Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Duffield
" Y ou kept her?" Ingrid's eyebrows shoot up as she watches Tabby on the security monitor.
My kitten moves between my desk and the filing cabinets, sorting through boxes of fake invoices I have her filing just to keep her in my office.
I didn’t pick her up myself this morning because I was here, supervising the crew I had brought in at four am to install retractable window coverings for the stupid glass walls in my office. I need fucking privacy.
"Be careful, sis," I warn, my tone leaving no room for debate.
Ingrid glances from me to the screen, surprise shifting to scrutiny as her eyes narrow. " You like her ," she accuses, jabbing a manicured finger my way. A smile tugs at her lips. "Is this like like, or are you just enjoying the kitty's kitty?"
I growl, and she laughs—a sound I haven't heard since her tenth birthday. I remember that day vividly: her opening my gift, a make-your-own unicorn kit. All I could afford then. Her infectious laugh, her room-brightening smile. Her unicorn obsession.
I wonder where that little sister went.
Though I know exactly where. She disappeared the day one of our rivals tried to rape her. Tried. Failed. It was a month after our father was found behind our bar with a bullet in his head.
Someone was making a statement, but I ended up being the one with the megaphone.
I made sure the head of the family that sent their goon to rape my sister suffered—cutting off fingers, tongue, eyes—before finally slitting his throat and dumping what remained in the river.
Then, I got more creative with his brothers. His muscle. And finally, his father. That was the statement that needed to be made. I took my position that day in our city, and bloodshed has just become part of the game, not of just surviving in underworld businesses, but rising to the top.
But even with all my noble revenge, my baby sister vanished forever after that, replaced by a woman determined to never be hurt again.
Now, for a fleeting moment, I glimpse the girl I lost.
"Hey, if you like her, you like her." She turns back to business, the soft moment lost in a poof. "If she lasts longer than the last one, I'll be pleased. Right now, we need to discuss reprisals."
"Who?" I shift into work mode.
For the next hour, we strategize. Our empire operates like any business—with employees, rivals, investments, liabilities, profits, and losses. Money. Black market goods. Real estate. I stay away from drugs. Never touched the skin game. But there’s guns, too. Cars. Truckloads of ‘missing’ merchandise from any number of hot markets that might be trending at the moment. Also, making sure we keep the right people on our side. Judges. Cops. City officials.
Today's problem: a new gang, showing off, disrespecting us, encroaching on our territory. Violence isn't always necessary, but it's always an option.
"I still say we grab that douche one with the sparkly jeans, cut his balls off and send them to his mother. It sends a message." Ingrid doodles on her notepad as we talk, as usual. "These three guys are weak. We spank them, they'll get the—" She stops, staring past me, raising her pen and poking it in the air over my shoulder. "She's sleeping."
I turn to the monitor where Tabby lies curled on my desk, nose to tail, one hand shielding her eyes from the light. The filing job half-finished.
I laugh. It feels strange, like an appendage that’s been left unused for too long.
God, she's fucking perfect.
"Whoa. This is new. You're laughing and smiling." Ingrid looks stunned but happy. Light. "The Duffield I know would fire her ass so fast her feet—should I say paws?—wouldn't touch ground."
I shrug. "It's cute."
"Cute? Fucking cute ? What are you, twelve?" She bristles. "You need to train her. Show her who's boss. Want me to do it? Woman to..." Her eyes narrow. "I'll make sure she knows she needs to—"
"Calm the fuck down," I interrupt. "She’s tired. If she needs a fucking nap, she gets to nap." I don't give a fuck. I only have her working to keep her near me. Mental note: order a human-sized cat bed. "Besides," I add, recalling Tabby's words, "you can't train a cat."
She gapes as I stand and start toward the door. "Can't train a... Where are you going?"
I ignore her, heading for my office while remembering the pet blankets we over-ordered last year. They're still stashed in storage.
Minutes later, I'm draping a pink furry blanket with blue embroidered tiny fish over my sleeping kitten. She makes a soft mewling sound, shifting without waking, and my cock instantly hardens.
She's impossible to resist.
I flick the lock on my door, text Ingrid to handle the Mackay brothers however she sees fit, and switch my intercom to "busy."
Standing over her sleeping form, I'm overcome with possessive hunger. Mine. All mine. I stroke her pink hair, marveling at its silky texture between my fingers.
She stirs but doesn't wake as I lean down, inhaling her sweet vanilla scent. My lips brush her exposed neck, tasting her warm skin.
"Kitty," I whisper against her ear. "Wake up."
Her eyelashes flutter, green eyes blinking drowsily. "Mmm?" Recognition sparks as she focuses on me. "Was I sleeping?"
"You were." My hand slides beneath the blanket, finding her waist. "Should I punish you for napping on the job?"
A slow smile curves her lips as she stretches, arching her back like the feline she embodies. "Punish me how?"
