8. GAVIN
GAVIN
The conference room smells like stale coffee and tension. Eight men sit around the table—veterans of my operation, soldiers who've proven their worth through blood and loyalty. Most of them, anyway.
Kip Sullivan leans back in his chair, arms crossed. He's been with my organization for six months, recruited through one of my lieutenants. Decent muscle, competent with weapons, but he lacks the discretion required for my inner circle.
A mistake I'm about to rectify.
Jones stands at my right, silent and observant as always. He's been my second-in-command for fifteen years, knows my moods better than I know them myself. The tension in his jaw tells me he's picked up on something wrong before I have.
We're discussing distribution routes when Kip speaks up.
"The woman is a liability."
The room goes silent. Every conversation dies mid-sentence. My men freeze, coffee cups halfway to their lips, phones abandoned on the table. They know better than to mention Georgie. Know better than to question anything I do regarding her.
Apparently Kip missed that memo.
I turn slowly, letting the silence stretch. Letting the weight of it press down until the air thickens with anticipation. Kip shifts in his seat but maintains eye contact, too stupid or too arrogant to recognize the danger.
"Say that again." My voice drops to barely above a whisper.
The other men lean away from Kip like he's radioactive. Martin actually scoots his chair back, putting physical distance between them.
Kip swallows but doubles down. "I said the woman—your stepdaughter, Georgie something—she's a liability. Word's getting around about her. People are talking. If your enemies find out?—"
I'm across the table before he finishes. My hand wraps around his throat, lifting him from his chair. His words cut off in a strangled gasp as I slam him against the wall hard enough to crack the drywall.
"Who told you to talk about her?" The growl tears from my chest, primal and possessive. "Who gave you permission to speak her name?"
His face reddens, hands clawing at my wrist. I don't loosen my grip.
"Answer me." I lean closer, letting him see exactly what happens to men who threaten what's mine.
"N-no one," he chokes out. "Just—trying to help?—"
"Help?" My fist connects with his face. Bone crunches under my knuckles—his nose splitting open, blood spraying across my shirt and the wall. The impact sends satisfaction coursing through my veins, but it's not enough. Not nearly enough to satisfy the rage burning in my gut.
I hit him again. His head snaps back, connecting with the wall. Again. Blood streams down his face, mixing with tears and snot.
"You think I need your fucking help?" Another punch, this one to his ribs. The crack echoes through the silent room. "You think you know better than me how to protect what's mine?"
He's sobbing now, barely conscious. I drop him. He crumples to the floor, curling into himself.
I turn to face the others. They're watching with varying degrees of shock and calculation. Good. Let them see. Let them understand exactly where the line is and what happens when someone crosses it.
"Anyone else want to give me a piece of their mind?" My voice cuts through the room like a blade. "Anyone else think my personal life is up for discussion?"
Their heads shake in unison. Rapid. Emphatic.
"No, boss," Martin says quickly. The others echo him.
"Good." I straighten my jacket, ignoring the blood staining my knuckles. "Get him out of here."
They move immediately. Martin and Cooper grab Kip under the arms, hauling him toward the door. He's moaning, barely conscious, leaving a trail of blood across my carpet.
"Jones." I don't turn around.
"Boss?"
"Fire him. Make sure he understands what happens if he breathes a word about our operation. About anything he's seen or heard."
"Consider it done."
The door closes behind them. Silence settles over the room like a blanket. I walk to the window, staring out at the city sprawling below. My knuckles throb where they split open against Kip's face, but the pain grounds me. Reminds me why I did it.
Georgie. Everything comes back to Georgie.
Three weeks since I first saw her in that warehouse.
Three weeks of waking up to her warmth, her laugh, her presence transforming my house into something resembling a home.
Three weeks of tasting her milk and her pleasure, of claiming her body and hearing her call me daddy while I fuck her senseless.
Three weeks of absolute perfection.
My phone vibrates. I pull it from my pocket, and everything else fades away.
