All Chapters of Daddy's filthy little pet : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Rae’s POV The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and the faint sweetness of the cinnamon rolls Mom had left warming in the oven before heading upstairs to shower. Steam curled from the pot on the counter, and the soft hiss of the shower running upstairs was the only other sound in the house. I stood barefoot in Killian’s oversized black T-shirt, the hem skimming the tops of my thighs, nothing underneath but a thin pair of black lace panties. My hair was still damp from my own shower, loose waves clinging to my neck and shoulders.I reached for the coffee mugs, humming quietly under my breath, trying to act normal. Trying to pretend my body wasn’t still humming from last night, still sensitive, still remembering every place Killian’s mouth and hands had been.I didn’t hear him come in.One second I was alone, the next his chest was pressed to my back, his arms caging me against the counter. His bare skin was warm against mine through the thin fabric of his T-shirt I was wearing.

Rae’s POVThe living room smelled like buttered popcorn and Mom’s lavender candle—the one she always lit for “family nights.” The big sectional couch had been rearranged so we could all sit comfortably: Mom in the middle with her favorite fuzzy blanket, me on her left, Killian on her right. The TV screen glowed with the opening credits of some classic rom-com Mom had picked—something with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, soft lighting and slow jazz. It was supposed to be cozy. Innocent.It felt like walking a tightrope.Mom had insisted on movie night the second she came downstairs after her nap. “We haven’t done this in ages! Let’s make it a thing again.” She’d beamed, pulling out the old popcorn maker and insisting on extra butter. I’d smiled and nodded, trying to match her energy, but every time Killian’s eyes met mine over her head, my stomach flipped.Now the lights were dimmed, the volume low, and Mom was already yawning into her blanket. “I might fall asleep halfway through,” she admi

Rae’s POVThe next morning felt like walking into a room where the air had been sucked out.I woke up in my own bed—alone, sheets cold on both sides, the faint imprint of Killian’s body from the night before already gone. I stared at the empty space for too long, fingers tracing the spot where his head had been, trying to convince myself it was normal. That everything was fine.It wasn’t.I dragged myself downstairs in leggings and one of his old hoodies, the sleeves tugged over my hands. Mom was already at the stove, humming as she scrambled eggs, the smell of bacon and coffee filling the kitchen like nothing had changed.“Morning, sweetheart!” she called, smiling over her shoulder. “Sleep okay?”“Yeah,” I lied, voice flat. “You?”“Like a rock. Still shaking off the time zones, but I’ll survive.”Killian was at the island, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I walked in—eyes soft for half a second—then flicked back to the screen like I was invisible.No “morning.” No sec

Rae's POV I pressed the note to my chest, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. Tears pricked my eyes—happy ones. We were okay. We’d talked. We’d cried. We’d held each other until the fear loosened its grip. And now he was mine again—really mine.I got up, stretched, feeling every delicious ache. I wanted to look good for him today. Extra good.I showered quickly—lavender body wash, his shampoo, because I loved smelling like him, then spent time on my hair. Loose waves, a little product to make them shiny. I picked my favorite sundress—soft white cotton with tiny embroidered flowers, thin straps, hem hitting mid-thigh. No bra. Just a simple white lace thong underneath. I dabbed on my favorite gloss—shimmery pink—and a touch of mascara. A spritz of the perfume he always said made him crazy.When I looked in the mirror, I felt pretty. Confident. Like I was his.I went downstairs, barefoot, heart light.Mom was in the kitchen, humming over the coffee maker. Killian was there too—leaning ag

Rae’s POVThe house had started feeling like a pressure cooker since Mom got back. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like a warning. Every glance Killian and I shared across the dinner table felt like it could set off alarms. We’d gotten good at pretending—polite smiles, casual small talk, “good morning”s that didn’t linger—but the nights were the worst. The silence between our rooms was deafening.Mom’s jet lag had her up at odd hours. She’d started doing laundry at 2 a.m., saying the hum of the machine helped her sleep. I’d hear the washer start, then the dryer, the soft thump-thump of clothes tumbling while the rest of the house slept.I’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, body still wired from stolen moments earlier in the day. I missed him. Missed him so much it hurt.At 1:58 a.m., I couldn’t take it anymore.I slipped out of bed in silence, wearing nothing but Killian’s oversized shirt and nothing underneath .The hoodie hung loose on me, hem brushing the tops of my