“Let me come,” I gasped, unable to hold myself back. “Please, Daddy. Make me come. Fill me up again and again until you can’t anymore. I need it. Please. Please⁠—”

His hands were on my hips in seconds, and he started thrusting up into me. I held onto his shoulders, steadying myself as he fucked me hard and rough.

I slammed my lips to his, savoring the way he invited me in completely.

Warren’s kiss was bruising. All-consuming. It made me forget who I was. Why I even came here to begin with.

But it was only a matter of time. Reality would set in soon, and I would either be forced to uncover the truth or the contract would end, forcing me back to the real world.

Alone.

I pushed those thoughts away, enjoying the way Warren made me feel. How he made me forget.

He pulled my last orgasm from me like he deserved it. Like my pleasure was his and only his.

Because it is.

I pushed that thought away too as I came. And only as I was coming down from my high did he let go, filling me to the brim.

It was a dirty, forbidden union, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

30

WARREN

My chest ached as I watched Addi prance around my kitchen in a light white sweater and gray shorts.

She had multiple burners going. She’d stop, stir something, then move quickly onto the next with a hurried grace that had me unable to tear my eyes away.

I hadn’t originally meant to stay; I’d just wanted to check on what she was doing after working non-stop for a few hours without a peep from her. Apparently, she’d taken up a home base in the kitchen, and I found myself inching closer and closer until I was taking a seat at the island so I could watch her even more closely.

I wanted to tell her I had private chefs who could cook us anything, and there were thousands of restaurants that would gladly free up a table for us at a moment’s notice.

But I didn’t want to discourage her. Not when she looked so… happy.

She had the same expression on her face as when she had been shopping with her friends that one day. The friendship bracelet still shone on her wrist as she cooked.

It had never left her wrist after I’d put it back on.

The small jewelry box burned in my pocket. It had been days, and I still hadn’t gotten the courage to give it to her.

“The paintings match the kitchen nicely,” she said without turning around. I had a feeling she was giving me time to react.

My eyes fell to the other side of the open kitchen where the two paintings from the charity event hung.

I wasn’t an art person.