Meow

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Duffield

" Y ou didn't have to drive me home." Tabby scrunches her nose, and for the first time in my miserable existence, the word "cute" actually means something. “That’s my place, there.” She motions to a sad looking gray crumbling wood structure and anger flickers to life in my belly.

Christ, this girl has me dreaming of picket fences and wedding bells—right after I leave her dripping with me from every hole, with my seed sprouting inside her as I pray my spawn doesn’t grow too large for her tiny body to handle. I make a mental note to find the best obstetricians in the country and get them on retainer now, because I’m knocking this little kitten up pronto. Keeping her safe and healthy while carrying and bringing our babies into the world is my new highest priority.

This can't be me. This must be some parallel universe version who gives a shit about another human being.

"From now on," I growl, pulling my truck to the curb, "you go nowhere without my permission. If I’m not with you, I’ll be watching. Believe me on that."

She laughs. "That seems like a red flag."

"Red flag, green flag, white fucking flag—I don't care. We're not doing semaphore here, kitty."

"Sema-what?" Her eyes narrow adorably.

"Flag signals. All you need to know is you agreed to do as I say. If I say I'm not letting you out of my sight, I'm not letting you out of my sight." I glance at the house she indicated. "You live here?"

"Yes. Wait, I can't always be in your sight. Sometimes I sleep."

“Well, then I won’t,” I answer, fully intending to figure out how not to sleep so I can watch her while she does.

Why is the idea of watching this little kitten sleep such a turn on?

I pull to a stop in front of the sagging structure, pushing away the thoughts of how she would lay next to me, unconscious, tempting me.

Her hair splayed like ink spilled across my pillows, lips parted to catch her breath in little hitching sighs that make me feral just listening. The curve of her hip peeks from the sheets, bare and soft as sin, and I’m already balls-deep in wanting.

Wrong. So wrong.

Of course it’s wrong. She’s unconscious. Vulnerable. But Christ, when has “wrong” ever stopped me?

I imagine leaning over her, tracing my knuckles down that spine—every dip and ridge beneath her skin begging to be marked. Her eyelids flutter but don’t wake, and the thought of her slumped in this half-world between dreams turns me harder than concrete.

My cock twitches in my pants. The fantasy rips through me raw: I’m stripping her slow, fingers yanking those teasing little puuurrrfect panties down her legs before tossing them into the night shadows. She whimpers at the chill air, hitting her cunt, but doesn’t stir. Doesn’t open her eyes.

“Perfect,” I grit out loud, though she can’t hear. My breath’s ragged now as I spread those cotton candy blushing lips with my thumb—so sweet , dripping for me even asleep.

The scent hits like a drug: vanilla and musk and mine.

My tongue lashes the slit, licking her juices up greedily before I hook two fingers inside her. She’s tight, fucking perfect, squeezing my digits like she knows exactly what I’m doing to her while she’s lost in la-la land.

“Gonna take you right here,” I mutter into her thigh, voice gravelly enough to scare myself.

I strip in three seconds flat, naked and leaning over her again, cock jutting thick against her slick folds. The head of my shaft nudges her entrance, so wet she’s coating me before I even push in.

“Christ,” I choke out, bracing myself on shaking arms. She doesn’t fight. Doesn’t protest. Just lies there like a fucking offering, hips rising to meet me the second I thrust. I’m balls-deep with one brutal pump of my hips, her cunt gripping me so tight it’s almost pain.

Almost better than pleasure.

I start moving—slow, punishing strokes that drag moans from her throat even asleep. Her legs clasp my waist like she’s awake and clawing at me, heels digging into my ass as I slam deeper.

“Look how wet you get for daddy, even in your dreams,” I growl against the hollow of her throat, biting down gently where her pulse thrums under my teeth.

Her body tightens around mine. The fucked flush of her coming undone without waking. Clit swells, cunt pulses, and I’m buried to the hilt as she milks me like a damn masterpiece. My release hits hard, thick ropes of cum spurting into her with each ragged thrust until my vision whites out.

When it fades, she’s still asleep—peaceful, limbs tangled in sheets and my sweat-damp chest. I linger there, forehead pressed to hers, breathing her in like this might be the only way I’ll ever have her completely.

Mine, all fucking mine, even when she doesn’t know it.

Outside the window, dawn bleeds light through the blinds. I drag myself off the bed—a ghost of a grin on my lips—as reality slaps back in. She stirs beneath me, murmuring something about still tired and nuzzling deeper into the pillow.

I don’t correct her…

“Hello?” Tabby breaks into my fantasy as I put the truck in park, dragging in a hollow breath and trying to keep from blowing my load in my pants again.

“Yes, kitten. Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.” I turn to assess her shabby accommodations. She'll be out of here the moment I can manage it without her bolting. As for watching her sleep?

