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  I’m a grown woman. I shouldn’t have to hide my choices.

  I open my mouth to tell my father all of this, but he looks past me to Murph, his lip curling in a snarl. Before I can stop him, he’s barreling toward Murph with his fists prepared to fly. “You sick piece of shit. She’s my kid.”

  Whirling back around, I lock eyes with Murph. He looks anguished, like he wants to come after me. He doesn’t, though. He faces my father, head on, taking a right cross to the face. “That was your one free shot,” he rasps to my father, dabbing at the blood on his bottom lip.

  Seeing Murph in pain has me reversing directions. They’re squaring up to each other now, my father and the man I want to spent the rest of my life with. For the moment, their attention is glued to one another.

  Which is why neither one of them notices when a hand claps over my mouth and I’m dragged, kicking, out into the hallway.

  7

  Murph

  Angelica has been mine for less than a day and I’ve already fucked up.

  The fact that I hurt her feelings is what is pissing me off more than anything, when Joe hits me with a right cross. To be fair, I deserve it. There’s an unspoken code between friends and I’ve violated it. And really, it shouldn’t have to be spoken out loud that a man doesn’t fuck his best friend’s much younger daughter. Especially not the way I did it, raw dogging her like an animal her very first time with a man.

  With the pain cracking across my jaw, though, everything becomes clear.

  Wanting to wait to speak to Angelica’s father before claiming her was treating her like a child. She is the one who decides what is best for herself now. What would a conversation with Joe have accomplished? He would have been livid, no matter when or how he found out I’m in love with his daughter. Or that I’ve taken her to bed. What would I have done if Joe said no? Or tried to forbid the relationship?

  I would have taken her anyway. Made her mine.

  Telling Joe the truth before sex would have made no difference, except that it was making Angelica feel like her decisions didn’t matter.

  I’ll never forgive myself for putting her in pain.

  Christ, what if she doesn’t forgive me?

  My heart presses up into my throat, frustration flooding into my blood, boiling it, my fists rising of their own accord.

  I glance toward the door, but my girl is already gone. Rightfully so. I’ve been a complete jackass and I’ll be lucky if she forgives me. Right now, though, I have no choice but to deal with Joe. He’s not going to budge without a fight. There is definitely some sympathy inside of me for what he’s going through. It couldn’t have been easy to hear us through the door. But all I can think about is finding Angelica and apologizing my ass off. In order to do that, I have to get this fight over with.

  You sick piece of shit. She’s my kid.

  Those words ring in my ears, but I don’t feel any guilt. Only anger at myself for calling her a kid so many times when she’s a smart, capable woman now.

  “She’s not a kid anymore,” I say. “She makes her own decisions now. For some reason, she chose me—and God, I’m grateful.” For a moment, the weight of that emotion is so thick, I can’t speak. “We both have to trust that she knows her own mind.”

  “Don’t tell me how to raise my kid,” he spits, his face turning red.

  “You’re done raising her, Joe. She’s a woman. A successful one.”

  His head ticks to the side, rage twisting his mouth. “Maybe you thought you’d get a piece of that success, huh?”

  My own rage builds. “Don’t insult me. And don’t pretend you don’t know me. I don’t give a shit about the money.”

  “You’re wrong. I don’t know you anymore. Who fucks their best friend’s daughter?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, the way you spoke to her. I’m never going to get that filth out of my head.”

  Shame tries to rear its head, until I remember the way she loved that filth. Needed it. “I’m sorry about the way you found out. But I’m not sorry for loving her. Or being with her. I’m going to treat her like a goddamn queen, Joe. I’ll protect her—”

  “No. Enough.” He paces away, comes back. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Believe it.” I think of the virgin blood she left on my cock, how she stroked my face after we came, how she ran to me in fear when I first arrived after the incident, leapt into my arms. Possessiveness sweeps into my chest. “She’s mine.”

  “The hell she is.” He looks me up and down. “She can do better.”

  “There’s no doubt of that. But no one is going to love her more. No one can keep her safe like I can. Somehow…she loves me, too. I can barely believe it, but like I said, she makes decisions for her own life.”

  Joe sneers an insult and stalks toward the other side of the studio, planting his hands on his hips, facing away from me quietly. That break in the argument has me glancing back toward the door, willing Angelica to appear. I don’t like having her out of my sight. The person who has been terrorizing her is in police custody and I know her security team is outside. They’re under orders to follow her everywhere…

  But there is a tingle climbing the back of my neck.

  My instincts are telling me to go after her. Find her.

  Not only to apologize. No. There is something wrong. I can feel it.

  Without another word, I stride for the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Joe shouts at my back. “We’re not done.”

  “Angelica,” is all I can manage around the tightness in my throat.

  With Joe’s footsteps pounding after me, I lunge into the hallway outside the studio, jogging to the end and throwing open the door leading outside. When I see her security team standing around smoking cigarettes, laughing with each other, my blood turns frigid.

  “Where is Angelica?”

  They trade puzzled looks with each other.

  One of them coughs into his fist. “It sounded like she was with you.”

  My temples begin to pound. “She left the studio five minutes ago. You didn’t see her?”

