Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Tabby
I stand at my bedroom window, stretching deliberately to make my top ride up, wondering where Duffield hid his cameras. He installed them yesterday himself, while Nana and I were doing cat box duty.
It was a fun Friday night. After our time at work, mostly spent in his office behind the new blinds he had installed, he took me to his place. There, the sex festivities continued, but that wasn’t all. It was also a bath and a foot massage.
Fresh juice he had delivered to rehydrate me and help my poor little cock-battered body heal from the intrusion of his baseball-bat dick.
Incredible what a body can take. We are mismatched in so many ways, but we fit together perfectly.
That was fully sealed in my heart when we entered his penthouse and I met Seymour and Delilah, his cats.
They don’t just each have their own rooms with climbing walls and automatic feeders and cat box cleaners. They have a whole terrace, with real grass and some military-grade webbing that makes sure they can feel like they are outdoors without ever escaping and putting themselves in danger.
It was incredible seeing how the other half lives, but all that from a pet food chain? He’s got to be a billionaire from what I saw, and yeah, Bark and Purr is a great store and all, but doesn’t seem to be the entirety of what might be supporting that sort of lifestyle.
He acquiesced to Nana’s directive that I would be here one more night. They had some sidebar conversations that neither would explain when I asked, but after last night, the word on the street is, I won’t be sleeping here again.
A pinch of sadness squeezes around my heart at that.
Nana and I have been peas and carrots for so long. How will she feel without me here? Am I abandoning her? Especially with the stupid Mortons next door and their ridiculous ordinance proposal up for vote on Monday with the city council.
Duffield is sending over cat carriers for Butterbean, Misty, and Gumball. Nana tried to be strong when we talked about which cats would stay where, but Duffield assured her she would have full access to visit them anytime, then grumbled about her not staying in this house at all anymore, but she would hear none of that.
This is her home, she fought for it, paid for it... She can’t help that the neighborhood has turned all gentrified and polished. The conversation then turned to the Mortons, and it took all the sugar-coating and begging I could muster to keep Duffield from marching over there and doing some damage to them that would likely get him fifteen to life.
When he finally left last night at Nana’s order so we could have one last night of popcorn and Yellowstone—she has a hard thing for Rip—he said he would be watching me. So, why not give him a show?
Besides, I'm wearing my cat ears. Without them, I feel exposed in ways even nudity doesn't touch.
Butterbean stands on his hind legs, clawing at my thighs. Cute, but transparent in his demands. I scoop him into my arms and head downstairs, where a chorus of hungry meows greets me.
"Okay, okay, I get it!" I tell them, opening the cupboard. I swear they can tell time.
Each cat requires a special diet—premium blends I've meticulously formulated from the variety of foods I’ve pilfered. I feel kind of bad about that now, with things the way they are between me and Duffield. But I push the guilt aside because Butterbean needs a new batch, and he's thriving on what I've created. These foods cost a fortune—unless you know where to dumpster dive.
"I'm heading out," I announce to the furry crew like they understand, which, I honestly believe they do, grabbing Nana’s car keys keys and slinging an empty hold-all over my shoulder. "Back in thirty."
Nana is still in bed, but she knew I was going to take the car this morning for a food run, so I don’t bother to wake her to say goodbye.
The closest Bark and Purr isn't far, and they consistently discard bags and cans of great product. Entire trays of unopened cans with months before expiration. Their waste is my treasure when they don’t try to destroy it before it’s dumped.
Infuriating. It dumbfounds me. I bet Duffield doesn’t even know.
I mean, they’re sort of stealing from him, right? Throwing way perfectly good merchandise.
He needs to know, and I’ll be sure to tell him, but not before I load up and make sure my supply closet at the house is good and full. I don’t want to assume I’ll have access to money or free product. I mean, the bad decisions are multiplying already. I agreed to move in with a man I barely know, I could be pregnant with his baby right now, and I haven’t even bothered to discuss with him what the details of our living situation will be.
