Chapter 174 - ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FOUR

Chapter 174: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FOUR

ANGEL

Vincenzo’s eyes dropped to my chest.

Just for a second. Just a flicker.

But I caught it.

There you are, Daddy. There’s that hungry look I’ve been waiting for.

"They’re so swollen," I continued, cupping my breasts through my shirt like I was assessing the damage. Lifting them slightly. Pushing them together. Drawing attention to exactly where I wanted it.

I made sure to move slowly, ensuring he could see every detail—the way my fingers sank into the soft flesh, the way my nipples hardened beneath my palms, straining against the thin fabric of my tank top. No bra underneath.

There was nothing between his eyes and my body except a flimsy scrap of cotton.

"Is this normal? The pregnancy books didn’t say anything about them getting this big."

Daddy’s grip on the book tightened. I watched his breathing shallow.

That’s it. Keep looking, Daddy. Keep wanting.

"It’s... normal." His voice came out rougher than usual. Strained. As though he was forcing each word through gravel. "Your body is preparing to... to feed the baby."

"Mmm." I dropped the bra on the couch—and rubbed my chest absently, like they ached.

Which they did, actually. The pregnancy had made them tender, sensitive, swollen to nearly twice their normal size. But the ache I was implying had nothing to do with soreness and everything to do with the throbbing between my thighs.

"They’re so sore, Daddy. All the time." I kneaded them slowly, watching his face from under my lashes. "I can barely sleep because they throb."

Throb was a good word. It made him think of other things that throbbed. Other aches that needed attention.

Daddy wasn’t reading anymore. The book sat forgotten in his lap—and I noticed, with vicious satisfaction, that he’d shifted it slightly. Positioned it to hide whatever was happening beneath.

Too late, Daddy. I already know.

His eyes were fixed on my hands. On the way my fingers pressed into the soft flesh through my thin tank top. On the way my nipples were visibly hard now, straining against the fabric like they were begging for his mouth.

I wondered if he was thinking about tasting them. About taking one into his mouth and sucking until I screamed. About how sensitive they’d become—how I’d probably come just from him playing with my breasts if he did it right.

I was thinking about it. Getting wetter by the second.

"Is there a parlour that massages boobs or something?" I mused, still rubbing, still teasing. "Like a special pregnancy spa? Because I don’t know what else to do. They’re killing me."

Vincenzo’s breath caught.

A tiny sound. Almost imperceptible. But I heard it. I was listening for it.

"Maybe I should just walk around topless," I continued, tapping my chin thoughtfully with one hand while the other kept moving over my breasts. Squeezing. Lifting. Tormenting him. "Let them breathe. That might help, right? It’s not like anyone’s here except you and the guards, and the guards aren’t allowed inside anyway—"

"No."

The word came out sharp. Almost violent. Ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

I blinked at him, all innocent confusion. "No? But Daddy, they hurt—"

"I said no." He stood abruptly, the book tumbling from his lap to the floor with a dull thud.

Oh, Daddy. Was that book hiding something? Something hard and thick and desperate for attention?

His jaw was tight, his breathing uneven, and there was a tension in his shoulders that looked almost painful.

"You’re not walking around this house naked."

"I said topless, not naked. It’s not the same thing."

"Angel." My name came out as a warning. The kind of voice he used before he punished me.

God, I wanted him to punish me.

"What?" I widened my eyes. "I’m just trying to find a solution. You’re always telling me to come to you with my problems. This is a problem. My boobs hurt and nothing fits and I don’t know what to do about it."

He stared at me and I peered back at him, my expression a picture of wounded innocence. Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth. I was just a sweet, confused pregnant girl with sore breasts and no idea why her daddy looked like he wanted to devour her.

His eyes dropped to my chest again—longer this time, hungrier—before snapping back to my face. Another muscle feathered in his jaw. I could see him fighting. See the war playing out behind those dark eyes.

Beast vs. man. Hunger vs. control.

Come on, Daddy. Let the beast win.

"I’ll order you new bras," he said tightly. "The right size. Today."

"But what about the soreness? They really do ache, Daddy." I stepped closer, holding his stare. "Maybe if someone rubbed them—"

"I have things to do." He muttered, already turning away.

Running away, Daddy? Again?

"Daddy? Are you okay?"

"Fine." The word came out too quick.

"You don’t look fine. You look..." I tilted my head, playing concerned. "Constipated?"

He halted and turned, his eyes narrowed. "Angel."

"What? I’m just worried about you." I completed the distance between us, and placed my hand on his forehead. His skin was hot. Burning. Feverish with want. "You feel warm. Are you sick?"

His hand shot up and grabbed my wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop me.

Our bodies were close now. I could feel his breath on my face. If I shifted forward just slightly, my breasts would press against his chest.

"I know what you’re doing." Daddy growled down at me.

Finally.

I didn’t flinch from his heated stare.

"Doing?" I pouted, blinking at him. "I’m not doing anything. I’m just checking on my Daddy. Making sure he’s okay. Being a good girl."

A good girl who wants to be fucked so hard she forgets her own name.

I was a good girl who’s so wet right now that her thighs are slick with it.

Something dark flickered in his expression. "You’re being a brat."

"Me? Never," I pressed my free hand to my chest in mock offense—making sure to push my breasts together in the process, ensuring he saw the way they swelled above the neckline of my tank top.

He stared at me for a long moment. His grip on my wrist tightened just slightly—enough to send a thrill racing down my spine. I could see the strain in every line of his face.

Snap for me, Daddy. Snap and take what’s yours.

Then he released me and took a step back abruptly.

He was gone before I could respond, practically fleeing the room like the hounds of hell were after him.

I grinned at his retreating back.

That’s fine. Run all you want.

You can’t run forever.