  Their body language grows tense and they start sweeping the parking lot with their gazes. “No. She…”

  “She what?”

  That’s when I realize there are only five of them. There is one guard missing.

  “Where is Miller?”

  Oh God. No. Please don’t tell me I was wrong.

  What if it wasn’t Taryn sending those messages to Angelica? What if it was Miller? He has the same level of access as the manager. How is this possible? I vetted every one of these guards myself. They’ve all served in the military, pristine backgrounds. Miller has a medal of honor, for Chrissakes.

  “Last time I saw him, he was at his post outside the door of the studio.”

  “No cars have come or gone since then.”

  “Then they’re still here,” I rasp, my heart in my mouth. “Fan out, check every fucking car in this lot. Break windows if you have to.” I’m already running toward the back of the building. There’s a rush of sound in my ears, fear pumping in my veins. Vaguely, I register Joe running alongside of me, but all I can think about is getting to her. Eliminating the threat and getting her back into my arms. If something happens to her, I won’t let myself see tomorrow’s sunrise.

  I’d rather die than live without her.

  I round the corner at a dead sprint, the scene in front of me nearly rendering me insane. There is Angelica, cowering against the rear of the building, hands covering her face while a man I thought was trustworthy levels a handgun at her, his face red, eyes deranged. He’s ranting, slurring, his words running together, spittle projecting from his twisted mouth. I make out a few of the words, hear him berating her for not noticing him, not loving him, and I don’t hesitate.

  “Angelica, get down!”

  She hits the pavement in a crouch, hands over her head and my Glock is already out, aimed. I fire at a dead run, striking Miller in the t
hroat. Another shot blasts the gun out of his hand and he goes down, grabbing at his throat and writhing on the ground, his voice reduced to a gurgle.

  “Keep him down,” I growl at Joe, relieved when he doesn’t hesitate, kneeling on the mad man’s back and securing his hands behind him. Footsteps behind me signal the arrival of Angelica’s security team and I bark at them to call the police. And then all I can do is open my arms because Angelica is up and running toward me, tears streaming down her beautiful face.

  I scoop her up and bury my face in her neck, my body coated in frigid sweat, limbs shaking, my head on fire over what I almost lost. “I’m sorry, baby. Jesus, I’m so sorry.” My legs give out and I drop into a kneel, holding her in my arms and rocking her side to side. She sobs brokenly into the curve of my shoulder, hiccupping my name, both of us struggling to get as close as possible.

  Over her head, I lock eyes with Joe. For a moment, he watches us with a dumbstruck expression, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His mouth eventually snaps shut and slowly, he nods at me. Accepting what I have with his daughter. I know him well enough to see that—and it tightens bolts on either side of my throat.

  “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” I say, fisting her hair gently and tipping her head back for a kiss, my lips moving over hers possessively, my tongue invading her mouth to communicate every ounce of feeling inside of me. “I love you,” I rasp, pulling back, looking into eyes that have lived in my dreams for a long time. “I love you so much, Angelica.”

  “I love you, too, Murph,” she hiccups, cupping her hand around the back of my neck and tugging me back down for another long, giving kiss. I let it continue until my dick starts to stiffen to the point of pain, then I break away with an effort, stand with my girl in my arms and carry her somewhere we can be alone.

  “I’m going to make you my wife,” I say, emotion making my tone gruff.

  Her eyes sparkle up at me. “How soon can this be arranged?”

  Epilogue

  Angelica

  Five Years Later

  I know he’s watching me from the bedroom window.

  I’m in the front yard of our secluded Upstate New York cabin, where we like to come when LA life becomes too claustrophobic. It’s a little chilly, but the dance moves I’m executing are keeping me warm. Enough that I am wearing very little clothing. A thin white shirt with no bra and shorts that might as well be panties for all the skin they cover.

  I’m a very bad girl, teasing my husband of five years like this, but I can never seem to help it. He has already had me on my back twice this morning, his grunts echoing in my ears. And no matter how many times I reassure him, he feels guilty for how often he needs me. How hard he takes me. Sometimes he loves me so hard after he returns from a mission that he has to cover my mouth to muffle the screams, lest he wake up one of our napping sons.

  Does he think I’m lying when I tell him I love it?

  That bulky shaft swelling behind his fly, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths every time I enter the room. What wife wouldn’t be thrilled by their husband’s endless well of desire for them? Doesn’t he witness the way I thrash through my orgasms, blinded by pleasure, my nails buried in his back?

  I guess I’ll have to spend the rest of my life convincing him I can never get enough. With a mischievous smile on my life, I bend forward and sweep up, high kicking, rolling my hips in a sensual circle. I twist my fingers in the waistband of my shorts, tightening the material ever more around my bottom, my sex, letting him get a good, hard look at every crevice, every curve.

  The sound of his low groan can be heard through the window.

  Closing my eyes, I can visualize that long, thick erection in his hand. The way he’s watching me and abusing it with white-knuckled strokes. Wanting to come outside and take me, but ashamed of himself for the way he dragged me into the woods this morning in my nightgown and shoved me to my knees, pushing his hot, pulsing cock into my mouth, only managing three pumps before flooding my throat with his lust.

