7. Chapter 7 #2
It’s consuming me, hurting me, elevating every twist and thrust of the root as he pumps it… amplifying every sensation —his fingers on my clit, his thumb pushing into my pussy. I’m writhing, not just to ginger’s fire, but to the pressure of being filled and stroked in two places at once.
“That’s why you don’t want to sign, isn’t it?” He strokes his thumb and the ginger in and out in gentle tandem. “You’re afraid I’ll stop this beautiful torment. You think you’ll never feel it again. I promise, Princess, this is just a taste of what we’ll explore togeth—”
My gasp stops him when his thumb sinks too deep, bumping up against a barrier, sending a shot of real discomfort through me.
“You’re kidding,” he says, but his tone so void of expression that suddenly all eroticism vanishes, leaving me bathing in fire and the merciless uncertainty that I’ve just done something incredibly wrong.
I don’t have a clue what, but that doesn’t matter. My father has honed the warning bells with a heavy-handed precision, I can’t help reacting to. It’s knee-jerk. The moment his voice changed, I wrench sideways as far as my bonds would allow just so I could see how much danger I’m in.
He seems more surprised than angry, which startles me.
“There’s no way you’re a virgin. What are you, nineteen? Twenty?”
“I’m twenty-two,” I protest, unsure how or why that should make a difference.
“Of course, you are,” he says to himself. “When would he have let you out of his sight, much less his control long enough to get into that kind of mischief?”
He removes his thumb but not the plug, which continues to flame away as he comes to sit on the bed beside me. He looks at me, calculation glistening deep in his devil-blue eyes.
“Have you ever been kissed, Princess?” he asks.
Watching him carefully, I’m not sure why I can’t read anger or danger in his expression. Why had he stopped if he wasn’t angry? How can he seem so calm if he’s angry? I steel myself, knowing I was about to get slapped out of nowhere.
“Of course, I have.” Only just once when I was fourteen, and that ended badly, but it still ought to count, right?
“By a boy?” he challenged. “Or by a man? Did you want it to happen?”
He cups my chin, and I honestly don’t know if the tingle in the pit of my belly is a twitch of fear or something worse.
The burning in my ass takes on a terrible new kind of heat, the kind that delves deeper than the membranes hugging the awful root, sinking straight to my pussy, making it burn.
I don’t know how he does it, turning the pain and discomfort into something more.
It doesn’t just make me ache, it makes me want him to do more.
This is wrong.
I blame the burning. I don’t want this, but my body doesn’t know what to do with the feeling, so it’s turning it into something nicer.
There is no other reason for the twitch in my sex when he caresses the pad of his thumb across my trembling lips.
I can smell the ginger on his hand. I smell myself, proof of my undeniable wickedness, glistening on his skin, especially around the thumbnail.
“If you think, Daddy,”—I remember his honorific this time—“I’ll marry you for a kiss, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Not for the kiss,” he agrees. “But what about for freedom? The freedom to leave the house whenever you want. To have an allowance, money of your own, the ability to go shopping whenever and wherever you desire. You can make friends, meet them for lunch whenever you want.”
“I don’t have friends.” I can’t even imagine what he’s offering.
“You’ll have your own car,” he continues as if he hadn’t heard me. The backs of his fingers caress my cheek, sending a wayward shiver running to my nipples.
“I don’t drive.”
“Marriage to me means nothing and no one will ever stop you from learning. So long as you submit to me, you’ll never have to submit to anyone else. Does that appeal to you?”
Who wouldn’t it appeal to? Sadly, I’m not stupid enough to believe he’d actually give me any of that.
Mafia daughters aren’t the only ones constantly kept under watchful guard.
My mother was just as closely guarded and as sorely disciplined whenever my father’s jealousy or temper were pricked.
My mother managed her escape when I was twelve, in the form of a month’s worth of antidepressants and a lot of alcohol.
She got out. I was left behind. I’ve tried hard not to blame her over the years, but I only cried at her funeral because I was angry.
“You want to leave,” he coaxes, caressing my cheek, brushing my hair back from my face, making love to me with all the gentleness of normal people, while my asshole burns like fire and my clit throbs to be next.
“I can give you all the freedom you’ve never had, with none of the worry and fears that come with it. ”
No, kept by a different prisoner, I’d have a whole new set of worries and fears.
“Would I still have to call you Daddy?”
“Every time I tell you to, and especially when I fuck you in my bed. But as I’ve already promised, it’ll never be rape. You’ll want it, just like you want it right now. Even when I punish you first.”
My pussy twitched.
“Perhaps because I punish you.” His smile was pure sin, and God, what it did to me. “You’ll cry for me, make no mistake, but every time I tell you, you’ll bend over and be a good girl for Daddy. You might not like everything I do, but you’ll never come for anyone the way I’ll train you to come.”
The fluttering shiver moves through me like an orgasm.
Did his promises tempt me? Sure, they did, but could I trust them? Not a bit.
“Can I tell you no whenever I want to?”
“You can. I’m not promising I won’t whip your ass for it, and I absolutely guarantee if you say something in public that should have been saved for private, I will make you regret it.”
I didn’t doubt that for a second.
“Can I choose to say or not say it with clothes on?”
He smiles, obviously thinking he’s won. He hasn’t. Not even close, but he’s just made me a lot of promises he’ll have to prove. I’m far more likely to escape him if I pretend to go along than I am while chained over the foot of this bed with a plug up my ass.
“Would you like to get dressed?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“I’ll allow it.” Moving his hand down my face, he cups my chin once more. “But first, I’d like to sample your sincerity. You are sincere, aren’t you?”
Not in the slightest.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Sincere enough to kiss me?”
My lips tingle, but not because I want him. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Yes, Daddy.”
His thumb caresses my lips again, and he smiles.
It’s okay to be a little excited. I tell myself that, too.
What could be more normal or natural than the tingles and jitters of having a man this good-looking studying my mouth?
I’ve only experienced this once, from my friend, James.
The soft brush of his lips had been innocent and exploratory, and he’d been beaten for his trouble, nearly killed. This would not end like that.
Right?
I raise myself up as far as I can, bound as I was.
Lifting my head, I fully expect him to lean over and do it.
Kiss me. Let me feel the caress of his mouth on mine so I’d finally know for sure what it was like.
Curiosity satisfied, I’ll be able to harden myself to him and concentrate on getting away.
A shopping trip to get me out of the house… a car to help me run… money of my own to fund it…
I lick my lips and tell myself the tremble inside me is nothing more than being this close to getting away. It has nothing to do with the sheer anticipation of watching and waiting for him to bring his smiling, handsome lips to mine.
Except he doesn’t. He stands and climbs on the bed one slow knee at a time. He takes his time, positioning himself in front of me, bringing his hips even with my face, and gathers my hair in his hand, holding it out of the way.
I’m not stupid. I know exactly what he wants, even before his free hand drops to his belt.
He unfastens it slowly, unzips his pants, releasing his cock.
Hard. Thick. A tiny drop of fluid wells from the tip in front of my startled eyes, and God help me, my mouth waters from my curiosity and drive to taste it.
He pushes both his pants and underwear off his hips. My pussy knows what to do, even if the rest of me balks.
“Well, Princess?” His teasing smugness is every bit as evident in his smile as the teardrop of precum trickling down the mushroom head of his cock. “What are you waiting for? Let’s have that enthusiastic kiss.”