Chapter 2
two
. . .
Vance
She looks like a startled doe caught in headlights, frozen there with her hand on the door.
My cock hardens instantly at the sight of her in that tight little black dress, her hair all messed up from my hands last night.
The wedding band on her finger catches the light, marking her as mine.
Fuck, she's perfect—those big innocent eyes, that tiny waist flaring into hips made for gripping, and those full tits that filled my palms just right.
My wife. The thought sends a surge of possessiveness through me so strong I have to clench my fists in the sheets to keep from lunging at her.
"I—I think there's been a mistake," she stammers, pressing herself against the door like she might phase through it if she tries hard enough.
A mistake. That's cute.
"No mistakes, baby doll," I say, voice still rough from sleep. "Just the best fucking decision I've ever made."
I can see the confusion on her face, the wheels turning as she tries to piece together the night. She won't be able to. Those fancy cocktails I kept ordering for her made sure of that. But me? I didn't have a drop. Not a single fucking sip.
I remember every second of last night with crystal clarity.
The moment she walked into that casino bar in her innocent black dress, looking wide-eyed and out of place among the sharks and predators of Vegas.
The way she bit her lip when she was thinking.
How her laugh made my chest tighten. The slight tremble in her hands when she caught me staring.
"But we…we were drinking. I don't even remember the ceremony," she protests, her fingers twisting the ring like it might burn her.
"I wasn't drinking," I tell her, enjoying the shock that widens those big eyes. "Stone cold sober the whole night."
"What?" The word comes out as a whisper.
I sit up fully now, letting the sheet pool at my waist. I watch her eyes dart to my chest, my arms, the tattoos that mark every victory and battle I've won.
At thirty-seven, my body tells a story of violence and power.
The president for the Devil's Claim MC doesn't get to this age without collecting scars—and without learning to take what he wants when he wants it.
"You walked into that bar, and it was like getting hit by a fucking freight train," I tell her, my voice dropping lower. "One look at that sweet smile, those curves...I knew you were mine. Forever."
Her mouth opens, closes, opens again. "You can't just...that's not how it works."
I laugh, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest. "That's exactly how it works in my world, baby doll. I see something I want, I take it."
"So you...what? Got me drunk and tricked me into marriage?" Her voice rises an octave, a flush spreading across her cheeks.
"No tricks. Just helped you relax enough to do what you wanted to anyway.
" I swing my legs over the side of the bed, standing to my full height.
I'm completely naked, and I see her eyes widen further as she takes in all six-foot-six of me.
"You couldn't keep your hands off me, Wynter.
Begged me to take you to the chapel yourself. "
That's stretching the truth a bit. She was flirty, handsy, and definitely interested, but the chapel was my idea. The way she said yes, though, all breathless and eager when I suggested it...that was real enough.
"This isn't legal," she insists, but there's uncertainty in her voice. "We were—I was intoxicated."
"Got the marriage license right here." I reach for the bedside table, pulling out the official document. "All signed and notarized. Legal as it gets in the state of Nevada."
She shakes her head, hand on the doorknob now. "I'm leaving. We can...we can sort this out later. Get it annulled or—"
I move faster than she expects. For a big man, I've always been quick. In three strides I'm across the room, my palm slamming against the door above her head, keeping it shut. She gasps, her back pressed against the wood as I tower over her.
"No," I say simply. "No annulment. No divorce. No fucking take-backs."
She trembles beneath me, but I notice something else too—her pupils dilating, her breathing quickening. Fear, yes, but something else too. Something that makes my cock throb.
"You don't even know me," she whispers.
"I know enough." I brush a strand of hair from her face, my rough fingers gentle against her soft skin.
"I know you're Wynter, twenty-three, from some tiny town you were dying to escape.
I know you read romance novels and blush when someone says 'fuck.
' I know your body responded to mine like we were made for each other. "
My other hand slides to her waist, gripping tight. "And I know you're my wife now. That's all that fucking matters."
Before she can protest again, I lift her—she weighs nothing in my hands—and carry her back to the bed.
Her body is stiff at first, but when I lay her down, her resistance wavers.
