Chapter 173 - ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THREE

Chapter 173: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THREE

ANGEL

We existed in the same routine for the next few days.

A routine where Daddy and I shared a bed, ate meals together, completely in each other’s space—but yet, we were tiptoeing around the edges of the awareness that burned between us.

Even if we didn’t talk about it, I could feel it.

The tension.

It thickened with each passing hour, filling the air between us until every breath felt heavy. Until I could practically taste the want radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

Vincenzo watched me.

These were hungry looks. Possessive. Consuming.

His eyes followed me across rooms like dark shadows. They lingered on my face, my lips. They dropped to my belly and stayed there, darkening with something that looked like satisfaction. Ownership. Claim.

I caught him doing it constantly.

Obsessively.

Every single day.

And I loved it.

There was something deeply satisfying about being watched like that. About knowing that Daddy—the man who controlled empires, who made grown men tremble with a glance—couldn’t control himself around me.

Damien had told me once that only he could fill the void inside me. That I’d always be empty without him. That no one else would ever want me the way he did.

He was wrong.

With Daddy here, I didn’t feel empty. I felt full. Seen. Wanted. Every hungry glance from those dark eyes filled another crack that Damien had left behind. Every possessive touch stitched up another wound I didn’t know how to heal on my own.

Which is why I wanted him closer. Needed him closer.

Inside me, if I was being honest.

And if Daddy wasn’t going to make a move... well.

I’d just have to help him along. After all, I’d played this game before, and was an expert at this point.

The rules were simple: push until he breaks. Tease until he snaps. Poke the beast until it stops pretending to be tame.

It started small. Innocent.

I wore a crop top to breakfast.

It was nothing scandalous, just a soft cotton thing that rode up when I reached for things, exposing the naked swell of my belly.

The dark line on my abdomen was a bit noticeable, running down the center like an arrow pointing to where I wanted his mouth.

I made sure to reach for things often.

The salt. The butter. The jam on the far side of the table that I absolutely could have asked him to pass.

Each reach made the hem ride up another inch. Bared another strip of skin, letting him see more of what belonged to him.

Vincenzo nearly choked on his coffee.

Perfect.

"What?" I blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence, while reaching across the table for the jam. The hem of my shirt rode up another inch, baring more skin. The underside of my breasts almost—almost—visible. "Is something wrong, Daddy?"

His knuckles went white around his mug. I watched the tendons strain beneath his skin, his grip tightening like he was imagining that mug was something else. Someone else.

Me, maybe.

"Nothing."

"You sure? You look a little... tense."

Tense was an understatement. He looked like a man about to snap. About to lunge across this table and take what he wanted. The vein in his temple was throbbing. His jaw was clenched so tight I could almost hear his teeth grinding.

His jaw worked. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"I’m fine." He said gruffly.

Hmm.

Now, when did Daddy learn how to pretend like this?

Seems I wasn’t the only one playing a game. Was he enjoying my chase of him? Did he know I was goading him on purpose and wanted to see how far I’d take it?

The thought made something warm curl in my belly.

You want to play, Daddy? Fine. Let’s play.

If Daddy wanted a performance, I’d give him one. I’d give him the show of his life. I’d tease and taunt and torture him until he couldn’t see straight, until the only thought in his head was Angel, Angel, Angel—

And then I’d let him catch me.

Because that was the best part, wasn’t it? The catching. The moment when all that restraint finally shattered and the beast came out to play.

I hid my smile behind a piece of toast. We could play this game again, me messing around with him until he snapped. He could keep running around, trying to control the beast within him, and I’d keep chasing, because we both knew he’d snap in the end. He would let me win.

But, don’t make me wait too long, Daddy.

That evening, I shuffled into the living room where he was reading some magazine. The doctor who had come over this afternoon for my check-up had given us the pregnancy health book.

I didn’t know Daddy could be this serious reading a book, those elegant fingers flipping pages. His dark brows were knitted in concentration so deep that I almost didn’t want to distract him.

But then I remembered how good it felt to watch him squirm. How wet it made me to see him fight for control. How much I loved being the thing that could unravel Vincenzo Hale.

I could make him tremble.

I could make him weak.

The power of it was intoxicating.

Well, like I said. Almost.

I marched to stand in front of him, clutching one of my old bras like it had personally offended me. I positioned myself carefully—close enough that he’d have to look up at me, that his eye line would be level with my breasts when he did.

"Daddy, we have a problem."

He looked up from his book, those dark eyes lowering from my face, to the flimsy piece of clothing in my fingers. It lingered.

"What’s wrong?" He asked.

"This!"

I held up the bra higher—a delicate lacy thing I’d dug out from the back of my drawer. It had taken me twenty minutes to find the damn thing, buried under clothes I hadn’t worn in months. We both knew I don’t wear a bra indoors. Hell, it had been difficult to get my hands on this one.

But it was worth it for this moment. For the way his eyes darkened as he stared at the scrap of lace dangling from my fingers.

"None of my bras fit anymore." I frowned at the offending garment, turning it over in my hands like I was genuinely puzzled. "I tried to put this one on and I couldn’t even get the clasp closed. And when I finally squeezed into it, it hurt."