  “You make me so fucking horny,” he gasped while he was in the throes of his climax. “I can’t go five minutes without getting hard, goddammit.”

  Yes, my husband is always balanced on the razor’s edge of hunger when it comes to me—and I’m exactly the same. He’s the only man I’ve ever wanted inside of me. The only man I’ve ever allowed to touch me. And when I married him in the LA County courthouse the same afternoon he saved me from being murdered, I knew life with Murph would be like this. Full of love, wonder, heat, security.

  My father served as our witness, much to my surprise. Truth be told, he didn’t seem all that happy about it. But he saw the way I clung to Murph, the way Murph held me like a treasure. It became obvious to him that our love ran deeper than he realized. And he wasn’t going to stand in the way of that. These days, he even comes to visit us, whether we’re in New York or Los Angeles, growing more and more comfortable with his role as grandfather to Murph’s kids. And their friendship has been repaired, much to my relief.

  Miller, the guard who had a secret obsession with me, is being treated at a psychiatric facility. After he received the medication he required, he reached out to me and apologized for his actions. I don’t think we’ll be inviting him to dinner anytime soon, but accepting his apology made everyone feel better and I don’t hold a grudge against the man, who was in need of treatment.

  I turn on a tiptoe and lock eyes with Murph through the bedroom window, dragging my fingertips over the peaks of my breasts, burying them in my hair and arching my back. As expected, his face disappears from the window and I know I probably only have ten seconds before he’s in the front yard.

  A victorious smile stretches across my face, my loins softening, turning wet for my husband. My love. The man who encouraged me to take a new path in my career, since the old one wasn’t making me happy. Now, I write my own music. My choreography is more cerebral, creative. I’ve moved from the pop music charts to the alternative one and finally, finally, what I do for a living is fulfilling, because I’m being true to myself.

  A crunch of foliage brings my head around—and there is my giant, stomping into the yard toward me, nostrils flared. His shirt is unbuttoned and untucked, his thick, hairy middle on mouthwatering display, the zipper of his jeans straining, thanks to what’s inside.

  “Get those shorts down, little girl,” he pants, jerking open his fly. “You went and made Daddy horny again, didn’t you?” When Murph reaches me, he spins me around and marches me toward the closest tree, guiding my hands high on the trunk and propping them there, his harsh breaths hitting the back of my neck. “Can’t help it, can you? Shaking that little ass in my face. Fuck.”

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I whimper.

  “Like hell you are.” He pulls down my shorts himself and tugs my bare backside into his lap, that fist between my thighs guiding his arousal through my slick folds from behind. “If you’re sorry, show me. Let in these inches.”

  It’s still not easy seating the entirety of my husband’s shaft, but Lord, do we try. Sometimes I can take all of it. Sometimes I can’t. Today, I have a feeling there won’t be a problem. I’m so drenched and ready, my teeth are chattering with lust.

  Murph sinks in halfway with a groan, muffling the sound with my shoulder so we don’t wake the sleeping children inside. “I can’t figure out how it stays to fucking tight with the way I pound away at you.” Another few inches slide into me. “Ahhh. Christ. Just a couple more, baby.”

  His next thrust lifts me clean off the ground, both of us groaning, and I land back on my feet with Murph impaling me completely, filling every square inch of my sex, crowding my walls, stretching me, pulsing, pulsing.

  “Shit. Shit.” He rocks into me and growls, “It’s too tight. I’m going to come.”

  I widen my stance, giving him a pouty look over my shoulder. “Should I rub myself?”

  “No.” He heaves the word, his fingers finding that magic spot
between my legs. “This is my property, little girl. My responsibility.” He strokes my clit with his middle finger, faster, faster. “Feel that. All swollen from teasing me, aren’t you? You love working me up until I pounce.”

  “You’re finally onto me,” I whimper as he bucks into me, forcing me up onto my toes, hitting me with a series of rough drives that are so perfect, so needed, my eyes roll into the back of my head. “Harder.” His flesh smacks into mine. “More.”

  Murph snarls a curse into my neck, adding a second finger to the strumming of my clit, his quickening breath telling me he’s close to the edge. And he pumps into me with no mercy, assaulting my senses, turning me into a trembling mass of nerve endings, the tickle building between my thighs until I’m clawing at the tree bark, whimpers sawing in and out of my throat.

  “Come on your man’s dick,” he growls, right up against my ear. “I want to feel those juices run down to my fucking balls, baby. You hear me?”

  It’s the filth that sends me spiraling. Has me pushing my hips back into his thrusts until we’re grinding into each other desperately, wringing the bliss from one another’s bodies, our groans of pleasure filling the forest. I’m barely through the tumult of sensation when Murph yanks me back against his chest, those burly arms wrapping around me.

  “Mine,” he says, winded. “Mine to love. Mine forever.”

  I reach back and loop my arms around his neck, dropping my head back onto his wide shoulder and looking into the eyes of the man I love beyond reason or common sense, pulling him down for slow, savoring kiss. “Forever.”

  THE END

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