Mile High Daddy: Chapter 13

I’m not the kind of man who takes a woman out on a date.

I don’t date, period.

My life has never allowed for things like romance, for idle dinners and soft touches under candlelight. I’ve spent too many years building my empire, securing my position, making sure that no one—no one—can ever take what’s mine.

And yet, here I am.

Planning a date.

For my wife.

I glance down at the dress laid out before me. Deep emerald green, elegant but not extravagant, designed to complement her fair skin and those fiery eyes she throws at me when she’s furious.

She’s been miserable. I see it in the way she drifts through the halls, in the way she barely eats, in the way her fingers curl restlessly against her skirts like she’s fighting the urge to run.

And maybe she is.

The thought settles uncomfortably in my chest.

Torres clears his throat from where he’s leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s watching me with the same wary expression he’s worn ever since I told him what I was doing.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his tone careful.

I don’t look up from the dress. “She’s miserable in here.”

Torres exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Mikhail, that’s the point. She doesn’t want to be here. And now you’re letting her out, giving her a taste of something she’s been craving since she got here.”

I lift a brow, finally meeting his gaze. “And?”

He hesitates, then pushes off the desk, stepping closer. “And what if she’s manipulating you?”

The words are quiet, but they hit like a knife between the ribs.

I go still.

Torres isn’t a man who speaks without thinking. He’s been with me long enough to understand how I operate, when to push, when to back off. But this? This is a line he’s just barely willing to cross.

My eyes snap up, locking onto his. Torres doesn’t flinch, but I see the flicker of regret in his gaze.

“You think she’s using me?”

He exhales, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know. But you have to consider it.”

I lean back against the desk, fingers brushing over the emerald silk.

The truth is, I have considered it.

Lila isn’t like the women I’m used to. She’s not trained in deception, not raised in this world of power plays and silent wars. But she’s smart. And she’s desperate.

Desperate people do reckless things.

Still…

I think about the way she looked at me in the garden. The hesitation before she took the flower. The flicker of something real in her eyes when she told me she felt like a caged bird.

If she’s lying, she’s damn good at it.

“This marriage is for life,” I say finally, my voice quieter now. “If she’s going to be my wife, things can’t stay like this.”

Torres doesn’t argue. He knows I’ve made up my mind.

I wait outside her door, the dress draped over my arm. The fabric is soft beneath my fingers, the emerald silk catching the dim light of the hallway.

For a second, I hesitate.

This is ridiculous. I don’t do this. I don’t wait outside a woman’s bedroom like some lovestruck fool with a gift in my hands. I don’t ask—I take. I don’t court—I own.

And yet, here I am.

I exhale sharply and knock.

A few seconds pass before the door opens.

Lila stands there, her hair loose over her shoulders, her soft lips parted slightly in surprise. She blinks up at me, eyes wary but undeniably curious.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

I hold out the dress. “We’re going out.”

She doesn’t move to take it right away. Instead, she looks at it, then at me, suspicion creeping into her gaze. “Excuse me?”

I push the fabric toward her again. “You wanted to get out of the house. Here’s your chance.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then slowly reaches out. Our fingers brush as she takes the dress, and just like in the garden, a spark ignites where our skin meets.

She pulls back quickly, clearing her throat. “What’s the catch?”

I tilt my head. “No catch. You wanted a change of scenery. You’re getting one.”

Her fingers tighten around the fabric. “And you just…decided to grant my wish? Just like that?”

I arch a brow. “Would you rather stay here?”

She huffs, looking down at the dress. She runs her fingers over the silk, her lips pressing together. “It’s beautiful,” she admits quietly.

I watch her carefully, noting the way her throat moves as she swallows.

“I expect you to wear it,” I say, voice smooth.

Her gaze snaps back up to mine, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course you do.”

I smirk. “Be ready in an hour.”

I turn and walk away before she can argue.

I lean against the black Rolls-Royce, checking my watch.

She’s late.

Not by much, but enough to make me wonder if she’s hesitating.

Torres is a few feet away, speaking in low tones to one of the drivers, his sharp gaze occasionally flicking toward the entrance. He hasn’t said anything more about his concerns, but I can feel his disapproval, thick as the summer heat pressing down on us.

And then I see her.

The second she steps out of the house, I go completely still.

The emerald silk clings to her in all the right places, the delicate straps showcasing the soft curve of her shoulders. Her hair cascades in loose waves down her back, and when the breeze shifts, I catch the faintest hint of something floral, something warm.

Something hers.

My heart stutters in a way it never has before.

She pauses at the top of the steps, her gaze finding mine instantly. Even from this distance, I can see the way she hesitates—how she shifts on her feet, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress.

And then, as if sensing the effect she has on me, her lips curve slightly.

She descends the steps, her heels clicking softly against the stone, moving like she owns the moment. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

And maybe she does.

When she finally reaches me, she crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly.

“Well,” she says, arching a brow. “You clean up nicely, husband.”

The word drips with sarcasm, and despite myself, I smirk.

I open the car door for her. “Get in.”

She lifts a brow, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she slips inside, her dress sliding against the leather seat, exposing just enough of her leg to make my pulse hammer harder than it should.

As the door closes behind me, I can feel her watching me. Waiting.

The driver starts the engine, the low rumble filling the air.

“Try not to fall in love with me tonight, wife.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she looks out the window.

The city lights flicker through the tinted windows, casting fleeting patterns of gold and red over Lila’s skin. She’s sitting across from me in the spacious back seat, one leg crossed over the other, the emerald dress draped like liquid over her thighs.

She’s been talking more tonight. Not nervously. Not in that wary, careful way she usually does when she’s trying to gauge me. She’s…relaxed. Or at least, as close to relaxed as she can be in my presence.