Love makes you do dumb things. Good dick and mouth work will too. I’m sex hazed and wearing rose colored glasses.
I mean, Duffield and I…what are we? Boyfriend doesn’t sound right. All this ‘I’m claiming you’, is that just something he uses on all the young assistants he hires? One of the office girls told me he goes through assistants like Leonardo DiCaprio goes through girlfriends. Similar age difference as well.
The ache between my legs reminds me that it’s gone beyond boyfriend. At least, if him saying I love you is any indication.
And me saying it back.
Oh. My. God.
Doubt curdles in my belly as I ease Nana’s old Cadillac chugging down the street, the spring sunshine making me squint as a cascade of conflicting feelings makes me queasy. But I have a plan. Get the food, tell Duffield about the dumping, then figure out how to at least keep my job and get on the right side of the cat food supply chain.
What I really want is to keep him. But maybe this kitten is in over her head.
Thirty minutes later, I'm waist-deep in discarded pet supplies, rummaging through the dumpster with my hoodie concealing my face and ears. I toss out anything salvageable to bag later. Technically illegal? Yes. I’m no newbie to the dumpster game. In Michigan, it’s theft if the dumpster is on private property.
But come on. I’m stealing garbage. No harm, no foul, right?
I hit the jackpot—premium foods for Butterbean, Misty, Clementine, and Jasper. I’m not seeing the one I give Gumball, but I have enough for now. If purchased new, these would cost hundreds monthly. I also unearth a salvageable blanket and a scratching post with a bent pole my crew will adore.
Satisfied, I climb out and begin loading my hold-all when a deep voice freezes me mid-motion.
"Do you know who you're fucking stealing from? By the time I'm through with you, you'll wish I'd called the police."
My spine tingles, instincts warring between turning to face the threat or fleeing.
"Wait. I—I'm not stealing." My voice betrays me with a quiver as I stand surrounded by my half-packed bounty.
"Nobody steals from me. Nobody. You hear me?"
"But it's just being thrown away!" Indignation warms my blood. "Who are you anyway?"
I spin around, breath catching at the massive silhouette blocking the alley's exit, the bright sun behind him making features impossible to see. No escape route. No way past.
"Let me go," I demand, aiming for confidence.
He steps forward, and I retreat until my back nearly touches the brick wall. If only I had a real cat's climbing abilities.
"I'll scream!"
Another step forward brings him into clear view.
Wild dark hair. Arctic blue eyes.
"Duffield?"
At first, no response—just stillness. Then recognition dawns in his expression, jaw tightening while his eyes soften with something resembling hurt.
"Little kitty?"
His legs seem to buckle, body swaying without collapsing. Wind gusts down the alley, bringing the scent of recent rain and tearing my hood back.
"If you'd asked, I would have given you the world," he says, shaking his head. "Why did you have to steal? I can't have someone stealing from me. I won't."
Part of me wants to beg forgiveness. The rest—the dominant part—feels outraged.
"It's not stealing!" I step forward, emboldened by righteousness. "These things were being thrown away! Do you know how much perfectly good food your pet shops waste every day? That’s criminal. But this? This is hardly the crime of the century. It's not like I'm taking money from your wallet, Mr. Grumpy Pants."
"Kittycat," he growls, straightening to his full height.
"No." I cut him off sharply, advancing as wind whips my hood back and tangles my hair. "You always get your way, huh? Well, not with me. I need these things. Yes, technically they're yours, but I'm an alleycat, and this is my turf. Legal schmeegal. Anything out here is mine. Besides, if you knew they were throwing all this away? Shame on you." My voice rises nearly to shouting. "And what exactly did you mean by 'you'll wish I'd called the police'? What were you going to do to me?"
I plant my fists on my hips, noticing his clenched jaw as he stares.
"You need to get over yourself. There are people with their own needs, and you can't always get your way. What if I was homeless? Would you deny me a tin of..." I glance down "...premium tuna chunks just because it's technically stealing? Boo fucking hoo."
