9. Atticus #3
I love that her sex drive matches mine. The more I tease her, the more she melts, like she’s as desperate for me as I am for her. Once we’re both as clean as we can get, I step out of the shower first, reaching for a towel and wrapping her in it before I tie another around my waist.
Putting toothpaste on first her toothbrush and then mine, we clean our teeth standing side by side at the double basins, and the domesticity of the moment hits me.
I enjoy making her come, fucking her, and having her submit to me.
But I like this…this simple moment of togetherness just as much.
Our morning might have started with my mouth on her pretty pussy, but if our day had only started with me waking up and finding her curled into my body, I’d have been just as happy.
Water is dripping from the wet strands of her hair, so I grab another towel and carefully squeeze the droplets from the ends, rubbing the water from her back and shoulders while she watches me in the mirror.
Sighing happily, I lift her into my arms and press a soft kiss to her lips before I carry her into the closet.
“Kneel for me, Princess. Let me brush the tangles from your hair.”
Her expression turns quizzical. “You want to brush my hair?”
“I want you to kneel for me while I brush your hair, yes,” I tell her, pointing to a spot in front of a bench.
Eyeing me cautiously, I offer her my hand, and she places her fingers against it, letting me help her sink to the floor.
“You don’t need this,” I say, smiling as I tug the towel from around her, leaving her bare as she kneels on the floor at my feet.
Fetching a wooden paddle brush from the cabinet, I take a seat on the bench behind Lemon and carefully start to work the brush through her wet hair.
As I watch the wooden brush glide through the wet strands, I wonder how her perfect plump ass would look after a few spanks from this brush.
Despite it not being my usual kink, I’m starting to feel a certain fascination with the idea of warming her butt and having her walk around with a hot pink ass.
The heat and sting would keep me on her mind all day, reminding her over and over that she’s mine.
“Have you ever been spanked?” I blurt without thought.
“No,” she gasps. “Apart from yesterday when you…” Her words soften so much that if she says anything more, I don’t hear it.
“That wasn’t me spanking you. That was me reminding you who was in control,” I tell her. “If I spanked you, I’d put you over my knee, then warm your ass with this hairbrush until it was hot and pink all over. I wouldn’t hurt you, but I’d make it so you’d feel me for the rest of the day.”
She’s not looking at me, but I see the way she swallows and hear the hitch in her soft breaths.
“I think I’d enjoy that, and I think you’d enjoy it too,” I coo softly, rhythmically pulling the brush through her hair.
“But it’d hurt,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Not how you’re thinking. Impact play and pain aren’t my thing. But the thought of you carrying my mark on your ass all day makes my dick really fucking hard, Princess.”
“I don’t know,” she says after a long moment.
“Why don’t you spend today thinking about it?
Thinking about going to work with your skin warm and flushed pink from where I’d spanked you.
Every time you moved or sat, you’d think about me.
Every time the fabric of your dress brushed over your butt, you’d remember how it felt to lay across my legs, how it made you feel to give yourself over to me completely. ”
She doesn’t speak, but her breathing becomes shallow, her shoulders rising and falling a little quicker. I glance down her body, and her nipples are peaked and harder than a moment ago, and I’d lay money that if I reached between her legs, she’d be wet.
“I’ll think about it,” she whispers.
“Let’s get dressed. We need to eat,” I say, smiling to myself as I place the hairbrush in her line of sight, then hold my hand out to help her to her feet.
Her pupils are blown wide as she lets me lead her to the cabinet I hung her dresses in. Instead of stepping away, I stay close while she selects an outfit, taking it from her and carrying it over to the drawer I put her bras in.
“I need panties,” she breathes.
“No, you don’t,” I tell her simply.
“Atticus, I can’t leave this apartment without any underwear.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m wearing a dress. Because I don’t want to end up flashing some poor tourist because I won’t be wearing any panties.” She lists her reasons like they’re all super valid, not like they’re excuses.
Unhooking her dress from the hanger, I offer it to her, waiting while she positions her breasts in her bra.
“Atticus, I need panties,” she reiterates, sliding the dress over her head.
Before it’s even halfway on, she tugs it back off again, then unfastens the bra she just put on, drops it back into the drawer, then pulls the dress back over her head, smoothing the frothy pink and white fabric down her luscious body until it clings to her curves, then falls in a waterfall of fabric almost to the floor.