A selfie fills the screen—Georgie in what looks like the library, that Louis Vuitton bag pressed to her cheek. She's grinning, eyes bright with happiness. Freckles dust her nose and cheeks. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulders.
The message reads: Thank you, daddy.
Something in my chest expands. Warmth floods through me, washing away the lingering rage from moments ago. This. This is what matters. Not business or territory or the endless chess game of my empire.
Her happiness. Her safety. Her smile.
I text back: Anything for you, baby girl.
Then I stand there, staring at her picture, and make a silent vow. Anyone who threatens her, anyone who even thinks about using her against me, will end up far worse than Kip. I'll burn the entire city down before I let anything touch her.
She's mine. And I protect what's mine.
The house is dark when I arrive home. Past midnight. Jones picked up Georgie from campus hours ago and delivered her safely, like he does every time I can't leave early.
I'm exhausted. The meeting with Kip took longer than expected to clean up. Jones had to drag him to one of our safe houses, make sure he understood the consequences of loose lips. By the time we finished, my shirt was ruined, and my knuckles had swollen.
Worth it.
I strip off my jacket in the foyer, toss my keys on the table.
The house smells like vanilla and sugar—Georgie must have baked again.
She's been experimenting with recipes, filling the kitchen with her presence.
The cook doesn't know what to make of it, but I fucking love coming home to evidence of her.
My bedroom door is cracked open. Light spills into the hallway—warm and inviting. I push it wider and stop dead.
Georgie is on my bed.
Wearing nothing but a pink ribbon tied around her neck.
She's positioned herself on her knees, back straight, hands resting on her thighs.
The ribbon's bow sits perfectly at the hollow of her throat.
Her breasts are full, nipples hard in the cool air.
The curve of her hips, the soft roundness of her stomach, the patch of dark hair between her thighs—all on display like an offering.
My cock hardens instantly.
"You got a gift." She bites her lower lip, eyes dancing with mischief.
I lean against the doorframe, drinking in the sight. Three weeks, and she still takes my breath away. Still makes me feel like a starving man presented with a feast.
"It's not yet Christmas." I keep my voice steady despite the lust coursing through me. "And it's not my birthday."
She tilts her head, the ribbon shifting. "Hmm. Maybe it's meant for someone else."
The growl tears from my throat before I can think. I'm across the room in three strides, hand wrapping around the back of her neck, pulling her mouth to mine.
She tastes like sugar and sin. Her lips part immediately, tongue meeting mine. I angle her head, deepening the kiss until she's moaning into my mouth. My free hand finds her breast, palm covering the warm weight.
"Mine." The word comes out harsh against her lips. "This body is mine. These tits are mine. This cunt is mine."
"Yes, daddy." She arches into my touch, pressing her breast harder into my palm. "All yours."
I break the kiss long enough to strip off my shirt, ignoring the protest in my bruised knuckles. She gasps when she sees them.
"What happened?"
"Nothing that concerns you." I cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Just taking care of business."
Her eyes darken. She takes my damaged hand, brings it to her lips, kisses each swollen knuckle. The gesture shoots straight to my cock.
"Did you hurt someone for me?"
"Yes."
She shivers, but not from fear. Her pupils dilate, breath quickening. "That shouldn't turn me on."
"But it does."
"Yeah." She kisses my knuckles again. "It really does."
I push her back onto the bed, following her down. The ribbon around her neck catches the light, pink against her pale skin. I grab it, wrapping the ends around my fist, using it to tilt her head back.
"You're mine, baby girl." I drag my stubble along her exposed throat. "Say it."
"I'm yours, daddy." Her hips roll, seeking friction. "Only yours."
I release the ribbon and move lower, mouth finding her breast. She cries out when I suck her nipple between my lips. Milk floods my tongue—sweet and warm and uniquely hers. I drink deeply, hand moving to her other breast, thumb circling the nipple.