"Kitty..."
"Uh uh. I don’t know why your shops throw all this away, but I don’t think I want to be with someone that doesn’t think to donate all of this. I mean, you have two stray cats. Don’t you think about all the others out there in shelters and foster homes? No way, you don't get to—"
"You're right."
Those two words hang between us. Then Duffield does something unexpected—he drops to his knees in the filthy alley, among puddles and rat droppings, taking my hands in his. He clutches them like lifelines, pressing his lips against my knuckles.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "You're right. I have no right to keep these things. I came here..." He shakes his head, and shock ripples through me at the sight of tears in his eyes. "I came looking for you. Hadn't seen you on camera for a while, and when I went to your house, you weren't there. I wanted to know you were safe. I've been a complete fucking idiot. I’m not the man you think I am."
"Well, not—"
"I have a whole different life. One I will protect you from, but I want you to be part of me. All I was before I found you was a businessman. Profit and loss. That’s what ran my life. But you, kitten? You run my heart, and if you want it all donated, it’s done. Fuck, you can run the whole fucking chain of stores for all I care. Just realize, I’m never letting you go. I’m a bad man, but I’ll be a good one for you. A husband and a father that puts you and our family first. Always.”
"Big dog," I reply.
"What?"
"If I'm a little kitty, you must be something. Big dog?" I offer a half-smile, earning a choked laugh.
"Big dog, and Daddy. Always Daddy," he agrees, suddenly on his feet and lifting me onto his shoulders like a child getting a piggyback ride. I'm so high I could spot my house from here.
"Wait! I was rescuing that food for a reason. I have hungry mouths to feed."
"I’ll send a truckful to your house. Oh, that reminds me…”
"No! Don't you get it? I like doing things myself. I like that you do things for me too, but cats aren't like you humans. You have to let me be me sometimes."
He sighs but crouches to collect my treasures. "Guess I'm going to have to get used to that."
"Guess you are. Now, are you taking me home or what?"
"Home..." he says with a nod. "Yes, I'm taking you to my place, but your home with Nana?”
“Yes?”
“Those neighbors of yours won’t be bothering you about the cats anymore, and the city won’t either.”
“What?”
He brushes my hair back. “Sometimes, you’re just going to have to not ask questions, kitten. Just know, they are putting their house on the market tomorrow and there will never be an ordinance in the city with a limit on how many cats someone can have. Now, just leave it be. I know people and I know how to get people to do what I want. Let’s just say, it’s a gift. You’re right, cats aren’t like humans. Sometimes, us humans can get pretty protective, especially when someone tries to hurt our pets.”
He carries me to his waiting car, my bag of salvaged goods slung over his massive shoulder. Once inside, he pulls me onto his lap rather than letting me sit beside him. He takes the next ten minutes to explain who he is. All the niggling doubts I had are answered, maybe not the way I wanted, but with truth and honesty. And the rest, I can learn to live with.
He’s a mobster. He’s had plenty of blood on his hands. But I’m the only one that knows his heart, and it’s in the right place.
Right enough for me at least.
“I have a construction crew meeting with Nana in the morning to discuss the renovations on her house as well. No budget. She took it better than I expected. I only took about five minutes of her tirade before she gave in.”
“Mr. Big Dog Daddy riding in to the rescue.”
"I thought I'd lost you," he murmurs against my hair. "When I couldn't find you, I went crazy. No one disappears from me."
"I just went dumpster diving. I do it all the time."
His arms tighten. "Not anymore.”
I pull back to look at him. "That's not the point. I'm independent. I don't need rescuing."
"Everyone needs rescuing sometimes."
"Even you, Big Dog?" I trace his jaw, feeling the tension there.
His eyes darken. "Only from you."
Before I can respond, his mouth claims mine with desperate hunger. I taste his fear—fear of losing what he's only just found. My body melts against him, responding to his need with my own.