“I still don’t trust you,” she says, tapping her nails lightly against the phone in her hand.

I smirk, adjusting my cuff links. “That’s a shame. I was planning on making you fall madly in love with me by the end of the night.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t hide the way her lips twitch. “Big expectations. Hope you don’t disappoint.”

I let my gaze drop, slow and deliberate, to the slit of her dress where her thigh peeks through. Then back up to her lips. “Oh, I won’t.”

Her breath hitches—just for a second, barely noticeable. But I catch it. I catch the way her fingers tighten around her phone, the way her teeth drag over her lower lip before she schools her expression.

She looks away first.

I’ve won this round.

“Where are we going?” she asks after a moment, glancing at me through her lashes.

I tilt my head slightly, watching her, enjoying this game. “It’s a surprise.”

She huffs. “I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

She doesn’t argue, just shifts in her seat, stretching her legs slightly. Her dress inches higher, but I keep my expression neutral.

Barely.

A soft chime fills the space between us, and I glance down to see her tapping away at her phone.

“Who are you texting?” I ask, my voice deceptively light.

She doesn’t look up. “Well, considering this phone only allows me to contact my mother, who do you think I’m texting?”

My smirk fades.

The words hit harder than they should.

Guilt isn’t something I feel often. It’s a useless emotion, a distraction, a sign of weakness. But watching her now, I realize that I’ve limited her in a way I never even considered. She’s trapped.

And I put her in that cage.

She looks up suddenly, catching me watching her. Something flickers in her gaze—curiosity, maybe even challenge.

“What?” she asks.

I lean back, forcing a smirk. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’re complaining about me.”

She tilts her head, considering. Then she smirks. “Oh, absolutely.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Brutal.”

“You’ll live.”

The way her fingers brush against her thigh absently, the way her teeth sink into her bottom lip—it’s intentional. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s playing a game.

And she’s damn good at it.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly.

“So are you.”

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t look away.

I lean forward, closing the space between us, my forearm resting against the seat beside her. “Tell me, kiska,” I murmur, voice low and smooth. “Are you still trying to convince yourself you hate me?”

Her breath catches. Then, she does something unexpected.

She leans in too.

I see it in her eyes before it happens—that brief flicker of surrender. The moment she lets herself forget who I am, forget why she should resist.

Then she grabs the front of my suit and pulls me to her.

Our mouths crash together in a heated, desperate kiss. I growl against her lips, my hands sliding to her waist, gripping her tightly as she presses into me. She’s soft, so damn soft, but the way she kisses me isn’t.

It’s wild. Demanding. Like she’s starving for this.

Like I am.

Her hands slip into my hair, fingers twisting, nails dragging against my scalp. My control snaps. I push her back against the leather seat, my body pressing into hers, my thigh slipping between her legs. She moans into my mouth, her hips shifting instinctively, pressing against me.

Fuck.

I break the kiss just long enough to drag my lips down the curve of her jaw, my teeth grazing her skin. Her head tilts back, giving me access, giving me everything.

“You drive me insane,” I mutter against her throat, my hand sliding up her thigh beneath the silk of her dress.

She gasps, her body arching. “Then do something about it.”

“I don’t want to ruin you in my car,” I say.

She scowls at me. ‘You sound like a grandfather.’

‘If I was your grandfather, you wouldn’t be moaning my name like that, kiska,’ I growl dragging her onto my lap.

I do.

I kiss her harder, deeper, swallowing every sound she makes as my fingers trail higher, my palm pressing against the heat between her legs. She shudders, gripping my shoulders, her breath coming in soft, uneven pants.

I want her.

Right here. Right now.

Lila fists my shirt, pulling me closer, pressing her body into mine with a desperation that matches my own. I groan against her lips as my hands slide up her sides, feeling the smooth silk of her dress until my palms find the soft weight of her tits.

She gasps into my mouth, her back arching, pushing herself into my hands as I squeeze, rolling my thumbs over her hardened nipples through the thin fabric.

“Fuck,” she breathes, and it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

I yank down the straps of her dress, exposing her completely. My mouth moves from her lips to her throat, kissing, biting, trailing lower—until I take a nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. She whimpers, her fingers tugging at my hair, her thighs pressing together as she squirms beneath me.

“You like that?” I murmur against her skin, flicking my tongue over the hardened peak before switching to the other, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

She doesn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, she tilts her hips up, rubbing against me, seeking. I smirk against her skin, my hand sliding down her stomach, slipping beneath the fabric of her dress. When my fingers brush over the lace of her panties, she shudders.

“You’re soaked,” I murmur darkly, pushing the fabric aside. “All for me, kiska?”

She doesn’t get the chance to answer before I slide a finger into her slick heat. She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders as her body clenches around me.

“More,” she whispers, her voice barely there.

I growl in approval, adding another finger, curling them inside her, stroking her just right—until her head falls back, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

I press my thumb to her clit, circling it slowly, torturously. “Come for me,” I command against her ear.

And she does.

Her entire body tenses, her thighs trembling around my hand as she falls apart, moaning my name like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. I keep stroking her, prolonging her pleasure, reveling in the way she clenches around me, the way her body gives in to me completely. I lean up, capturing her lips again, swallowing the last of her moans as she sags against me.

And then⁠—

BANG.

The sound of gunfire cracks through the air.

Lila stiffens, her eyes flying open just as a second shot rings out⁠—

BANG. BANG.

The car jerks violently.

The world tilts, metal screeches, and everything is spinning.

Lila screams, clutching at me as the car careens out of control.

I wrap my arms around her, twisting to shield her as the vehicle slams into something hard.

Glass shatters.

Tires screech.

And then⁠—

Darkness.