All Chapters of Daddy's secret Obsession: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The first light of dawn crept through the half-open blinds, painting pale gold stripes across the bed. I woke to the feel of Jessy’s mouth on me—warm, wet, deliberate. She was between my legs, hair spilling over my thighs like silk, one hand wrapped around the base of me while her tongue traced slow, wicked circles around the head.I groaned, low and ragged, hips jerking before I could stop myself. My good hand found her hair instantly, not guiding, just needing to touch. She hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight through me, and took me deeper.“Jessy—fuck—”She pulled off just long enough to look up at me, lips swollen and glistening, eyes dark with intent. “Good morning,” she whispered, voice husky from sleep and sin. Then she sank down again, hollowing her cheeks, taking me to the back of her throat until I saw stars.I was already lost. Weeks of restraint, of careful touches because of my shoulder, of holding back so I wouldn’t hurt her or myself—all of it burned awa

Morning light slipped through the half-open blinds in thin gold blades, cutting across the tangled sheets and warming the skin it touched. I woke before Jessy did, the way I always seemed to now, as if some part of me needed to watch over her even in sleep. She lay on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other stretched toward me, fingers loosely curled as though she had reached for me in a dream and never quite let go.Her breathing was slow and even, lips slightly parted, dark hair fanned across the white pillowcase in damp waves that had dried overnight into soft chaos. There was a faint flush still on her cheeks, a reminder of everything we had done, everything we had said. The sheet had slipped low on her back, revealing the graceful line of her spine, the small scatter of freckles across her shoulders that I had kissed a dozen times in the dark.I did not move. I simply looked at her and felt something vast and quiet settle in my chest. Not peace exactly; peace fe

The call came on a Tuesday afternoon while I was at physical therapy, my shoulder burning through its final set of resistance exercises. I didn't recognize the number, almost let it go to voicemail, but something made me answer. "Mark?" A woman's voice, familiar in a way that made my stomach drop. "It's Catherine." I stopped mid-rep, the elastic band going slack. Catherine. Jessy's supervisor at the hospital. The chief of emergency medicine. The woman who'd been conspicuously absent during my entire stay, though I'd heard her name enough times to know she ran the department with an iron fist. "Dr. Morrison," I said carefully. "We need to talk. Not over the phone. Can you meet me somewhere?" Twenty minutes later I sat across from her in a coffee shop three blocks from the hospital, watching her stir cream into her coffee with mechanical precision. She was older than I'd imagined, mid-fifties maybe, with steel-gray hair pulled back severely and eyes that had seen too many trage

The call came three days later. Three days of silence from Jessy that felt like three years. Three days of my phone becoming an object of dread and obsession, checking it every few minutes only to find messages from Vincent, from my physical therapist, from everyone except the one person I needed to hear from. Three days of sleeping maybe four hours total, working out until my shoulder screamed in protest, running until my lungs burnt, and tryingryingryingrying to exhaust myself into not thinking about her. It didn't work. Nothing worked. ""Mrayes? This is Patricia Thornton from the hospital ethics board. We'd like to schedule a time for you to come in and answer some questions regarding your relationship with Dr Chen." Her voice was professionally neutral, the kind that gave nothing away—notjudgement, justjudgement, just bureaucratic efficiency. I agreed to Thursday at two, wrote down the address of the administrative building on the back of a takeout receipt, and spent the next

We barely made it to the bedroom, stumbling through the hallway in a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses, hands fumbling with buttons and zippers like teenagers who'd just discovered what bodies could do together. She pulled my shirt over my head, fingers tracing the scar on my side where everything had started—the wound that had brought us together, changed everything."This," she whispered, pressing her lips to the healed tissue. "This is where it all began.""Best worst night of my life," I said, gasping as her mouth moved lower.We fell onto her bed in a heap, and for a while there was nothing but skin and breath and the sound of our names spoken like prayers. Three days of separation and uncertainty translated into urgency, into a desperate need to reconnect, to prove that we were still here, still together, still choosing each other despite everything trying to pull us apart.Afterward, we lay tangled in sheets that smelled like her—lavender and something clean and indefinably