Semua Bab Daddy's filthy little pet : Bab 81 - Bab 90

Rae’s POVThe car door clicked shut behind me, sealing me into the passenger seat with a soft thud that felt louder than it should have. Killian slid into the driver’s side a second later, his presence filling the space—warm, familiar, like coming home. He started the engine, the low rumble vibrating through the seats, and glanced over at me with that small, reassuring smile that usually made everything feel okay.“You ready?” he asked, voice gentle.I nodded, forcing a smile back. “Yeah.”He reached over, squeezed my knee once—quick, affectionate—then pulled out of Zara’s parking lot. The city lights blurred past the window as we drove, streetlamps casting orange glows on the dashboard. The radio played low, some soft indie track I didn’t recognize, but I couldn’t focus on it. Couldn’t focus on anything.Because my mind was a storm.What did I do? The thought hit me first, sharp and accusing, like a slap I couldn’t dodge. Zara’s hands on my skin—soft, teasing, pinching my nipple u

Rae’s POVI couldn’t look at him. The guilt was suffocating, a weight on my chest that made it hard to breathe. My lip trembled, tears burning hot behind my eyes.“I—” My voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I can’t.”He stepped closer, hand sliding up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away the first tear that escaped. “Babygirl… whatever it is, we’ll fix it. I promise. Just tell me.”The pet name broke something inside me. A sob tore out—quiet at first, then louder, heaving. I doubled over, hands fisting in his shirt, tears soaking the fabric.Killian pulled me into his arms immediately, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other rubbing slow circles on my back. He held me tight, chin resting on top of my head, rocking us gently.“Shh,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”I cried harder—ugly, messy sobs that shook my whole body. He didn’t let go. He just held me, whispering soft nonsense into my hair—“It’s okay, baby. Whatever happened, it’s okay. I love you. I’m not goi

Rae’s POVSunlight slipped through the curtains in thin, golden threads, warming the sheets around us. I woke slowly, body heavy with sleep and the weight of last night’s tears. Killian was still spooning me—his arm heavy across my waist, hand splayed possessively over my stomach, face buried in the crook of my neck. His breath was warm and steady against my skin, deep and even, like he’d finally fallen into real rest after hours of holding me through my sobs.His heartbeat thumped against my back—slow, strong, familiar. I focused on it for a moment, letting the rhythm ground me. His warmth, his scent, sweet and manly, the way his fingers twitched slightly in sleep like he was still holding on even unconscious—it was all so him. So safe.And yet guilt flooded back instantly, cold and sharp, like ice water poured over my heart..I squeezed my eyes shut, breath hitching. I don’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve his arms around me, his forgiveness, his love. Not after what I’d done. Not

Rae’s POVKillian reacted first.He lunged forward, fast—pushing the door almost closed with his shoulder, blocking Mom’s view if she came up. His voice dropped to a harsh, urgent whisper.“Victor—don’t. Don’t say a word. Please. I beg of you.”Victor’s face twisted—disgust, betrayal, fury all at once. His mouth opened like he was about to shout, but Killian’s hand shot out, clamping over Victor’s mouth—not hard, but firm enough to silence him.Victor’s eyes blazed. He grabbed Killian’s wrist, trying to yank it away, but Killian held on, leaning in close.“Not now,” Killian hissed, voice barely audible. “Not in front of her. Please.”Victor’s chest heaved. For a second it looked like he might shove Killian back, might yell anyway. Then Mom’s voice came again—closer this time, at the bottom of the stairs.“Victor? Rae? You guys okay?”Victor froze.Killian slowly released his hand.Victor glared at him—pure venom—then turned toward the crack in the door. He forced his voice steady, no

Rae’s POVLater that day, the house smelled like roasted garlic, fresh basil, and Mom’s signature tomato sauce—the kind she only made when she was feeling nostalgic. The table was set for four: Mom, Victor, Killian, and me. Candles flickered in the center, soft jazz played low from the speaker, and everything looked so perfectly normal it almost hurt.I sat across from Killian, trying to act like the girl who hadn’t spent the morning crying in his arms.Mom set the pasta bowl down with a flourish. “Dig in, everyone! I slaved over this sauce all afternoon.”Victor smiled—tight, polite—and passed the garlic bread. Killian served himself quietly, eyes flicking to me every few seconds, soft and searching. I kept my gaze on my plate, twirling spaghetti around my fork, appetite gone.We ate in relative silence at first, broken only by Mom’s cheerful chatter about the trip, Victor’s occasional grunts of agreement, and Killian’s murmured “This is good, Lisa.” Every time Killian spoke, Victo