Chapter 175 ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FIVE

Chapter 175: Chapter ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FIVE

ANGEL

I woke with the urgent need to pee.

Again.

Pregnancy bladder was a special kind of torture. I couldn’t go more than three hours without my body demanding I empty it immediately.

The problem was Daddy. His arm was wrapped around me so tight, his body curved around mine like a cage. His hand was splayed across my belly—even in sleep.

I could feel him behind me, his groin pressed against my ass through the thin fabric of his sleep pants. Twitching slightly, like even his cock was dreaming about me.

The thought made me smile. I thought about grinding back against him, to wake him up the fun way and feel that thick length slide between my thighs until he was groaning my name into my hair.

But my bladder had other plans.

This baby and my stupid bladder was cockblocking me from the inside.

I extracted myself from Vincenzo’s arms carefully, trying not to wake him. His grip tightened reflexively, a low possessive sound rumbling from his chest like a warning—but I managed to slip free.

I padded to the bathroom and my business. I washed my hands and was barely finished when the door exploded inward.

"ANGEL!" The roar ripped through the bathroom like a gunshot.

I stumbled backward in alarm, my hip slamming into the counter.

Vincenzo stood in the doorway.

But it wasn’t Vincenzo.

It was something feral wearing his face.

Daddy was wild-eyed. His chest heaving erratically. His face was bone-white and drained of all color. And his eyes—

They were black. Blown wide with pure, animal terror.

"D-daddy?" I called as he scanned the bathroom frantically, and those sharp gaze finally focused on me.

"Daddy, I’m fine—"

He wasn’t listening.

He crossed the bathroom in two violent strides—so fast I barely saw him move—and his hands closed around my arms like vices.

Too tight.

Bruising.

He yanked me against his chest so hard the air punched out of my lungs.

"Daddy—" I choked, still taken aback.

What was wrong with him?

Daddy still wasn’t hearing me.

His hands were everywhere. Frantic. Running over my arms, my back, my belly, my face—everywhere his fingers touched felt like hot brands against my skin.

There was nothing seductive about this, this was pure, animal panic.

His breath came in ragged, animal gasps against my hair.

"Angel." He growled my name like a mantra. "Angel, Angel, ANGEL—"

"I’m here." I grabbed Daddy’s face, forcing him to look at me.

His eyes were still wild, trapped somewhere between nightmare and reality. His skin was clammy beneath my palms, slick with cold sweat. "Daddy, I’m right here. I’m okay. I just had to pee. I’m not gone. I’m not hurt. I’m here."

He stared at me.

For a long moment, he just stared. As though he was waiting for me to disappear.

And then he shattered.

His arms crushed me against him, his face burying in my neck, his nose pressing into the curve of my throat.

He just... held me.

So tight I could feel his heartbeat slamming against my chest—too fast, too hard, like it was trying to break free.

"I woke up," he rasped against my throat, "and the bed was empty. You were gone." His voice was dark with accusations.

"I...I’m sorry. I should have woken you. I didn’t think you would..."

Panic.

Tormented.

Who would have thought he’d woke up and looked so haunted. Now, I get guilty all over again. Even if I’d found a way to kill Damien’s ghost, it seemed I wasn’t his only victim. He’d burrowed his way into Daddy’s mind as well and refused to leave.

"I thought—I thought I’d lost you, I thought—"

His hands fisted in my shirt, gripping so hard I heard stitches pop.

"Shh." I stroked his hair, his back, anywhere I could reach. "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here."

Slowly, gradually, Daddy’s breathing evened out.

His grip loosened, just barely enough that I could breathe.

But he didn’t let go.

Instead, his hands started to move.

Slower now. It was less frantic checking and more... touching.

His palm slid down my spine—vertebra by vertebra, mapping the curve of my back like he was memorizing it. Over the dip of my waist. Over the curve of my hip. Around to my belly, where it spread wide, his fingers splaying across the bump with a possessiveness that made my breath catch.

"Mine," he breathed against my neck. "You’re mine."

"Yes, Daddy."

His other hand traced up my side. Over my ribs—I felt each finger like a brand. Along the swell of my breast—not quite touching, just hovering—before sliding back down.

Touch me. Please. Touch me properly. Stop teasing and just fucking touch me.

"This is mine." His hand pressed harder against my belly. "My baby. Growing inside you. Mine."

"Yours," I whispered. "All of it. All of me."

His breathing changed. Deepened. Roughened. His body, still pressed against mine, was responding—I could feel him hardening against my stomach, thick and insistent.

Growing.

Swelling.

That impressive length I’d been dreaming about for days pressing into my belly.

He wanted me.

He wanted me so badly he was shaking with it.

But I knew him, he’d still try to hold back. Try to be good.

As usual, Daddy would always try to protect me from himself. From hurting me in any way, especially now he thought I was too delicate.

Silly Daddy. Don’t you know I don’t want to be protected?

I want to be ruined.

I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name. I want you to use me until I’m dripping with you. I want you to fill me up, claim me and make me yours in every way.

So stop being noble and take what’s yours.

I took control.

I pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were still dark, still hungry, but the wildness had shifted into something else.

Dark want. His previous terror had burned away, leaving nothing but raw, naked need.

There you are, Daddy. There’s my beast.

I licked my lips.

Slowly, I dragged my tongue across my bottom lip while holding his gaze, making sure he watched my lips go slick and shiny and wet.

Daddy’s eyes dropped to my mouth and his breath stuttered.

That’s it, Daddy. Watch me. Watch what this mouth can do.

Imagine it wrapped around your cock. Imagine me on my knees, looking up at you with those pretty eyes while I choke on you.

"Daddy," I whispered, letting my voice go breathy and needy. "I want you to kiss me."

His whole body went rigid, every muscle locked up tight.

"Angel—" His voice was strained. Warning. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t start something you can’t finish."

I cocked my head challengingly. "Who says I can’t finish it?"

"You need rest." His jaw was tight, the words forced through gritted teeth. "The doctor said—"

"Fuck what the doctor said." I pressed my body against his. "I need you. Kiss me, Daddy."

His hands caught my hips—whether to push me away or pull me closer, I couldn’t tell. Maybe he couldn’t either.

I leaned in until our mouths were almost touching.

And then I licked his lips.

Just a slow, teasing drag of my tongue across his bottom lip. Soft. Wet. Tasting him. Dipping just slightly between his lips, letting him feel my tongue against his.

He didn’t kiss me back.

Stubborn, stubborn man.

Fine. Let’s see how long you last with my hand on your cock.

I pulled back just slightly to look him dead in the eyes—those dark, burning eyes that were barely human anymore. More beast than man. More hunger than control.

One more push. That’s all it takes. One more push and you’re mine.

"Kiss me, Daddy."