I capture her mouth, devouring her with unchecked hunger. She responds instantly, arms twining around my neck, pulling me closer.
"I've been wanting to do that since you curled up on my desk," I growl against her lips. "So fucking beautiful."
"You were watching me sleep?" She doesn't sound upset—more intrigued.
"I watch everything you do." My hand slides to her thigh, pushing her skirt higher. "Every move. Every breath."
She shivers, but her challenging gaze meets mine. "Creepy."
"Protective," I correct, fingers tracing the base of her tail. "No one touches what's mine."
"And I'm yours?" She bites her lower lip, feigning innocence while her small hand boldly slides down my chest, stopping at my belt.
"From the moment I saw you." I lift her, turning to sit in my chair with her straddling my lap. "Tell me you're mine, kitten."
Instead of answering, she latches onto my neck, teeth sinking into the tender flesh where my shoulder meets my throat. The pain shoots straight to my groin, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
She pulls back, admiring the mark with satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "Cats don't belong to people," she purrs. "People belong to cats."
I laugh, delighted by her defiance. "Is that so?"
Her fingers work at my belt, determination in every movement. "I'm marking my territory. You're mine now. I mean, I can only have one Daddy, right?"
Something feral awakens in me at her possessiveness. The way her lips move around that word.
Daddy.
I capture her wrists in one hand, pinning them behind her back. "We'll see who belongs to whom when you're coming apart under my tongue."
I lift her to sit on the edge of the desk, pushing aside papers, sending them billowing into the air. Her skirt bunches around her waist as I drop to my knees before her, displaying my devotion in the most primal way.
On my knees.
For. Pussy.
She grins down at me, feline and fearless. "Prove it."
Her thighs part like petals under the weight of my nudge, surrendering. The desk hums beneath us as I press close enough to feel her pulse jump against my mouth—the heat rising off her skin in waves that drown me.
"So wet already," I rasp, dragging my lips along her inner thigh before settling at the apex. Her scent floods me—sweet honey and wild musk, and I inhale deep, letting it anchor me to this moment. "Knew Daddy was coming home for lunch, didn’t you?"
A gasp escapes her throat, her fingers already tangling in my hair like she’s been waiting a lifetime for this. My breath hitches at the thought of her imagining me walking through that door just to taste her pussy—and I’m a man unmade by how perfect it feels under my tongue.
"Please," she whispers, voice frayed at the edges like she’s been unraveling for days waiting here.
I don’t answer aloud. Instead, I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, holding that stare as I flick my tongue in one long, deliberate stroke. She arches, her spine forming a delicious bow, and the little cry of ecstasy accompanies her liquid gold hitting my lips.
"Please what, kitten?" My voice drops, raw with hunger for her words. Let her name it. Let her demand it.
"Your mouth," she says, sharper this time—a demand now, not a plea—"Now."
I laugh against her, a growl that vibrates through the damp flesh as I reward her boldness. Two fingers dig into the backs of her thighs to hold her open, spread wide for me, and then I take what’s mine. A desperate man on his knees for this hummingbird of a girl that’s got my balls in her claws and I’m here for it all.
The first lick is slow, languid—testing how deep she’ll let me go—but by the second she’s bucking under my hands, hips rolling forward like she can’t help it.
"Yes," I murmur against her, savoring the way she tastes: sugar and salt and all mine. My tongue circles her clit in steady, fevered circles while I add my thumb, pumping just to her tight cherry, teasing her with what’s to come.
This treasure she’s saved for me will soon be destroyed, and in its destruction it will be the most beautiful masterpiece.
"Tell me what you’re doing to me," I breathe against her heat, refusing to look away from those wide eyes. Her pupils are blown black with want, cheeks flushed pink under the desk lamp’s glow.
"Killing—" she gasps when my teeth graze her inner thigh, “ you. ”
Liar. But I let it be. Instead, I sink lower, taking more of her on my tongue, swirling around her clit until she’s a quivering mess beneath me. She fists my hair harder now, fingers bruising against my scalp, and I revel in the pain—each tug proof that this body wants me here, only me, forever.
"Look at you," I growl into her, pushing two fingers deep inside while my mouth works her like an instrument waiting to be played. Her walls flutter around me, hot and greedy, and I swear she’s humming a hymn just for me. "Come all over my face, kitten."
Her legs clamp down as her body tightens—a coil about to snap—and then the first wave hits with a cry torn from deep in her throat. Her back arches sharply; I catch her hips, hold her steady as I lap at the sweetness spilling over me.
"That’s right," I groan against her, chasing every tremor until she’s shaking like a live wire in my hands.
When she starts to slump back, spent and panting, I’m already up—ripping open my belt with one hand while the other grabs her thigh, hoisting it high over my shoulder.
"Still got me," I say, voice gruff as I position myself against her entrance. “Daddy can’t wait. You’re taking it all, not sure slow is possible now, kitten.”
Her eyes flare, dark and dangerous even in surrender. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Always .”