin it's practically invisible.
One more second pressed against her, one more breathy "Daddy" from those soft lips, and I'd have had her pinned beneath me, propriety and promises be damned.
I'm in serious fucking trouble.