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I should’ve put her down because I was a thirty-two-year-old man who had no business holding a seventeen-year-old in his lap.
Yes, my uterus is rioting and tearing apart the baby nursery it spent a month making.
Sweet little dove, still so fucking broken.
“No one hurts you. If they do, I’ll make sure they spend the limited time they have left on earth regretting it. It will not be a headache. I’ll enjoy making it clear what happens to anyone stupid enough to touch you.”
“Then I’ll start a fucking war ‘cause you’re sure as fuck worth it. You need someone to take care of you.”
My plans to ease her in shot right out the damn window. Seeing the residual pain, betrayal, and sadness that shadowed her eyes, I muttered, “Fuck, you need a Daddy bad.”
“Make sure you know what you’re saying, little dove. I’ll control you. Completely. Every damn aspect of your entire life. You’ll follow my rules. When you break them, I’ll punish you until you hate me and then fuck you until you don’t.”
“I’ll take care of you until you’re just as wrapped up and addicted to me as I am to you.”
I didn’t need a charming prince at my side. I needed a villain at my back. I needed someone who would love me with obsessive reassurance. Someone who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty because I knew firsthand that the world was far from a fairy tale.
