Daddy says, p.3
Daddy Says, page 3
Suddenly, he set me on top of it, lifting me over him so he could stuff me full, opening me wide as he slid me down his shaft and thrust deep.
“Oh God. That feels amazing.” His tone could be mistaken for ecstasy or agony.
I was fine with either because it meant that finally I had him right where I wanted him.
He gripped the back of my thighs, and lifted me so I wrapped my roller skate conditioned legs around his waist. My juices had prepared the way and his thick dick slid right inside. The snap of his hips filled me to the brim with his erection, fucking me deep. My eyes rolled towards the back of my head and I hungered for him even more.
He made a rough voiced request, “Open your eyes and look at me.”
I did as he said, and clenched around him, squeezing in a way that told me I’d come on him soon. Contrary to what I might have people believe, this was a first for me. Being taken in the back and the front. And with his intimidating width and length, it was not easy going.
Noah bucked into me, fucking me, until I was riding him like his horse through the woods, galloping towards my orgasm. The animal in me bit his shoulder, and my nails dug into my palms, still trapped over my head as he took me hard. His thrusts so rough I moaned his name. “Deeper Noah. I’m going to come all over you.”
He leaned down, fell on me with a voracious growl, licking my flesh, sucking at my neck and nipping a line along my collar bone while he inhaled my scent. “I’ll allow it, little fox. But the name you call out better be ‘daddy’ when your sweet pussy clenches down on my cock like a fist.”
Something about that last command, both naughty and nice, sent a thrill rocketing through me, catching me by surprise.
“Yes, daddy, time for you to fuck me. Take me as hard as you want.” My brain had fled the scene, talking nonsense. It left behind in its wake pure, pumping lust. “Next time I want you to take my ass with your big cock instead of this plug. Stretch me wide back there—but punish me first.” I cried out my orgasmic release as pulse after pulse, he emptied himself into me.
He’d given me what I was waiting for—my secret desire. He ravished me and lovingly forced me to yield to him. It felt like coming home to a place I wanted to stay for a very long time.
And that was unfamiliar and frightening awareness.
Sticking around meant settling.
He deserved better than someone who could never say she truly belonged to him. My nomadic childhood trained me to move on before things ever got serious. Even though I’d wanted Noah for what seemed like forever, it wouldn’t be long before my inner alarm clock went off, infusing me with the urge to leave this town. I wished I were the kind of girl who could settle down and make nice with a family and home of my own, but after spending a couple years in one place, I got the irresistible urge to leave.
Until then, I could make it up to him by being his good girl and asking very nicely if he’d let me suck his cock. That didn’t make me a cheap whore. It made me an opportunist.
4
NOAH
So far, everything was going according to plan.
I scooped her off the wall, removed the cuffs and her plug, and carried her to the couch as I’d dreamt of doing a million times over.
None of this felt real.
She was with me. Alone. I’d been inside of her. She was mine now.
That last point would stir up trouble between us. Gigi didn’t know my plans to keep her here until she accepted we were slaves to each other.
Her face turned towards me, seeking reassurance, or affirmation, and our breaths mingled in intimate confession. She smelled like the place where I wanted to live forever.
Not here in this modest cabin.
We’d reside in the home I bought for us on a larger piece of land. It had a lake, space for a garden, and enough room for a family.
I had no illusions about who she was—always moving. Hell, she even had wheels on her shoes because her own feet weren’t fast enough. She never talked about why, but I made it my business to find out. We’d talked about how growing up in a military family, Gigi had to move all the time. So often, it felt abnormal to live any other way.
I knew what that was like.
Her hand grew limp where it rested on my shoulder, slid down my chest, and her eyes crept shut. My little fox had a long day, and damned if I’d be the one to wake her. She wiggled against me in sleep, her feet flutter-kicking, and I wondered if she could sense me chasing her in her dreams.
For as many minutes as I could, I’d enjoy the peace between us. If history was any sign, it wouldn’t last. She fought me constantly, which is why I had to bring her here in the first place. So she couldn’t get away.
Given time and proximity, she’d accept living in one place.
With me.
Gigi was my responsibility.
Let’s get one thing straight: a Daddy Dom is not into incest or pedophilia, even though the kink is misunderstood by ignorant people.
Instinct makes me her champion and protector. Every time she rolls into the room, my eyes light up. It’s my job to praise her when she’s good, and punish her for being naughty.
Plain and simple.
Soot and ash smells from the fire remind me—protecting the people I loved didn’t always work out.
At age fifteen, mom and I were on our own, having convinced my brothers to go off to college and the Marines. They supported us financially, and relied on me to take care of her daily needs. By that time, her M.S. made walking impossible, and though I came home straight after school, it wasn’t soon enough on that doomed day.
Even though I was the last sibling to leave home, and mature for my age back then, there were still practical life skills that hadn’t developed. Even though my brothers gave plenty of advice from afar, they couldn’t think of everything. Such as the need to replace smoke alarm batteries regularly. The fire that burnt down our apartment took her with it. When I arrived after school, the first responders had taken her to the hospital, and all that remained was char and smoke where our dwelling once stood. A police officer on site took me to the hospital, but upon arrival, mama had already succumbed to her burns.
