All Chapters of TOUCH ME MORE, DADDY: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Chapter 5 Feelings vs RealityThe silence in the penthouse had been unbearable for days. Damien had gone ice-cold after that night, treating me like a business transaction again. Distant nods in the hallway. curt orders about upcoming appearances. No touches. No glances. Nothing. It hurt more than I wanted to admit. The memory of him inside me haunted every sleepless hour, and I hated myself for craving the man I was supposed to despise.Until tonight.We’d returned from another stiff public dinner. The door barely closed before the mask shattered.“You’ve been avoiding me,” I accused, voice shaking with anger and need.Damien’s eyes flashed with raw hunger as he backed me against the wall. “Because if I looked at you too long, I’d do this.”His mouth claimed mine brutally. There was no slow build this time just weeks of pent-up frustration exploding between us. He ripped my dress open, buttons scattering across the marble floor. His hands were everywhere, possessive and rough, sque

Chapter OneThe Way He Looks at MeI stood in the doorway of the living room longer than I should have.The only light came from the streetlamp outside, thin and pale, cutting across the floor in a long rectangle that stopped just short of the couch. Noah was stretched out on it the way he always did when he came home late one arm flung over his head, the other hanging off the edge, fingers loose and open. His shoes were still on. One of them had half-fallen off, the heel dangling. His shirt had ridden up a little, showing a strip of stomach and the dark trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.I knew that body better than my own.I had seen it grow from the skinny kid who used to steal my hoodies in middle school to the man who filled them out now. I had watched the shoulders broaden, the arms thicken, the way his laugh always started in his chest before it reached his mouth. I had memorized the exact sound of his breathing when he was deep asleep, the soft alm

The AlmostThe bar was too loud and too warm and exactly the kind of place Noah loved.Neon signs hummed against the windows. Someone’s playlist bled into the general noise bass heavy enough to feel in the floorboards. Our group had claimed the corner booth near the back, the one with the cracked vinyl seats and the table that always wobbled no matter how many folded napkins you shoved under the leg. There were six of us tonight. Mutual friends from college who still texted in the same group chat even though most of us had scattered into different jobs and different neighborhoods. Everyone was already two drinks in when Noah and I showed up.I had almost stayed home.After the rain-soaked afternoon on the couch, the idea of watching Noah be freely, casually affectionate with me in public felt like pressing on a bruise. But he had stood in my doorway with his jacket already on and that easy grin and said, “You’re coming. Don’t make me drag you.” So I came. I always came.Noah slid into

The Night Everything ChangesI was already in bed when I heard the front door open.It was past one. I had left the lamp on my nightstand burning low, the way I sometimes did when I knew he was still out and the apartment felt too empty without the sound of him moving around. The argument from two nights ago still lived in the walls. We had spoken since short, careful exchanges about groceries and whose turn it was to take out the trash but the easy rhythm between us had not come back. The cracks were still there, quiet and deep.His footsteps in the hallway were uneven.I heard him kick off his shoes, miss the usual neat placement by the door, and mutter something under his breath. A cabinet opened in the kitchen and closed again. Water ran. Then silence. I thought he might just go to his own room the way he had been doing. I turned onto my side, facing the wall, and tried to slow the sudden uptick in my pulse.The floorboards outside my door creaked.I went still.The door opened wi

Chapter 7The Conversation That Isn’tThe power went out just after nine.One moment the apartment was filled with the usual low glow of the lamp in the living room and the blue light of Noah’s laptop; the next, everything dropped into thick, sudden dark. The refrigerator’s hum died. The distant city noise outside seemed louder without the buffer of electricity. For a few seconds neither of us moved or spoke. Then I heard Noah’s quiet curse from the couch and the soft thud of his laptop closing.“Stay there,” he said. “I know where the candles are.”I stayed.I listened to him move through the dark with the confidence of someone who had lived in this space long enough to map it by muscle memory. A drawer opened in the kitchen. Something rattled. Then came the scrape of a match and the small, warm bloom of light. Noah walked back into the living room carrying three candles in an old ceramic dish we used for keys and loose change. He set them on the coffee table. The flames threw soft,