Chapter Four
Milan
"Justice," I moan, thrumming my fingers against my clit. My entire body aches, begging for release, but I can't seem to get there. He touched me today and ruined me…just like I always knew he would.
I imagine him holding me like he did today, his hand inside my panties this time. His erection digs into my back as he kisses my neck and whispers dirty things to me. His fingers are rough against my skin, but they feel so damn good.
"Daddy, please," I whimper, writhing on the bed. "Please."
Not even that once forbidden name does the trick. Nothing is working. I've been trying for the last hour to no avail. Every time I get right there, I lose it again. He called himself my daddy and completely annihilated any chance I have of resisting him or the connection between us.
Do I even want to resist?
Yes. No. I don't know.
Ugh!
I slip my hand out of my panties and yank the covers up over my head, only to immediately kick them right back off. I'm overheated, my skin overly sensitive. That's his fault too. He cornered me in the kitchen and worked voodoo on my body. He left my head spinning too.
"Beautiful, bossy, sexy, sweet, wickedly hot jerk!" I growl, staring up at the ceiling. I wish Ainsley were here. Actually, for the first time ever, I don't think that's true. I think I'm glad she isn't here to see what her uncle is doing to me. She's my best friend. I don't want her to hate me for being in love with Justice.
What am I going to do?
"What am I going to do?"
First, he makes me feel like loving me is wrong. And then he tells me that he could never be ashamed of me. I want so badly to believe he means that. But I'm terrified of being wrong. My own father can't stand to look at me. He avoids me just like Justice has been doing for the last year. It's hard not to worry that Justice does it because he's ashamed of me too, that he's only here now because of Ainsley.
The door to my room flies open as I'm trying to untangle my thoughts.
Justice appears in the doorway like an avenging angel, all holy fire and hellbent. Even in the dim light filtering in from the hall, he looks pissed. His hair is a mess and he's breathing hard. His tie hangs loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone.
After dinner, he disappeared to talk to Travis. I came upstairs.
Did something happen?
"Justice?" I sit up, fear twisting through me. I'm not afraid of him though. There's never been a single day where I was afraid of him.
He doesn't say anything as he stomps toward me hard enough to rattle the picture frame on my nightstand. Before I can say anything else, he's scooping me up into his arms. They close around me, feeling an awful lot like what I always thought home should feel like.
"What's wrong?" I whisper, reaching out to touch the muscle ticking in his cheek.
He grunts wordlessly and stalks toward the door again, taking me and the sheet with him.
"Justice?" I wiggle in his arms, trying to grab the sheet to cover myself. I'm not dressed and who knows how many security guards are still in the house. Travis practically lives here, and Van, Willis, and Everett share the guesthouse on the property.
Before I can ask Justice where he's going or what the heck he's doing, he turns toward his bedroom. Which is big enough to qualify as a house, honestly. I've only ever been inside once. He was in Tennessee. I borrowed his clippers to shave the back of Ainsley's neck.
His suite is gorgeous. The walls and floor are slate gray with black furniture and white accents. He has a sitting area separate from the sleeping area, with a plush couch and giant television that I doubt he even watches. The massive four-poster bed dominates the sleeping space, with a fireplace across from it. Large windows overlook the estate gardens. The entire suite smells like him.
"This is where you sleep," he growls, laying me out in the middle of his bed. He grabs the sheet that's still partially wrapped around me and yanks it off before tossing it on the floor. He's still breathing like he just ran a race.
"Have you lost your mind?" I ask him, partially because I think he's officially gone insane and partially because there's no way his staff won't notice that I'm in his bed instead of the guest suite.
"You sleep in here," he says, ignoring my question. He whips his tie off, tossing it toward the bathroom.
I squeeze my legs together when he starts undoing buttons on his dress shirt. My body still hasn't recovered from my attempts to make myself orgasm. And now he's getting undressed in front of me. Lord. Why is it so hot in here?
He notices me watching him. His expression turns feral as he rakes his gaze down my body, taking in my tousled hair, the t-shirt that barely covers me, and my panties. He licks his lips, his eyes meeting mine again. "Did you get yourself off, pretty baby?"
"What? No."
"You tried."
"We're not talking about this," I mutter, my cheeks heating.
"You couldn't do it without me, could you?"
Does he have to sound so pleased about it?
Jerk.
I swallow hard, fighting back a whimper as his dress shirt parts, revealing his body. I saw him shirtless once right after I met Ainsley. He was getting out of the pool. I got myself off to the memory of him dripping wet for months. Justice isn't ripped. His body is hard without being overly defined. People call it a dad bod, but there is something so damn sexy about it. It's almost as if he was designed specifically to drive me crazy. His chest hair does things to me that should be illegal.
"What…" I sit upright, shocked as I catch sight of a tattoo over his heart. "Justice, what is that?" I ask, my voice strangled. I lose the ability to speak at all when I see another one across his ribcage, and then another on his lower abdomen.
He flashes me a wicked grin and then tugs his shirt off, draping it over the end of the bed. "There are more of them," he murmurs, turning to present his back to me.
I stare at him, shocked silent.
My name is tattooed all over his body. My face stares back at me from his back in vivid detail. Even the unevenness of my lips—how the top one is so much thinner than the bottom, which has always made me a little self-conscious—is just right. Somehow, I look more beautiful inked into his skin than I do when I look in the mirror.