I never came to peace with the fact that she was in a better place, free of suffering, able to run again like she once did for her college track team. The terror and pain she suffered without me there to save her haunted me still. I’d give up my life to rescue her from that.
That’s why, extreme as it might be, Gigi wasn’t leaving my side. She’d try to fight me, and I’d win.
I folded my arms behind my head, watching her sleep. She snored softly in my lap. My eyes roved the room, landing on the artwork on the walls and my mind drifted back to when I first met Gigi.
I’d accompanied my buddy Rupert to Phoenix to hire she and Ivy away from a shabby club over a year ago, and ever since they worked at The Ranch. The dude fell hard for Ivy, and after both girls moved to Briarville from Phoenix, I made it my business to watch over Gigi. For the longest time, I figured the biggest danger to her was me. She was playful, independent, and spontaneous. A girl like that certainly didn’t belong with a temperamental worrywart.
I came to realize that being her number one fan didn’t cut it. I believed in her more than she did herself, but that didn’t mean I deserved her.
She whimpered and jerked against me, as if something startled her. “Shh. Your daddy’s right here.” I whispered, stroking her silky, two-toned hair, a symbol of her imaginative and adventurous nature. “I’ll protect you while you sleep.”
Finally, after a year of watching over her from a distance, lusting after her every waking hour, I realized that obsessive and controlling as I might be, she is my responsibility. The best way to honor that is to keep her at my side, teach her to submit to me, and ruin her for any other man.
For starters, I’d make her a meal so good, she’d let me look after her in the most sensual way—feeding her by hand.
Cooking was about passion, and Gigi would look so pretty with my fingers in her mouth, sitting on my lap as I wined and dined her. Eventually, she’d be as addicted to me as I was to tasting her pussy.
I couldn’t forget its flavor.
Gigi murmured in her sleep and I picked her up and carried her to my room so she could rest more comfortably. Then extricated myself from her slumbering embrace in order to prepare paella and a pitcher of sangria for her. As I sliced grapes, oranges and lemon, pouring a generous slosh of brandy over them so they’d absorb the intoxicating essence, I dreamt of taking her to Spain one day. Sundresses, sandals, sun-kissed skin. The thought made me grow hard.
One of my favorite places in the world was the small cofradía de pescadores, or fishermen’s consortium, off the coast of Salinetas where they sold fried calamari and sardines, straight from the sea. Peasant food. I spent every day of rest and relaxation seeking the best restaurants frequented by locals, building my repertoire of recipes country by country. The Special Forces called my name as soon as I was old enough, and they’d been good to me.
As the Ant Middleton saying goes, “No trooper, no special forces operative wants to sit behind a desk. We joined up to kick some doors down.” I’d knocked down plenty, and realized I had the years of discipline and training to thank for forging me into Gigi’s perfect protector.
Nothing would get through me to her.
An hour later, the rice, chicken, and chorizo were gently boiling in an intoxicating broth seasoned by saffron and pimento.
She came into the kitchen and her hoarse whisper broke the simmering sound. “What time is it?”
A sheet shrouded the apricot and milky color of her skin, cheeks flushed with sleep, hair bed tossed and sexy.
“Almost time to eat.” I crossed the room, cupping her chin tenderly in my hand, swooping in to steal a kiss, immediately realizing my mistake.
Lust blazed my brain and I could think of nothing else.
I was an animal with her.
I wanted to mark her with my mouth and teeth.
Dominate her so completely there’d be no rift between us.
It’s the reason she was here.
She wasn’t safe working at The Ranch as proven by the stupid hunt she’d entered for cash. No matter that she’d hate me for it, at least I’d know where she was at all times.
What she did.
Who she was with.
I told my beast to back down and stepped away from her, convincing myself it wasn’t excitement adding shine to her eyes and a flush to her cheeks. If I gave into that imagined glow of desire, it would become a bonfire of banging that consumed us both.
And we needed food.
I walked to the cabinet and pulled out a single dinner plate, one fork, one glass for our sangria.
The paella came out perfect and when the rice was nearly done, I added prawns, mussels and scallops. The latter weren’t an authentic addition, but they gave the dish a touch of class, which is exactly what she deserved.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, puzzled and more than a little nervous.
“Famished.” I impaled her with my eyes, tossing a cloth napkin on the side of the plate, conveying my double meaning, then clutched her hand in mine and led her to the table.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pulled her onto my lap.
“Noah! What on Earth?” She struggled against me, hands close to my crotch, and I could feel my shaft straining towards her.
“Taste.” I held a forkful of the dish in front of her lips, which were sealed tight in challenge. But it was impossible to resist the scent of my paella, and she slowly unhinged her jaw. The sight of her glistening, pink tongue did sinful things to my insides, and I watched her chew. “Oh, my God. What is it?” she asked.
Gigi attempted to grab the fork to feed herself, but I jerked it away.
“Open.”
She obeyed and brought my untried senses to life.
