Alpha Daddy, Please Don't Stop novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: The Guest Room
My guest room had a carved wooden bed, a window overlooking the pines, and an unlocked door.
I lay down at eleven in my nightgown, my heart in my throat.
My mother was asleep at the end of the hall, in the big bedroom, and I could hear her peaceful breathing through the wall.
At a quarter to twelve, my doorknob turned.
I sat bolt upright.
A huge shadow came in, closed the door without a sound, and leaned against it.
He smelled of cedar and gunpowder.
"Mr. Valenzuela," I whispered.
"Ciro."
"Mr. Valenzuela, you're my mother's fiancé."
"I know."
"Then you can't be here."
"I know."
He stood motionless in the dark, breathing hard, and the moonlight silvered half his face.
His jaw was set, his hands clenched.
He looked like a man fighting something much bigger than himself.
"I don't know what's happening to me," he said, his voice rough.
"I've been tossing and turning in bed for four hours. Your scent is everywhere in the house, on every wall. It's driving me crazy."
"It's my shampoo."
"It's not your shampoo."
He took a step toward the bed.
"I don't understand it either," I said, my mouth dry. "But I feel like if you leave, I'm going to die."
I'd never said anything so absurd, and it was true.
Ciro closed his eyes.
"Tell me to leave," he asked.
"No."
"Tamara."
"I'm not going to tell you to leave."
He let out a low growl and crossed the room in two strides.
He sat on the edge of the bed and cupped my face in one huge hand.
"Then you're going to obey me."
My breath caught.
"You're going to stay still. And you're going to be quiet. If your mother hears you, this is over, and they'll kill me."
"I won't scream."
"Yes, you will." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "I can smell it on you."
He kissed me.
It was a rough, deep kiss, all stubble and tongue, with a smoky taste that clouded my mind.
I grabbed his shirt with both hands.
His fingers slid down my neck, over my shoulder, and slipped beneath the strap of my nightgown.
He pulled the fabric down to my waist.
My breasts were bare, my nipples hard from the cold, and he looked at them with an expression close to pain.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "So beautiful it makes me angry."
He slowly stroked one nipple with his thumb, and a gasp escaped me.
His free hand covered my mouth.
"Shh. Good girl."
The two words shot through me like a jolt of electricity.
He pushed me back against the pillows, his other hand sliding up my thighs beneath my nightgown.
He spread my legs with ease.
His fingers found my underwear, already soaked, and stopped.
He exhaled through his nose, his eyes dark.
"Look at you."
I clenched my teeth against his palm.
He pushed the fabric aside and touched me.
Two long, calloused fingers traced my folds from top to bottom, getting wet, then moved up to my clit.
I arched against the bed.
"Shh."
He made slow, small, precise circles, as if he'd spent his whole life studying my body.
Every time I squeezed my thighs together, he pushed them farther apart with his knee.
"You're going to stay quiet," he said against my ear. "You're going to hold it in like a good girl."
I nodded, tears clinging to my lashes.
He slid one finger inside me, slowly.
Then two.
They were thick and rough, stretching me deep inside.
I bit down on his hand to keep from moaning.
He moved them in and out with a cruel rhythm, while his thumb kept caressing my clit.
My hips rose on their own.
My body had become a knot of nerves.
"That's it," he growled. "Just like that. Give me everything."
On the other side of the wall, my mother turned over in bed, and the floorboards creaked.
We froze for a moment, our hearts pounding in our ears.
Then Ciro's fingers curled upward and found a spot that made me see white.
I came with a long, silent shudder, pressed against his hand, my eyes wide.
I didn't scream.
I felt the tears slide toward my temples.
Ciro held me until I stopped trembling.
He slowly pulled out his glistening fingers and looked me in the eyes as he brought them to his mouth.
He sucked them one by one without looking away.
"That's the best thing I've ever tasted," he said in a whisper.
He carefully pulled my nightgown back up, covered me with the sheet to my chin, and kissed my forehead.
He looked like a defeated man.
"Sleep," he said.
He stood, opened the door without a sound, and stopped in the doorway with his back to me.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to try to stay away from you," he added. "And I'm going to fail."
The door closed.
I stayed in the dark, my body burning, staring at the ceiling.
And for the first time in thirteen years, I slept without dreaming about my father.
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