Chapter 1

“Tilt that pussy.” I pound into her as my hand slaps down on her ass hard. Seeing my handprint appear on her smooth, pale skin makes me grunt out in satisfaction.

“Fuck me harder.”

“Shut your mouth,” I growl, wrapping my hand around her throat, pulling her up, and impaling her on my cock. “You know the rules.” I bite down on her earlobe, causing her to whimper. “You don’t talk when I’m fucking you unless I tell you to.”

She nods, and I push her back down. My hand slides up her back to her neck, pressing her face deeper into the mattress.

I pound into her harder until I feel her walls clamping down on me. Then I thrust into her ruthlessly. Lifting my leg up on the bed, I change the angle. She’s a tiny little thing, but I know she can take me. She always takes whatever I give her. I pull her hips up, slowing my rhythm, enjoying the feel of my cock dragging along her walls. She’s so wet that, every time my cock slides out, it’s shiny with her come. I pull out of her and flip us so she’s on top.

“Ride me,” I command, lifting my hips, filling her once more.

Her body starts bouncing up and down, her tits dancing in my face. Her large, natural Ds should look awkward on her tiny frame, but they go with her fat ass. I love everything about this woman. The visual in front of me has me getting close. I grab her hips, holding her in place as I fuck up into her. Then I come hard, long jets of seed filling her tight little pussy.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

I tug her down on top of me, kissing the top of her head. I had no idea when I met Chloe that she was going to change my life, but slowly, this waif of woman has burrowed under my skin.

“Love you too, Beautiful.” I press another kiss to the top of her head. And my mind drifts back to the past…

I was so fucking jaded when I found out that my ex-wife—the fucking bitch—was having an affair. Then I found Chloe by accident, and seeing her for the first time shifted something inside me. I had been on my cell phone and looked up to tell my client my cross street when my eyes landed on her through the bakery window. Without even thinking, I went across the street, and the moment I stepped inside the bakery, she turned towards the door and our eyes connected.

I have never believed in love at first sight or any of that other bullshit, but that moment was like a kick to the gut.

I walked to the counter and realized that my client was still on the phone, so I told him I would call him back and hung up. When she stepped towards me, the scent of lavender and vanilla filled my nose and the urge to grab her and bury my face in the crook of her neck was so strong that it was almost painful. Our gaze stayed connected until she was close enough to touch. Then the moment was broken when an old man came around the corner and told her that he would take care of me. I shook myself out of my daze, paid for a cup of coffee that would end up in the trash, and left the bakery in a rush. I wasn’t fond of the feelings I was having. I’d had plenty of women, but seeing her was something different.

I wanted to possess her.

I needed to own her.

I fought myself on going back to her but settled on having my driver wait outside the bakery for hours so I could watch her through the window. On days when men would be inside with her, talking to her, making her laugh, I had to stop myself from going inside and taking her away with me.

She was mine.

She just didn’t know it.

The first time I spoke to her in person, she smiled at me. I knew she was innocent the moment I had spoken to her—her head ducked, her face turned pink, and that look sealed her fate.

She would be mine.

Only mine.

I waited for her that night across the street. I watched her lock up before walking across the road and meeting her on the sidewalk.

“How are you getting home?” I asked her.

Her head came up, her big, brown eyes met mine, and the surprise I saw filled me with another kind of satisfaction.

“I…I walk,” she stuttered quietly.

“I’ll walk you,” I told her, not giving her a choice. My woman wouldn’t be out at night alone.

I don’t give a fuck what people say about women’s rights and all that other bullshit. I’d let my ex do whatever the fuck she wanted, and look where the fuck that had gotten me. No more—my woman would be at home, barefoot and pregnant until she could no longer safely bear my children.

“I always walk myself,” she said softly, biting her bottom lip. Making me crave to do the same.

“Not anymore,” I stated, holding out my hand for her.

She looked at it for a few seconds before placing her small hand in mine. The feeling of her fragileness in my grasp was almost too much. My gut clenched and I fought myself not to carry her over to my car, where I could take her home and hide her away, keeping her only to myself. I mentally talked myself down.

I needed her to trust me.

I needed her addicted to me.

Then she would be mine, and I would never have to let her go again.

“Who are you?” she asked, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes.

I looked her over. The top of her head barely came up to the middle of my chest. Her hair was dark brown with reddish highlights, and it reached the middle of her back. Her skin was the color of cream mixed with honey. I could picture my marks all over her beautiful skin. Her eyes were dark brown with long lashes that I could tell were natural. She didn’t wear makeup; she didn’t need it. She was naturally beautiful.

“Nolan,” I told her.

Her eyes looked me over, and I knew what she saw: black hair, darker skin that’s natural from my Spanish-American heritage, and dark-brown eyes surrounded by dark lashes. I’d been told a time or two that I’m good-looking. I wore my age of thirty-four well. And I’d never had an issue getting a woman.

My private investigator had informed me that Chloe had just turned twenty-two. I couldn’t give a fuck about our age difference. My mind was telling me that the younger she was, the more likely I would be able to train her into being exactly what I wanted. He’d also done some digging into her past and hadn’t been able to find out about any previous relationships. This suited me just fine. I didn’t even want to think about someone other than me touching her…ever.

We walked the rest of the way to her apartment in silence. I didn’t like the area she was living in, but I would have to wait to resolve that issue. I just needed to figure out how to force her out of her current residence and into mine.

“Thank you for walking me,” she said, trying to pull her hand from mine.