“Now swallow.”
The creamy expanse of her throat as she devoured my dish was a sight to behold. I followed suit finishing half the plate as she dropped her eyes before my steady gaze.
I fed her three more bites, and she looked up at me with dreamy eyes. There was a gentle softness in her voice. “Noah, who made the carvings on your bed frame?”
I swallowed hard, trying to manage a feeble answer.
“I did.” My throat was thick, so I fed her more bites of food, and my face tingled with heat. “I’m going to burn it, though.”
She looked at me in surprise, refusing to take the prawn I held in front of her lips. “Why?”
It was impossible to capture the melting softness of her body with my rough wood sculpting.
I smoothed her hair. “I only had my imagination to go on.” Thinking of the nude poses I’d chiseled of her on the wooden posts before seeing her naked in person. “It’s an insult to the real thing. Never could I have imagined such beauty.” My hand traced the air over her curves. “I shouldn’t try to recreate it—I’m not Michelangelo.” I was intensely humiliated for even attempting to create her likeness now that I’d seen it in person. In the flesh, her swelling curves held the creamy power to entice and compel me to madness.
Resting her chin on a hand, a bemused smile on her lips, she observed, “I’ve never seen anything like it, Noah. Are you saying those carvings are of me?”
The moment was now.
That pivotal point when, if this were a movie, I’d reveal my love for her. Tell her I’d sacrifice anything just to watch her eat while she sat on my lap.
But real life wasn’t like that.
Real life took away the things you wanted most, without rhyme or reason.
You couldn’t keep them safe forever.
Instead, I made the only choice I had.
I pretended she was a pain in the ass, instead of telling her she was my moon.
My stars.
“Eat your supper.” I ground the words out between my teeth and fed her a bite.
I’d show her later how much I wanted her. How everything she did made me smile on the inside.
Talking was never my strong suit.
There were plenty of things I could do with my mouth besides talking to prove she belongs to me.
5
GIGI
The next day, I woke to the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan and the whir of the fan above the wood stove. First Noah ground fresh coffee, then came the sound of a knife chopping against the cutting board and it stirred my curiosity.
He’d left a giant t-shirt on the bed for me, and a pair of wool socks, which I slid on my feet before entering the kitchen to the sight of him slicing potatoes to make home fries. Next, he dropped raw eggs from what seemed a great height into a pot of steaming water, to poach them (did he know that’s how I liked them cooked?), and slipped slices of sour dough into the toaster before turning to squeeze fresh orange juice.
His was the hard, muscled body of a warrior, and after yesterday, I could easily imagine him galloping across the battlefield on his horse, sword swinging.
For now, he resembled a human assembly line, performing every job required to get breakfast on the table. It was a sight for a sore thighs, smarting butt cheeks, and a well-pleased pussy which throbbed her eagerness. She was ready for action again, even though she’d definitely had her “fill” last night. After dinner, he’d taken me back to his bedroom, bent me over the end of his bed next to carvings of me in the buff, and stuffed me so full of him I’d screeched like a wild vixen.
In his natural environment, the man exhibited much less narrowing of the eyes and crossed arms, and he actually smiled at me when I entered the room instead of pressing his lips into a white slash, jaw clenched, mouth frowning. He was a different person out here in the woods. Someone I might like to know a lot better.
Unfortunately, responsibilities waited for no woman. I had to go back when breakfast was over. Unless I worked out on my skates every day, my symptoms returned with a vengeance.
Noah didn’t need all the details. It was my business. ADHD was no small thing to master, and I did so with exercise instead of Adderall, a drug with a list of side effects taller than the Coast Redwoods which grew around here.
The smell of onions frying in butter caused my stomach to snarl, and Noah replied, “Just a few more minutes to go. Here’s your coffee.”
I regarded him with an incredulous stare and stuttered, “Where on earth did you find a Chocolate Caramel Truffle Mocha Cooler way out here?”
His body radiated a raw and primal strength and made it super hard to concentrate, though admittedly, doing so was never my strong suit. Teachers always said it was like I was driven by a motor, and that included my mouth.
My personal chef reached a swollen bicep across the counter and tapped the surface of my coffee cup twice with his index finger. His behavior bewildered me, and it must have shown on my face. Our hands collided when he spun the cup around, turning the opposite side towards me. I glanced down and, just like a coffee shop employee, he’d carefully identified the drink as mine. Only he wrote “YOU’RE SO FUCKING PRETTY.” in place of my name.
Our eyes met.
My stomach did a triple half flip, and I pulled at the t-shirt collar, stretching it away from my neck.
My feelings towards him were confused. I was no longer a passenger on board the locomotive of pure lust, but traveling in the direction of something resembling admiration or affection. He set a fire between my legs, but also in my heart. “Why are you staring at me like that?” I asked.
He scrubbed his stubble with the palm of his hand. “I think I just… finally understand you.”
I wavered, trying to comprehend what I was feeling, and disclosed, “The first thing you should know about me is that I’m not you.” A sip of my specialty drink proved it delicious, and I pronounced, “A lot more will make sense after that.”