I can see it in her eyes—that mix of fear and fascination that women always have around men like me. Dangerous men. Men who take.
I cage her beneath me, my arms like tree trunks on either side of her head.
"Such a good little girl," I murmur, watching her reaction to the words. Just as I thought—her breath catches, her lips part. "Getting hitched to Daddy. Now let me show you why this ain't no mistake."
"D-Daddy?" she stutters, but there's no disgust in her voice. Just shock and that hidden heat I'm going to fan into flames.
"That's right." I lower my head, my mouth brushing against her ear. "And Daddy's going to show his little girl exactly who she belongs to now."
I don't give her time to think. My mouth crashes down on hers, demanding and possessive. For a moment she's frozen, but then—fuck, yes—she melts, her lips softening under mine, opening when my tongue demands entrance. I growl my approval into her mouth.
My hands don't stay still. I rip that dress up her thighs, bunching it around her waist. No panties—good girl, still bare from last night when I tore them off her, though I didn’t fuck her.
Badly as I wanted to, I wanted her sober for every moment when I claim her.
I break the kiss to look down at her, spread out beneath me.
"Look at this pretty pussy," I growl, running one thick finger through her folds. She's already wet. "Already weeping for me."
She whimpers, her hips jerking against my hand despite herself.
"Say it," I command, circling her clit with my thumb. "Say 'Yes, Daddy.'"
Her face flushes deep pink, but her eyes are getting that glazed look I recognize. "I—I can't—"
I press harder, making her gasp. "You can. You will."
"Y-yes..." she whispers, so quiet I almost miss it.
"Yes what?" I withdraw my touch, making her whimper again.
"Yes...Daddy." The word falls from her lips like a forbidden fruit, sweet and sinful.
"Good girl." I reward her with two thick fingers pushing into her tight heat. She cries out, back arching. "Such a good little wife for Daddy."
I'm done with foreplay. My cock is so hard it's painful, pre-cum beading at the tip. I yank my fingers out of her, use her slick to wet my shaft with a few quick strokes, then position myself at her entrance.
"Going to fuck you properly now," I tell her, my voice a low rumble. "Going to make you understand what being my wife means."
I push in without further warning, groaning at the tight grip of her body. She's so small compared to me, stretching around my girth like a vise. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure-pain.
“Oh fucking hell,” I groan, holding still to let her adjust. “Daddy’s little girl is such a tight little virgin, isn’t she? You were saving yourself for me, weren’t you, honey?”
Oh god, oh god. My jaw clenches. It’s taking everything in me not to bust. The knowledge that I’m her first—gonna be her only—is almost too much to bear.
When her breathing steadies, I start to move. Not gentle. Not slow. I fuck her like I own her—because I do. My hips slam against hers, driving deep with each thrust. The headboard bangs against the wall, a rhythm to match our bodies.
"Gonna fill this tight pussy," I growl, feeling the familiar tightening in my balls already. She feels too good. Perfect. "Gonna fill you until you're bred and mine."
Her eyes fly open at that. "W-what?"
I grip her hips harder, angling to hit deeper. "You heard me. Gonna put my baby in you. Mark you from the inside out."
Something about those words breaks something loose in her. She moans, louder than before, her pussy clenching around me.
"You like that?" I pant, driving harder. "Like the thought of Daddy breeding you? Making your belly swell with my seed?"
"I—I—" she can't form words, just clings to me as I pound into her.
I can feel my orgasm building, unstoppable now. "Tell me you want it," I demand, one hand moving to her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her dizzy with pleasure. "Tell Daddy you want his cum."
"I want it," she gasps, surprising us both. "Please...Daddy."
That does it. With a roar, I bury myself to the hilt and explode, pumping her full of hot cum, grinding against her as if I could force it deeper, make it take root. Her body responds, clenching and milking me as she follows me over the edge, her cry muffled against my shoulder.
Afterward, I stay inside her, enjoying the aftershocks of her pussy around my cock. I look down at her flushed face, her dazed eyes, the wedding ring glinting on her finger.
Mine. No fucking mistake about it.