"Oh god." Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me to her. "That feels so good."
I switch sides, lavishing the same attention on her other breast. She's grinding against my stomach now, leaving wet trails on my skin. Desperate and needy and absolutely perfect.
"Please, daddy." Her voice breaks on a whimper. "I need you inside me."
I release her nipple with a wet pop, milk glistening on my lips. "Patience."
"I don't want patience." She reaches for my belt, fumbling with the buckle. "I want your cock."
The demand shoots fire through my veins. I help her, shoving my pants and boxers down, kicking them off. My cock juts between us, hard and leaking.
She wraps her hand around me, stroking from base to tip. Her thumb swipes through the precum, spreading it. The sight of her small hand wrapped around my length nearly undoes me.
"Look how big you are." Her voice drops to that breathy tone that makes me insane. "You're going to stretch your stepdaughter so good."
"Fuck, Georgie." I grab her wrist, stilling her movements. "Keep talking like that, and I'll come before I get inside you."
She grins—wicked and knowing. "We can't have that."
I position myself between her thighs, spreading them wider. Her pussy glistens, swollen and ready. I drag the head of my cock through her folds, coating myself in her arousal.
"Tell me what you want."
"You." She lifts her hips, trying to take me in. "Your cock. Your come. Everything."
I push inside in one smooth thrust. She's tight—always so fucking tight—her walls gripping me like a vise. She cries out, back arching off the bed, breasts bouncing with the movement.
"That's it." I bottom out, buried to the hilt. "Take all of daddy's cock."
"So full." Her legs wrap around my waist, heels digging into my ass. "You're so deep."
I start to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each thrust rocks her body, sends her breasts swaying. I lean down, capturing a nipple in my mouth while I fuck her.
Milk and arousal and the slick sounds of our bodies connecting. She's moaning continuously now, nails raking down my back.
"Harder, daddy." She tilts her hips, changing the angle. "Fuck me harder."
I comply, increasing my pace. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust. Her pussy clenches around me, drawing me deeper.
"Gonna fill this cunt." I switch to her other breast, sucking hard. Milk flows freely, running down my chin. "Gonna pump you so full of come."
"Yes." She's trembling, right on the edge. "Give it to me. Give me everything."
"Gonna put a baby in you." The words spill out, dark and possessive. "Gonna watch your belly swell with my child. Keep you pregnant, keep these tits full of milk."
"Oh fuck." Her pussy spasms around me. "Yes, daddy. Put a baby in me. Make me yours."
I release her breast and capture her mouth, swallowing her cries. My hand finds the ribbon, wrapping it around my fist, using it to hold her exactly where I want her.
"Mine." I punctuate each word with a thrust. "My woman. My baby girl. Mine."
"Yours." Tears stream down her face—pleasure overwhelming her. "All yours."
Her orgasm hits first. She screams into my mouth, body convulsing. Her pussy clamps down on my cock, rippling and pulsing.
I fuck her through it, chasing my own release. Three more thrusts and I'm coming, buried deep inside her. My cock jerks, pumping her full of come just like I promised.
"Take it all." I grind against her, making sure every drop goes deep. "That's my good girl."
We stay locked together, both of us trembling. Her legs remain wrapped around me, holding me inside. I release the ribbon, smoothing my hand over the marks it left on her skin.
"You okay?" My voice comes out rough.
"Perfect." She cups my face, pulling me down for a gentle kiss. "That was perfect."
I roll us onto our sides, still buried inside her. My hand finds her breast, squeezing gently. Milk beads at her nipple.
"These need more attention?"
"Later." She snuggles closer, tucking her head under my chin. "Just hold me."
I do. Arms wrapped around her, one hand splayed across her stomach. Right where my baby will grow.
Georgie, round with my child. Her body changing, adapting, creating life. Mine. Both of them mine.
Perfect. She's absolutely perfect.
I kiss her forehead, breathing in her scent. "Sleep, baby girl."