Page 9 of Dirty Sweet Daddy

"Pasta." She glances over her shoulder, those big hazel eyes meeting mine. No anger there for my avoidance. Just something soft and determined that makes my chest ache. "Hungry?"

My appetite these days is for things I can't have. "Sure."

We eat in strained silence. I try not to watch the way her lips close around her fork, try not to imagine those same lips wrapped around my cock. Fail spectacularly on both counts.

"Lucas?" she asks suddenly, setting down her fork. "Can I ask you something?"

I brace myself. "What?"

"Will you teach me self-defense?"

The question catches me off guard. Not what I was expecting. "Self-defense?"

She nods, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture is innocent, girlish, and it makes my protective instincts flare alongside my baser ones.

"I've been thinking about college," she says. "And…you know, being on campus. Being around guys I don't know."

The thought of college boys—handsy, hormonal little fuckers—putting their hands on Kate makes my jaw clench so hard I hear my teeth creak. The image of some frat boy trying to corner her at a party, trying to touch what's mine⁠—

I cut the thought off, shocked at my own possessiveness. She's not mine. She can't be mine.

But the idea of teaching her to protect herself? That I can do. That's what her father would want.

"Yeah," I say, voice rougher than intended. "We can start tonight if you want. I have a gym downstairs."

Her smile is like sunshine breaking through clouds. "Really? Thank you!"

An hour later, we're in my home gym. The room takes up half the basement—mats on the floor, weights along one wall, a heavy bag hanging in the corner. I've changed into basketball shorts and a tank top. Kate appears wearing tiny athletic shorts and a sports bra that leaves little to the imagination. Not that my imagination needs the help—I've been picturing her naked for weeks now.

"First things first," I say, all business despite the heat coursing through my veins. "Basic stance."

I show her how to position her feet, how to keep her weight balanced. She mimics me, but her form is off. Her shoulders are too tense, her weight too far forward.

"Not quite," I say. "Here."

I hesitate for just a second before moving behind her. I place my hands on her shoulders, feeling her warm skin beneath my palms. She's so small compared to me, the top of her head barely reaching my chin.

"Relax your shoulders," I murmur, gently pressing down. "That's it. Now, your stance is too narrow."

I crouch slightly, my hands moving to her hips to adjust her position. The touch is meant to be clinical, instructional. But the feel of her—the gentle curve of her waist flaring into hips—sends heat straight to my groin. My cock stirs, beginning to thicken against my thigh.

"Like this?" she asks, shifting her feet.

"Almost." I nudge her feet apart with my own, still behind her, still holding her hips. "You want to be stable. Hard to knock over."

I'm close enough now that my chest brushes against her back. Close enough to smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo, to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. My hands tighten involuntarily on her hips.

"Now," I say, my voice dropping lower, "if someone grabs you from behind⁠—"

I demonstrate, wrapping one arm around her waist, pulling her snug against me. It's a mistake. Her perfect ass nestles against my crotch, and my cock responds immediately, hardening to painful fullness in seconds.

"What do I do?" she asks, her voice breathy.

I should step back. Should put distance between us. But my body refuses to listen to reason.

"You—" I clear my throat, trying to focus. "You drop your weight. Create space between your attacker's body and yours. Then strike backward with your elbow."

She tries it, dropping her center of gravity as I've shown her. But instead of creating space, she pushes back harder against me, her ass grinding against my erection. A low groan escapes me before I can stop it.