Chapter 7: Blood and Water

The boardroom emptied in under two minutes.

Victoria and Elias left first, already on their phones. My mother’s tactical team vanished through the broken glass like smoke. She was the last to go. She paused at the shattered wall, looked back at me once, and said nothing. Then she was gone.

Adrian locked the door.

The second the bolt clicked, the silence turned heavy. I was still standing in the middle of the room wearing nothing but his jacket, his cum drying on my thighs, the taste of the truth sitting bitter on my tongue. My father. The word kept circling in my head like it didn’t belong to me.

Adrian walked toward me slowly. He didn’t speak. He just reached out, slid the jacket off my shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Cool air touched my skin. His eyes moved over every mark he’d left on me earlier—bruises, bite marks, the flush that still hadn’t faded.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“You knew.”

“Yes.”

“And you still—”

“Yes.”

He cupped the side of my neck, thumb resting over my pulse. The touch was gentle. It made everything worse.

“I should hate you,” I whispered.

“You should.” His thumb stroked once. “Do you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Hatred would have been clean. What I felt was not clean.

Adrian leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn’t soft. It was claiming—deep, slow, thorough. His tongue slid against mine like he was reminding me who had been inside my mouth first, who had taught me how to take him. One hand stayed on my neck. The other slid down my spine and settled on my ass, fingers spreading me open just enough to feel the slick evidence of what he’d already done.

I made a broken sound into his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to speak against my lips.

“I’m going to take you home. I’m going to clean you up. Then I’m going to fuck you again until the only name you remember is mine.”

“You’re my father.”

“I know.” His eyes didn’t flinch. “And you’re still going to come on my cock tonight.”

The elevator ride down to the private garage was silent. His hand stayed on the back of my neck the entire time, not tight, just present. Ownership. When the car door closed behind us, the tinted windows sealed the city out.

He didn’t take me straight to the penthouse.

He took me to the underground level I’d never seen—a private spa built like a black-marble temple. Steam already rose from the wide stone bath. Adrian stripped without ceremony, then undressed me the rest of the way. His hands were steady. Mine were not.

He guided me into the water.

The heat pulled a shaky breath from my lungs. Adrian climbed in behind me, chest to my back, and reached around to wash me with slow, deliberate strokes. Soap. Warm water. His palms moved over my chest, my stomach, between my legs. He cleaned his own release from my thighs like it was sacred. When his fingers slipped between my cheeks and pressed against my still-tender hole, I dropped my head back against his shoulder.

“Still open for me,” he murmured.

I hated how true it was.

He lifted me out of the water, dried me with a dark towel, and carried me to the wide bench against the wall. Steam curled around us. He sat, pulled me onto his lap facing him, and guided my hips down until the thick head of his cock nudged against my entrance.

I was already slick from earlier. Still, the stretch made my breath stutter.

Adrian held my gaze as he lowered me onto him, inch by inch, until I was seated fully, filled to the limit. His hands gripped my waist. He didn’t thrust. He just held me there, buried deep, and watched every flicker of emotion cross my face.

“Say it,” he said quietly.

I knew what he wanted.

“You’re my father.”

“And?”

“And you’re still inside me.”

A low sound left his throat. He began to move—slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged over every sensitive place. Water dripped from our skin. The only other sound was the wet slide of him inside me and my own unsteady breathing.

“You stayed,” he said against my collarbone. “Even after you knew. That means something.”

“It means I’m fucked in the head.”

“It means you’re mine.” He thrust up harder. “Blood and body. Both.”

I came first—shaking, silent, spilling between our stomachs while he kept fucking me through it. He followed minutes later, burying himself to the hilt and flooding me again with a low, rough groan that sounded like a vow.

We stayed locked together while our heartbeats slowed.

Adrian’s mouth brushed my temple.

“The people your mother works for won’t stop,” he said. “Neither will Victoria. They’ll come for you because you’re the one thing that can actually hurt me.”

I closed my eyes. “What happens now?”

His arms tightened around me.

“Now I keep you so close that no one can touch you without going through me first.”

A soft chime cut through the steam.

Adrian’s phone, left on the stone ledge, lit up with a single message from an encrypted number.

He reached for it one-handed, still buried inside me, and read the screen.

His entire body went still.

I felt the change in him like a drop in temperature.

“What is it?” I asked.

Adrian turned the phone so I could see the photo that had just arrived.

It was me.

Sleeping in his bed.

Taken from inside the penthouse.

Timestamped twenty minutes ago—while we were still in the boardroom.

Beneath the image was one line of text:

We can get to him whenever we want.