And more… She can count on it—whether she knows it or not.

She looks impossibly small beside me. My truck is built for someone of my proportions, making her nothing but a bite-sized morsel with an oversized attitude. She should be curled on my lap, not sitting in her own seat.

I realize I've been staring too long by the way she’s tugging her lips back and forth, doing this little thumb to fingertip nervous touching.

She slow blinks those feline green eyes, then licks her lips. "You want to come in? Meet Nana?"

"Yes." I'm out in an instant, reaching her door before she can open it herself. I understand those old movies now—where men lay their coats over puddles. I'd throw my body across broken glass if it meant keeping her safe.

"Wow, you move fast for a big guy," she grins as I open her door.

I offer my hand. Her fingers are delicate against my rough palm, shooting electricity through my body. I help her down, but don't release her, keeping her connected to me as we cross the sidewalk and move toward the door.

Every cell in me screams to protect her. I need to know everything—what she eats, what she wears to bed, when she's happy or upset. And if anything makes her cry, it better start running, because I'll burn the world to ash to give her what she needs.

She pauses at her door, key in hand. "Look, my Nana, she's..."

I nod. "Worried I'll make a bad impression?"

"What?" Her eyes widen, then she stifles a laugh that makes me want to devour her mouth. "No, it's just Nana can be—"

The door swings open, revealing a tiny woman with Tabby's green eyes, narrowed with suspicion, her face furrowed with time.

"Who's this?" she demands, skipping pleasantries.

Before I can answer, a ginger-colored fluff-ball darts between the old woman's legs and climbs Tabby's body to her shoulder. A larger gray cat follows, weaving between her legs with loud purrs and open-mouthed mewls.

Tabby cuddles the ginger and bends to scratch the gray one on the back of the neck. My chest aches watching her like this—a mixture of adoration, protectiveness, and raw jealousy at how those cats took her attention from me. I can't help running a finger along her nape, making her shiver. Reminding her I’m here and she best not fucking forget it.

"I said, who's this?" The old woman plants fists on her narrow hips, glaring. I don't scare easily, but Christ, this lady has balls. I don’t have to see them to know.

"Oh, Nana," Tabby giggles, nuzzling her kitten. "This is Duffield. Duffield, this is my nana. And this," she presents the cat, "is Butterbean, and that's Misty."

I cautiously offer my hand to the gray cat, surprised when she rises to nuzzle my knuckles. Seymour is grey and he took weeks to totally accept me, probably due to my size. Misty doesn't seem concerned.

I straighten and extend my hand to Nana, who leaves it hanging.

"And who exactly is Duffield?" she huffs. "I hope he's not expecting dinner, because there's not enough food in this house or neighborhood to fill a gut that size."

" Nana! " Tabby blushes, offering me an apologetic shrug. "I warned you—"

I squeeze her shoulder. "It's fine.” I bow my head respectfully, a gesture from my street days. I usually demand respect now, but I haven't forgotten my manners. I’m stepping onto this lady’s territory, and her word is law. "Do I address you as Ms. Burrows or...?”

She nods, her eyes softening slightly. "Yes, I’m Miss Burrows. Single. Have been for five decades. Don’t need a man. Never did."

Noted. I’m not receiving a warm welcome, but I’d rather she give me an honest hard time than a fake smile. "I'm Tabby's new boss. I drove her home. She won’t be taking the bus ever again."

She takes a long breath, sizing me up. Fair enough. A man like me at her door warrants skepticism, and I appreciate the protectiveness.

But that's my job now, and the sooner Nana trusts me, the better.

"All right. Thank you," she says, stepping aside. "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Tabby grins as her grandmother steps back inside, and whispers, her fingers giving my arm a happy squeeze, "She likes you! I knew she would!" Which contradicts my impression, but I'll take it.

Inside, I spot another cat watching from the stairs.

"That's Gumball," Tabby explains, her eyes lighting up every time she sees one of the cats. "She's shy. I need to change and feed them. You'll be okay with Nana?"

"We'll be fine," Nana answers before I can. "Come sit with me, young man."

I hate that she’s going to be out of my sight even here where I’m sure she’s safe, but I follow Nana to a barely furnished sitting room. The house is clean but bare and desperate for repairs. My timeline for moving Tabby just accelerated.

The walls display Tabby at various ages—school photos, graduation, a newspaper clipping showing her in cat ears presenting an oversized check.

But the room itself is sparse—two mismatched armchairs, an ancient TV, worn carpet, and peeling wallpaper with claw marks along the bottom edge.

Mrs. Burrows gestures to a chair and takes the other. As I sit, she says bluntly, "I don't believe you."

"Excuse me?"

"I want the truth. You said making sure Tabby got back safely was all. I wasn't born yesterday."

I've had easier interrogations from men who wanted me dead. "You’re right."

