Page 4 of Claimed By Daddy

Honestly, I don't know what he's so worried about. It's not like there's much trouble for me to find way out here on my own.

Chapter Two

Carver

"Son of a bitch," I curse under my breath as my truck bounces through yet another pothole on the narrow lane leading to my cabin. If I hit one more of the fucking things, I may never have kids. My balls already ache like a motherfucker.

I lean forward to peer out of the windshield, but trees press so close to the truck, I can't tell if I'm nearly to the end of the old lane or not.

It'll be the first damn thing I fix come daylight. But it's after ten at night, and I'm exhausted after a hell of a trip from base in Washington. The potholes will have to wait until I get some sleep.

If I manage that. It doesn't come easy anymore. I've spent the last twenty years of my life in the military, dragging my ass to every hellhole on this side of creation. My last mission was the worst.

I barely made it out in one piece…and I was one of the few lucky ones. We lost far too goddamn many men, and it still haunts me. I'm not sure it'll ever stop at this point.

I turned in my paperwork as soon as I was stateside. That was almost six months ago. I've been through all the fucking therapy, but I still feel stretched thin, as if my goddamn skin is too tight over my bones. I still hear their screams at night.

All I want is some peace and quiet, which is why I bought the damn cabin at auction. It's in the middle of nowhere in the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. Fresh air, wide open spaces, and no goddamn neighbors. The perfect place to get lost while I deal with my shit.

I finally escape the last of the potholes, only to spot a small passenger car parked in front of the cabin. Annoyance immediately flares, but I shrug it off. It's probably hikers. The agent who helped facilitate the sale warned me that there are plenty of those out here.

I'll post a few No Trespassing signs and run them off the property until they get the fucking hint that this is no longer a free parking spot for their little adventures. I don't want to deal with people. I just want to be left the fuck alone. It's not too much to ask.

I kill the engine, grab my duffle, and head toward the cabin, too tired to deal with the rest of my shit—not like there's much of it. I'm not the kind of man who needs much in life.

My needs at the moment are simple: a shower and sleep.

At least, that's the plan until I step over the threshold. The smell of sugar and sunshine mixed with vanilla hits me like a fist in the gut. The scent is so intoxicating, so fucking sweet, it turns my cock to stone. I rock back on my heels, groaning as my balls throb.

I haven't taken myself in hand in… Christ. It's been months since I dealt with the hard bastard in my pants. It's not like there's been a reason. The damn thing never works.

The men in my unit used to give me shit about it all the fucking time, but I ignored it. Frankly, they would have been horrified if they knew why I didn't sleep around like most of them. But the shit I want?

Well, I gave up believing it existed anywhere outside of my own dirty mind a long time ago. I certainly wasn't going to ask some random woman to act like my little girl while I fucked her raw, especially when I never came across a woman who made me want to act on the desire.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I'll know my little princess when I find her. Until then, I've always been content to wait. It's not like it's been a hardship when I've spent most of my time deployed or training the next batch of Rangers meant to deploy.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, slapping the switch on the wall. As light floods the small cabin, it takes me a minute to process the scene in front of me. Whoever smells so goddamn good has been here recently.

Her shit is still strewn all over the place. There are shoes by the door, a bra draped over the back of the couch, and grocery bags sitting on the small table.

"What the fuck?" I mutter, stepping deeper into the room. Is she the previous owner? The one who decided that paying taxes was a suggestion and not a requirement?

I'm pretty fucking certain the agent said the former owner was a man. But those shoes won't fit any man I've ever met.

Another wave of that goddamn perfect scent wafts toward me. No man I've ever met smells that fucking good, either. I grit my teeth, trying to steel myself against the arousal that scent sends coursing through my veins.

Son of a bitch.

A soft shuffling sound slips from beneath the bedroom door. I whip my head in that direction, only to notice the light spilling out from beneath the crack.

Whoever the mystery woman is, she's still in there.

My temper flares at the thought of her using my cabin without permission. A savage growl builds in my chest as I stomp across the room, fully intending to kick her trespassing ass out of here. I don't care how good she smells, I'm not running a charity here, and I don't have the patience for bullshit. I'm too goddamn tired to deal with it.

I throw the door open with far more force than necessary, causing it to slam against the wall.

"You need to get the fuck out of my cabin right now," I growl. And then my gaze falls on the girl, no, woman, no, angel standing beside the bed.