Mary slipped quietly into the penthouse just after midnight, her heart racing with a delicious mix of guilt and excitement. She had told Daddy she would be home by ten, but the girls’ night had stretched longer than planned. The short black dress she wore clung to her curves, the hem barely covering the curve of her ass, and she had deliberately skipped panties again, knowing how much it would rile him up.
The living room was dimly lit by a single lamp. Luke — her Daddy, the 42-year-old man who owned every part of her — sat on the wide leather sofa, still in his tailored shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing those strong forearms she loved so much. His blue eyes lifted the moment she stepped inside, dark with a storm of love, possessiveness, and barely restrained hunger.
“Princess,
