Chapter Eleven

Ava’s POV

The house felt tighter that evening.

I noticed it first in the way the staff moved—quieter than usual, more precise, as if someone had turned the volume down on the entire estate. When I passed Raymond in the upstairs hallway he gave me a short nod but did not slow his pace. Two security men I had never seen before stood near the main staircase, speaking in low voices before separating and disappearing toward different wings of the house. Something was shifting beyond the walls, and the pressure of it had begun to seep inside.

I spent most of the afternoon in the library because it was the one place that still felt still. The heavy chairs, the smell of old paper and leather, the way the light fell across the long table—all of it gave me somewhere to sit with my thoughts without being watched too closely. I tried to read. The words refused to stay in place. My mind kept drifting back to the night before in the study: the cool surface of the desk under my palms, the thick stretch of Corren inside me, the calm way he had ordered me to come again while my legs shook.

The memory alone made my body respond. I pressed my thighs together and forced my eyes back to the page.

At seven a maid appeared with a light supper on a tray and another note.

*Nine o’clock. Do not be late. — Daddy*

The handwriting was the same controlled script as always. I stared at the single line longer than necessary. There was no softness in it, only expectation. I ate without tasting much, then returned to my room to shower and change. He had not specified a dress this time. I chose a simple dark slip dress from the clothes that had appeared in the closet over the last two days—soft, short, easy to remove. The thought made my stomach tighten with a mix of nerves and heat.

At eight-fifty I left my room.

The hallway lights were dimmer than usual. When I reached the study door I could hear the low murmur of Corren’s voice on the other side, speaking to someone on the phone. I waited, hand raised to knock, until the conversation ended. Then I knocked once.

“Come in.”

I stepped inside and closed the door.

Corren stood near the window with his back to me, still in the white shirt from earlier, sleeves rolled, the residual tension of the day visible in the set of his shoulders. He ended the call, slipped the phone into his pocket, and turned. His eyes moved over me in a slow, thorough assessment that made my skin warm.

“You’re early,” he said.

“You said not to be late.”

A faint flicker of approval crossed his face. He walked to the desk, leaned against the edge of it, and studied me for a long moment.

“There are things happening outside this house that do not concern you,” he said quietly. “But they will affect the atmosphere here for the next few days. Security will be tighter. Certain areas of the estate will be restricted. You will not question the changes. Clear?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The title left my mouth more easily than it had the first morning. That fact unsettled me almost as much as the heat that followed it.

Corren pushed away from the desk and came toward me. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. One hand rose and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle after the cool authority of his words.

“You’ve been thinking about last night,” he said. It was not a question.

My throat felt tight. “Yes.”

“Tell me what you remember most.”

Heat flooded my face. I could have lied. I didn’t. “The way you made me wait. And the way you… didn’t let me look away.”

His eyes darkened. “Good.”

He walked around me slowly, the way someone might examine something they already owned. When he stopped behind me I felt the heat of his body, then the light pressure of his hands on my hips.

“The dress is nice,” he murmured near my ear. “Take it off.”

My fingers found the thin straps. I slipped them down my arms and let the dark fabric fall to the floor. Underneath I wore only the underwear he had provided—black, minimal. His hands returned to my waist, then slid upward to cup my breasts through the thin lace. His thumbs brushed my nipples until they hardened under his touch. A soft sound escaped me before I could stop it.

“Still so responsive,” he said. “Even when you’re trying to be quiet.”

He turned me to face him, then guided me backward until my hips met the edge of the desk. In one smooth motion he lifted me onto it, spread my knees, and stepped between them. The position left me open and exposed. He looked down at the damp fabric between my legs and exhaled slowly through his nose.

“You’ve been wet for a while,” he observed.

I didn’t deny it.

Corren hooked his fingers in the sides of the underwear and drew them down my legs, dropping them to the floor. Then he lowered himself into the chair in front of the desk, pulled it forward, and put his mouth on me without preamble.

The first long, deliberate lick dragged a broken breath from my lungs. His hands held my thighs open as he worked—slow strokes, then focused pressure on my clit, then the push of his tongue inside me. He was in no hurry. Every movement felt measured, controlled, designed to pull me apart at the exact pace he chose. My fingers gripped the edge of the desk. My head fell back. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the quiet study.

When I came it was sharp and sudden, my thighs trembling against his shoulders. He didn’t stop. He licked me through it, then kept going until the sensitivity made me try to close my legs. His hands held me open.

“Again,” he said against my skin.

I shook my head weakly, but my body was already climbing. The second orgasm hit harder, pulling a helpless sound from my throat that I tried and failed to swallow. Only then did he rise, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and free himself from his trousers. He was fully hard, thick, the head already glistening.

He pushed into me in one deep, steady stroke.

The stretch forced another sound from me. Corren’s hands gripped my hips as he began to move—controlled, deep thrusts that filled me completely each time. He watched my face without looking away, the same way he had the night before. The desk creaked softly beneath us. Every time he bottomed out, pleasure sparked low and intense.

“This is what you come here for,” he said, voice rough but still controlled. “Not just the release. The fact that I decide when you get it.”

I could only nod, past coherent words.

He fucked me until I came a third time, clenching around him with a broken cry. Only then did he let himself follow, burying himself deep and finishing with a low, rough sound against my neck. For several seconds we stayed like that—his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard, the scent of sex and his cologne thick in the air.

Eventually he pulled out, stepped back, and adjusted his clothes with the same calm precision he did everything else. He picked up my discarded dress and held it out to me.

“Put it on.”

I slipped the dress back over my head with unsteady hands. My underwear remained on the floor. Corren noticed but said nothing. He simply watched me as I stood on legs that still felt weak.

“Friday will be a busy day,” he said. “There will be a visitor I do not want you near. Stay in the west wing unless I send for you. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He nodded once, then reached out and brushed his thumb across my lower lip—an almost absent gesture that still sent a fresh pulse of heat through me.

“Go to bed, Ava.”

I left the study on unsteady legs, the taste of his authority still thick in my mouth, and walked back through the quiet, tightened house. Outside the walls something was pressing closer. Inside them, Corren still decided the shape of my nights.

And I was no longer sure how much of me wanted him to stop.