On the hanger it just looked like a pretty dress, but until she put it on, I had no idea how fucking sexy it really is. As she twists and wiggles the straps into place, my dick gets harder and harder.
The front of the dress is fairly modest, covering her chest, but the back is perfectly indecent. Thin straps curl over her shoulders, then crisscross over her shoulder blades and down her bare back to where they tie together in a bow an inch above the dimple at the top of her ass.
“Jesus,” I growl, curling my arm around her and pulling her toward me. Unable to resist, I slide my palm into the back of her dress and cup her naked ass cheek, squeezing it possessively.
“See, I need panties,” she says confidently.
“Hell no, Princess, you need my handprint on each of these cheeks,” I say, yanking up the back of her dress and fisting it as I bring my hand down on first one naked cheek and then the other. Two perfect pink imprints bloom slowly on her porcelain skin.
“Atticus,” she shrieks.
“It had to be done, Princess.” I chuckle, rubbing my palm over the marks I just left on her and admiring my handiwork as my chest swells with possession.
“Now I really need some panties,” she pouts.
“That’s not going to happen,” I tell her. “If I see you wearing panties, I’ll cut them off you and throw them in the trash.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she says, pushing out of my hold and taking a step away from me.
“When we pack the rest of your things, I’m going to get rid of every pair of panties you own.”
“I’ll buy new ones,” she barbs back.
“Then you’ll be wasting your money because I’ll throw them in the trash too.”
“What if I’m on my period?” she says smugly, like she thinks a little blood has won this argument.
“Do you use pads, period panties, or tampons? Or do you have one of those cup things you push up inside of you?” I ask without an ounce of discomfort.
“That is none of your business.”
“Everything about you is my business,” I tell her simply.
“I’m not discussing my feminine hygiene product preference with you.”
“Why not?” I question, genuinely unsure why this is an issue. “I grew up with a sister. I’m not squeamish.”
“Well, maybe I am,” she hisses.
“If you use pads or period panties, then I suppose I’ll make an exception on those days, but if you use tampons or a cup, then wearing or not wearing underwear during your period won’t make a difference.”
“Oh my god, I am not talking about this with you,” she hisses, outraged.
Smiling, I follow her across the closet to the mirror, watching as she turns and focuses on her reflection, clearly trying to ignore me.
Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I bury my face into the curve of her neck, pushing her wet hair out of my way so I can press my lips against her warm skin.
“Do you think I plan to ignore you for a week each month when you get your period? A little blood doesn’t bother me.
It won’t stop me from making you come. It won’t stop me from filling you with my cum.
You don’t need to be embarrassed, because I want to know everything about you. ”
“I don’t like you thinking you can just decide that I won’t be wearing underwear anymore,” she says, a hint of defiance staring back at me through the mirror.
“We still have a lot to learn about each other, and while I quite like it when you brat a little, I’m still the one who’s in charge. You gave me that when you claimed me as yours and gave me you as mine.”
“I—” she starts, but I hook my finger beneath the collar at her throat and tug lightly at it.
While I know she doesn’t understand the full implications of wearing it, and that I essentially tricked her into accepting it, she did agree to do as I say, and I haven’t held back or pretended to be anything other than exactly who I am.
“You’re crazy,” she says softly.
“With you…yes, I am. Indulge me today. If you truly hate being bare because it’s what I like, then we can talk about it later,” I concede.
“Fine. Just for today though, and you need to make sure that my skirt doesn’t lift up and that I don’t end up being arrested for indecent exposure,” she reluctantly yields as I softly thumb the side of her throat, my finger still beneath the collar.
“Thank you, Princess,” I purr, pressing soft kisses against her neck as her eyes fall closed, and she arches into me.
It takes more effort than it should to let her go, but I reluctantly give her space to dry and style her hair.
Picking out my own outfit, I select a pair of slim-fitted suit pants and a black long-sleeve button-down.
Not bothering with any underwear either, I wait until her eyes are on me in the mirror to fist my cock, then push it into my pants, the outline of my arousal clearly visible through the fabric.
Sliding my arms into my shirt, I fasten the buttons, then fold the sleeves back to my elbows, leaving my tattooed forearms on display.