"Don't disappear," he growls between kisses, hands sliding beneath my shirt to grip my waist. "I can't handle not knowing where you are."
"You don't own me," I remind him, even as my fingers tangle in his hair.
"No. But I need you." The raw honesty in his voice shivers through me. "Need you safe. Need you mine."
His confession breaks something open inside me. I've never been needed—not like this. Wanted, yes. But needed? That's new territory.
I tug his hair, forcing him to meet my eyes. "I'm not giving up who I am. Not even for you."
"I wouldn't want you to." His massive hands cradle my face. "Your wildness is what I love most."
My heart stutters at that word again—love. It’s too soon, too fast, too everything. But it felt right before and it feels right now.
"Show me," I challenge, pressing against him where he's already hard.
The car stops. We've reached my house, but neither of us moves to exit.
"Here?" His eyebrow raises, a smirk playing at his lips.
I answer by straddling him properly, my hands working at his belt. "Cats take what they want, when they want it."
He groans as my fingers find him, hot and rigid. "And what do you want, kitten?"
"You." I bite his earlobe, relishing his sharp intake of breath. "All of you."
His control snaps. In one fluid motion, he reclines my seat and moves over me, his weight deliciously pinning me down. The car's tinted windows shield us from prying eyes as his hands push my shirt up, exposing my skin to the cool air.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, lips trailing fire across my collarbone.
I arch up, clawing at his back through his shirt. "Don't make me wait."
He chuckles against my skin. "Impatient kitty."
My nails dig deeper. "I bite when teased."
"Promise?" His eyes meet mine, dark with desire.
I demonstrate by sinking my teeth into his shoulder, hard enough to make him hiss, then lick the spot soothingly. "Mine," I whisper.
Something primal flashes in his gaze. "Mine," he echoes, tugging my pants down my hips in one rough motion.
The confined space makes everything more intense—every touch, every breath. When he finally pushes inside me, the world narrows to just us—predator and prey, though I'm not sure which is which anymore.
"Duffield," I gasp as he fills me completely.
"Say it again," he demands, hips driving forward. "My name on your lips."
"Duffield," I repeat, wrapping my legs around him. "My Big Dog. My Daddy."
He moves with controlled power, each thrust claiming me more thoroughly than the last. I meet him stroke for stroke, refusing to surrender completely despite the pleasure threatening to overwhelm me.
When release finally crashes through me, I bite him again, marking him as he's marked me. He follows moments later, my name a prayer on his lips.
After, still tangled together in the reclined seat, he presses his forehead to mine. "Marry me."
"What?"
"It’s not a question."
I blink, processing his words. "That's...that's a lot. Big dog step there, Daddy, you sure?"
"I don't do small steps." His thumb traces my lower lip. "I want you with me. Always."
"We barely know each other."
"I know everything that matters." His gaze holds mine, unflinching. "You're brave, fierce, loyal. You fight for what you love. You challenge me. No one except you challenges me, except perhaps my sister."
“Sister?”
“You’ll see, little kitty.”
I laugh softly. "Well, everyone needs someone to keep them in line."
"So, you ready to be Mrs. Duffield Murphy?” He smiles. “That is a question. It’s happening, but I do want to know if you are ready.”
I study him—this impossible man who threatens dumpster divers one minute and proposes marriage the next. "On one condition."
"Name it."
"No more cameras without my permission. And I go where I want, when I want."
He hesitates, clearly battling his protective instincts. "I need to know you're safe."
"Text me. Call me. But trust me."
Trust. The word hangs between us, weighted with meaning.
Finally, he nods. "Compromise. You keep your phone on you and I get to have a tracker. Kitten, I can’t breathe thinking you’d be out there without me first of all, and if you were and something happened, and I couldn’t find you? Sorry, no option, that’s the final word."
"Deal." I seal it with a kiss, gentler than before.
As we disentangle ourselves to enter my house, cat food and scratching post in tow, I realize I've just agreed to marry the most dangerous man in Detroit.
And I couldn't be happier.