Todos los capítulos de Daddy's filthy little pet : Capítulo 271 - Capítulo 280

Rae’s POV The bed felt like a cloud that morning—soft, endless white sheets tangled around my legs, sunlight pouring in thick golden bars through the gauzy curtains. It was late—probably 10:30 or 11—because the light was already high and warm, not the pale pink of dawn. My body still carried last night in the sweetest way: faint soreness between my thighs, a dull throb on my ass from his hand, nipples tender against the loose cotton of Killian’s T-shirt I’d stolen to sleep in. Every small shift reminded me how thoroughly he’d taken me apart and put me back together.I woke slowly, face tucked into the crook of his neck, one leg hooked over his hip, his arm heavy across my waist like he was still anchoring me even in sleep. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising under my cheek. I didn’t move right away—just listened to the ocean outside, steady and low, and felt the rise and fall of his heart under my palm.He stirred first. Arm tightening, pulling me closer until there was

Rae’s POVThe spa was tucked into a quiet corner of the resort grounds, half-hidden behind flowering hibiscus and low stone walls. A discreet sign at the entrance read “Serenity Pavilion” in elegant script, and the moment we stepped inside the scent hit me—lavender, warm cedar—clean and calming, wrapping around us like a soft blanket.Killian had booked the full couples package for the morning: side-by-side massages, facials, hot-stone therapy, and a private sauna at the end. He’d told me about it over coffee on the balcony, voice casual but eyes already dark with anticipation. “No sex,” he’d promised with that slow smirk. “Just pampering. And tension. Lots of tension.”Now we stood in the hushed reception area—bare feet on cool tile, soft instrumental music drifting from hidden speakers. The receptionist smiled warmly, handed us each a plush robe and slippers, and led us down a corridor lined with flickering candles.We were separated for the first treatments—standard protocol, she

Rae’s POV The moon was high when we stepped back into the suite—full and silver, spilling cold light across the marble floor and the white sheets of the unmade bed. The balcony doors had been left open all day; now the ocean sounded louder in the dark, a steady roar that filled every corner of the room. Killian closed the door behind us with a quiet click. No rush. No words at first. He just looked at me—eyes dark and steady—then crossed the space between us in three slow steps. His hands found my waist—thumbs brushing the silk of the wrap dress I’d worn to dinner. The fabric was still warm from my skin, the knot at my waist loose from hours of dancing and leaning into him on the sand. He didn’t untie it yet. Instead he cupped my face—tilted it up—and kissed me like we had all the time in the world. Slow. Deep. Tongue brushing mine in lazy strokes that tasted like the last sip of red wine we’d shared. I sighed into his mouth, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling int

Killian’s POV The airport terminal assaulted every sense after five days in the resort bubble. Too bright. Too loud. Too many people moving too fast. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry insects; announcements crackled in three languages; rolling suitcases clattered across tile. I kept Rae tucked against my side—arm tight around her waist, one hand carrying both our carry-ons so she didn’t have to lift a finger. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean in either. Just moved—mechanical, eyes forward, face blank except for the red rims and faint tear tracks she hadn’t bothered to wipe. I hated every second of it. She’d barely spoken since the call. After her mother’s voice sliced through the phone like glass, Rae had stood frozen in the middle of the suite—silent tears rolling, phone still pressed to her ear long after the line went dead. I’d rushed to her, pulled her into my arms, rocked her on the floor until the sobs slowed. But when I asked what happened she’d o

Rae’s POV The hallway was dim—only the warm yellow spill from the kitchen ahead breaking the shadows. The house was silent except for the faint, familiar hum of the fridge and the distant tick of the wall clock in the living room. My legs felt unsteady as I stepped out of the guest room—knees weak from crying, hoodie sleeves damp and wrinkled from wiping tears. I paused just outside the doorway, heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, a dull thud-thud-thud that drowned out everything else. I didn’t know what I’d find when I reached the light. Part of me was terrified he’d be angry—quietly furious that I’d shut him out, that I’d hurt him by disappearing behind a closed door. Part of me was ashamed—deep, burning shame that I’d let my mother’s words crawl inside my head and make me believe, even for a moment, that I was dirty for loving him. Part of me was guilty—because he’d been suffering alone in that kitchen while I cried in Zara’s arms. And part of me—just the