"Good. I can't stand bullshit. What are your intentions toward my granddaughter?"

"I'm going to make her mine. If you want the truth, she’s mine already, I just need to seal the deal. She’s a handful, but I’ve got two big hands."

No sugar-coating for this woman.

"Does she know?"

I consider that. "I think she suspects."

"But you haven't told her?"

"No."

For a few heartbeats, I think she’s going to tell me to fuck off. And I really hope that doesn’t happen, because I don’t want to go to war with an old lady. “She’s everything to me, you hear me? You hurt that girl, you break her heart, and I’m going to hunt you down and make you scream for your mother before I’m finished with you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have good manners. I like that.”

“Miss Burrows. No bullshit. I’m in love with your granddaughter. I’m going to take care of her.”

She stares for a moment, then nods. “I like that too. A man should know his own heart, and he should be man enough to admit it. Too many men these days are scared of everything. Scared of commitment, scared of opening up their hearts, scared of telling their girl that she’s their girl , and nobody and nothing is going to take her away.”

“If anybody even tries to take Tabby away from me…” The thought has me grinding my teeth, and she nods.

“Good. Keep it that way and we won’t have a problem. When Tabby returns I’m going to ask you if you would like to stay to dinner. You’re going to refuse. I need an evening with my granddaughter while she’s still mine and not yours. Am I understood?”

I can’t quite stifle the grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

So I’ve just had my balls handed to me by an old lady. But I’ve also gained her respect. It’s a win, even if it means I have to walk away for one evening.

I can do that. It will kill me, but I’ll make the arrangements I need to hold on to my sanity.

A few silent minutes later, Tabby pushes the door open and comes into the room, taking a seat on the arm of the chair I’m occupying. I put an arm around her waist, and her grandmother doesn’t object. Neither does Tabby.

And that’s the way things should be.

“Would you like to stay to dinner, Duffield?” Nana asks, her expression unreadable.

I consider making a quip, telling her I thought there wasn’t enough food. But my father’s wise words come back to me: choose your battles .

“No, ma’am. I have business to take care of. I would like Tabby to walk me out though.”

It’s a liberty, but Nana gives me her blessing with a nod, and doesn’t follow us to the door. So I seize my chance stalling us in the little vestibule just inside the front door closing the other door that leads into the house, trapping us in the too small for my size space but it’s enough for now.

I check the front of the house from the window in the door, scanning, making sure there are no threats because I’m about to be distracted as fuck.

It’s a possessive instinct, honed over years of guarding what’s mine—or what will be.

God, she’s small. A tiny thing, barely reaching my shoulder, but radiating a heat that could melt glaciers. And those damn cat ears. A black headband supporting delicate pink ears, perched atop a cloud of pink hair—a vibrant, unapologetic shade that somehow perfectly suits her. It’s almost…endearing.

Almost.

It makes me want to devour her whole, protect her from everything, and claim her as my own. I pull Tabby against me, capturing her mouth in a kiss that starts slow and sweet, a deliberate claiming, then quickly ignites. Her lips are soft, yielding, tasting of vanilla and a hint of something wilder. A tremor runs through her, and I revel in it. This…this is new.

My heart, which I thought had grown calloused over the years, is suddenly pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This little thing…she’s dismantling me, layer by layer. I haven’t felt this vulnerable, this alive, in years.

My body responds in ways I hadn’t thought possible. A tightening in my lower abdomen, a warmth spreading through my thighs, a subtle ache between my legs. It’s almost painful.

Her vibrant green eyes are fixed on mine, wide and trusting, flecked with a desire that’s almost intoxicating. I see a flicker of nervousness, but it’s overshadowed by a simmering heat that sets my blood pounding. She’s a fragile porcelain doll, but with a core of fire. My body is responding before my brain can catch up. My pulse is a frantic drumbeat against her spine, my muscles coiled tight, aching to possess her. I haven’t felt this…consumed in years. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

My hands grip her hips, not gently, lifting her slightly, pressing her against the cool plaster of the wall. The satisfying pressure grounds me, a counterpoint to the rising heat between us. The pink of her hair brushes against my cheek, smelling faintly of strawberries. God, she's exquisite.

Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist, her soft center pressing deliciously against my hardness, a silent invitation. She moans softly, a sound that vibrates through me, and I devour her mouth, tasting innocence and a hunger that mirrors my own. The kiss deepens as my hand slides up her back, molding her against me, feeling the heat of her skin through the silk blouse. It’s a deceptively delicate fabric, hiding a core of fire.

“You’re perfect,” I murmur against her lips, my voice rough with desire. “Untouched. You’ve saved your virginity for me, haven’t you, kitten?”

That thought sends a jolt of possessive pleasure through me. She trembles against my hands.

