“Mila Reyes do not ignore me,” I command, and her eyes meet mine.
“I’m not. I’m just tired of you looking at me like a fucking child.” The curse word falling from her lips doesn’t anger me like a parent should. It makes me want to chuckle at how much my daughter has grown up.
“If you use that word in front of me one more time, you will get a spanking, and you’ll not be able to sit down for a week. Or did you want your Uncle Grayson to do it?” I’m almost in her face as I bite out my question, and her mouth gapes in shock. She doesn’t know that I know about her conversations and flirting with him, but when I meet her indignant stare, I know it’s obvious.
She pushes past me, but before she’s out of earshot, I hear it. “Just stay out of my life, Daddy.”
Chapter 5
Mila
“Just stay out of my life, Daddy.” My murmur must have reached him because suddenly I’m being yanked backward.
“Mila, just know if you want to cross that line with him, there is no going back,” he growls, his lips inches from my ear. I don’t respond because I don’t trust my words. Instead, I push back and run into my bedroom, ignoring the shock that slowly envelopes me.
My father knows. Was I that obvious about it? Did Grayson say anything to him? The doorbell dings through the house, and I curl around my pillow. I wish Dad didn’t invite that woman over he’s been seeing. Brigitte. I can’t stand her. She’s as fake as a damn Barbie doll, and I’m over seeing him waste his time with her.
Before I have time to think, my bedroom door flies open, and Grayson Connor is standing there looking as delicious as he did this morning. His shirt is unbuttoned, and the cuffs are rolled up to his elbows. “Gabe says you’re in here pouting about the tattoo,” he quips with a smirk. Mischief sparkles in his gaze, and I can’t help shaking my head.
“I’m in here because he’s being obtuse, and he also knows about us.” He doesn’t deny it; instead, he nods and takes a step inside, shutting the door behind him.
“Come here, Mila,” he orders in a tone so rough I feel the words ripple over my skin. Rolling over, I push off the bed and take a tentative step toward him. “Closer,” he growls. Yes, he growled. Once our bodies are flush, he reaches for my wrists and pulls me against him. “Let me see your ink.”
Releasing me, he steps back, and I gently shove the shorts down an inch to show him the script that adorns my stomach just below my belly button. Another rumble comes from him, and when I meet those molten chocolate eyes, they burn into me.
Swiftly, he grabs me and spins me around, pressing me against the wall beside my bedroom door. The soft lavender is so close to my face; it looks white. “Are you mine, sweetheart?” he whispers over my cheek. I don’t respond. Instead, I press my ass against his crotch. The thick hardness of his cock is evident, and I can’t help biting my lip and moaning like a wanton little slut.
Generally, his thick Scottish accent drives me crazy, but now that he’s murmuring in my ear, I can’t stop the illicit thoughts from running rampant through my mind.
A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Do you think rubbing your little ass on my cock is going to get you out of a spanking?”
“Maybe,” I murmur, my voice breathy as I respond with a shiver skittering down my spine.
“You’re sorely mistaken, Mila, because Uncle Grayson is going to teach you just what naughty girls get when they’re bad.”
Jesus.
My thighs squeeze together in eager anticipation. Desire coils low in my stomach, tightening everything below my belly button. Before I can answer, he spins me in his arms and presses my front to his. His cock pushes against my stomach, and I can’t stop the moan that falls from my lips.
He leans in and murmurs in my ear, “My innocent, little sweetheart. I’m about to color those ass cheeks red, and then I’m going to make you purr.”
With one small step back, he regards me with that filthy smirk curling his lips. He reaches for my hand and tugs me along as we head toward the bed.
He settles onto the mattress and tugs me over his lap. Fuck. He’s really doing it.
A feather-light stroke down my spine, so slow it seems to seep through the cotton of my top heats my skin. He reaches my shorts, and with one big, rough hand, he grips my left cheek, squeezing it. “You have such a lovely little ass. I’ve wanted to spank you for a long time now, sweetheart,” he confirms, his voice thick with desire. “Stand. I want to see those pretty panties you wore for me.”
I manage to rise from his lap. Snapping my gaze to his, I gasp, “For you? You really think I wore these for you?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course you did.” He grins confidently.
“I don’t do everything for you.”
“So, you don’t lie in bed at night rubbing your little cunt for me?” The way he says cunt is probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. His accent is making it even harder to resist. I don’t answer. Instead, I obey his request.
Unbuttoning my shorts, I shove them down my legs, allowing them to pool at my feet. I step out of my ballet flats, and I tug my tank top up and over my head. I’m standing before him in only a pair of sheer, black panties and a bra to match.
“Is that what you wanted to see?” I ask insolently. My curvy frame along with my C-cup breasts seem to have him speechless. My nipples harden against the luxurious fabric under his intense scrutiny. Nothing could have prepared me for this. He reaches out, and with his index finger, strokes the ink on my skin.
“These are perfect.” His reverent tone is more than I can handle, and I feel tears spring to my eyes. Without warning, he grips my hips, careful not to touch the sensitive scars, and tugs me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. “Look at me,” he commands me in that tone once more, and when I meet those deep cocoa pools, they’re filled with desire, darkening to an almost black.
“I am,” I quip playfully. My hands grip his shoulders, and I can feel his muscles tense under my tender touch. My body trembles when he trails both hands up to my arms and my hips roll involuntarily against him with my heated core against his hard bulge.
“Jesus, Mila, we shouldn’t. You shouldn’t want me. Do you know that?” he asks, and I nod.
“I do.” My confession earns me a pained expression. “But I love you.” His gaze snaps to mine, and as I roll my hips, I realize his restraint is slowly slipping. The ebb and flow of our bodies remind me of waves in the ocean, back and forth as I continue to grind.
My head falls back, and my eyes flutter closed as I revel in the erotic yet taboo act. “Please,” I mewl as his lips find my hardened buds through the soft material of my bra.
They’re peaked painfully, and his groan does nothing to ease the tightness in my belly. As if a storm is rolling in and I’m about to be caught in the aftermath. Dad’s right; there’s no going back. A stinging swat lands on my ass, and I cry out.
“But knowing it’s wrong, that’s what makes you wet, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” he questions, and I’m so far gone, so lost in the lust for him. A man. Not my uncle, but a man.