Her lips part slightly under my pressure, inviting me deeper. I taste her, a sweet, innocent flavor, and it stirs something primal within me. A need to mark her, to possess her completely. To make sure every man that sees her knows she’s mine.

My hands explore, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the delicate bones beneath her silk blouse. A warmth spreads through my fingertips, a tingling sensation that makes me want to burrow into her skin.

“What are you thinking?” she whispers, her voice breathless.

“I’m thinking of all the ways I’m going to claim what’s mine,” I growl, deepening the kiss, falling into the warmth of her tongue as it tangles with mine. Our lips part as I finish what I need her to know. “I’m thinking I’m going to bind you to me forever. You’ll be with me forever, body and soul.”

Her breathing comes in quick, shallow pants, eyes glazed with desire. Those eyes are fixed on mine, practically begging for more. I note the pulse throbbing in her neck, delicate and captivating. A small flush is creeping up her cheeks, adding to the vibrancy of her pink hair. She’s breathtaking.

“When?” Her small hand slides between us, caging my rigid length through my pants. The heat is immediate, searing, a pulse thrumming between my legs. I feel a pulse throb in my groin, desperate to be released, desperate to feel her wrapped around me. It’s almost painful, the intensity of my desire.

My hands slide beneath her blouse, exploring the smooth curve of her waist. A shiver runs through her, and I feel a tightening in my own lower abdomen. I want to feel her skin against mine, to taste her everywhere. I want to know every inch of her, to claim her completely.

My control threatens to snap. It always does with her. Years of building walls, of keeping everyone at arm’s length, and she's dismantling them with a single touch. I thrust against her palm, pinning her harder against the wall, feeling the satisfying pressure of her back against the plaster.

“Your grandmother is thirty feet away,” I remind her, a small, delicious restraint, even as my hand slips beneath her skirt, finding the warm, slick heat of her soaked panties. The silk feels like liquid fire against my fingertips, a promise of the inferno to come.

“Then be quiet,” she challenges, nipping my bottom lip with a playful bite. A tiny, perfect bite that sends a shiver down my spine. God, I love her defiance. It makes her all the more intoxicating.

“I want to feel you,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire.

“You will,” I promise, my voice rough with anticipation. “I’ll make you feel so good, you’ll beg for more for the rest of your life.” My fingers trace the curve of her hip, dipping lower, exploring the soft expanse of her stomach. I want to taste her skin, to feel her heat against mine. To hold her tiny body against me all night, keep my cock pinned inside her while she sleeps like a spent doll on my chest.

I rub her through the thin fabric, feeling her pulse quicken around my fingers, watching her nipples harden into rosy peaks through her blouse. A small, satisfied ache blooms in my chest. She’s exquisite, a tiny masterpiece of pink and heat and desire.

“But not like this,” I tell her, clircling her clit, watching her eyes roll back in her head, her breath hitching. “I’m going to ruin you, Tabby. You’ll be begging me for more. But not here, not now. I made promises.”

“Promises?” she challenges, but I don’t elaborate.

Instead, I apply pressure, taking cues from her breath and her little sounds. Doing more of what her body likes until she shatters. I feel her gush into my palm as I cover her mouth with my other hand. She convulses and rocks against me, using my calloused fingers for her peasure. A shudder courses through her small body, and I feel it echo in my own, a primal response. I catch her trembling body as she finally comes down, enjoying the aftershocks while committing every detail of her climax to memory. The scent of her arousal fills me in ways so satisfying I feel reborn. I press my forehead to hers, breathing in her scent, savoring the moment. She smells like heaven, like a promise fulfilled.

“No one’s touched you before this, have they?” It’s a question, but it’s also a plea. I want all her firsts the way I’m going to give her mine. Then I wonder if she will view that as weakness…a man with no experience.

But she takes that thought away with a smile. “No one but you, Daddy.”

“You’re my untouched perfect kitten. Daddy’s little kitty.”

“You know,” she murmurs against my lips, pulling back just enough to look at me with those cat-like eyes. “I always thought guys who said ‘untouched’ and ‘daddy’ were a bit dramatic.”

I smirk, a genuine, surprised sound. “And?”

“And I think you suit dramatic.” She bites her lip, a playful gesture. “So go on, Daddy. Claim me.”

It’s a challenge, and it’s one I won’t refuse.

She moans as my teeth graze her throat, my lips sucking against the soft flesh. I hold her steady, marking her, knowing that her grandmother will see and not caring. I’m on her territory, and I’ve agreed to back off, but I haven’t agreed to give up my claim.

Tabby melts into my arms as I kiss a line along her jaw, giggling as my lips find her cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally her mouth again. I hold her against me, knowing she can feel what she’s doing to me, and then I do the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I step away, and move to the doorway.

“To be continued,” I tell her, using her words from earlier.

She smiles and nods, her perfect tits rising and falling with each heavy breath as she watches me go.