11. Chapter 11
C lara
My father is going to die soon—Viktor has all but guaranteed it. He got me chocolate, too, and now we’re on our way to the penthouse suite on the very top floor, so he could spank me.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so sore, so grateful, and so aroused all at once.
On the way to check in at the hotel, we stop at the bathroom so I can take off my ruffled underwear.
My bottom is now bare under the very short hem of my dinosaur dotted skirt.
Cool air brushes my naked skin with every step we take, and I feel scandalous.
It’s embarrassing, but mortified as I am to admit it, I like the feeling.
We’re walking around in public, where a sudden gust of air conditioning at just the right moment will turn this into a Marilyn Monroe moment, but I…
I’m happy. His arm is around me, his hand on my hip, guarding what’s his with such easy proprietorship.
I like how he does that. The whole way up the elevator to the top floor and all the way down the hall to our suite, I hug his arm. He’s going to spank me when we get there, but I don’t care. When it’s over, he’ll hold me like he did before, pet me, tell me I’m a good girl. Maybe we’ll have sex.
Then he’ll give me chocolate.
And continue to pretend as though I’m the most precious person he’s ever known.
I’ve never had someone treat me like this before, and I’m eating it up.
Finally, we reach our door. It’s luxury at its finest, but I barely notice.
Two floors with a private pool and hot tub on the outside deck overlook the bright city lights on the Strip.
The kitchen feeds into a sunken white living room with a free-standing white-stone fireplace.
There’s a bathroom to the left and a curving staircase to the right.
The walls are glass, and the accents are all trimmed in gold.
I’ve been raised in hotels like this. I’m more focused on him than anything else I see here.
With a pat on my butt, he sends me upstairs with instructions to strip naked and find a corner to stand in.
“Nose to the wall,” he says as I head up to the master bedroom. “I want you to think about what you’ve done. When I come up, you will decide if your failure to listen should be addressed by Daddy’s hand or his belt.”
His belt ? The ground vanishes out from under me, and I trip on the next stair, almost falling. Catching the railing, I find my balance before glancing uncertainly back at him.
“You heard me,” he said, smiling softly. His voice is so gentle, but apart from that smile, his expression is stern. “All your clothes off. Find a corner. Have your decision ready for me by the time I get up there.”
This is a trick—a trap. I know this game, just like I know what a belt feels like.
There’s nothing loving or gentle about them, but he’s been good to me so far.
Well… except for kidnapping me, holding me hostage…
everything he did to me in his bedroom before, during, and after our shower…
putting me in little girl panties, making me call him Daddy.
How weird I’m not afraid of him after all that.
I was far more afraid of my father. Somewhere between the bottom of the stairs and the top, the white hotel carpet turns into the tan fibers of my father’s house.
I feel nothing except the shaking in my knees and dread-filled certainty that he—not Viktor—will come soon to beat me.
With his belt. That’s what he wants me to choose.
If I pick his hand, I’ll get the belt longer and harder for not owning up to my sins and selecting it right away.
The trick is it doesn’t really matter. If I choose his belt, he’ll know I agree with him, and I’ll still get whipped. Maybe on the back again. Maybe my legs.
I’m almost in tears by the time I reach the next floor.
The master bedroom is huge and strikingly white everywhere but the bedspread, which is midnight blue—the only sapphire in a diamond room.
I don’t have time to enjoy it. My hands are already shaking, and I need to get into position so I don’t earn extra by being caught out of it.
I take the underwear out of the front bib of my jumper and lay it as neatly as I can on a nearby chair.
Removing my little-girl shoes and frilly ankle socks, I tuck those under the bed, so I won’t trip over them, then my jumper and the white t-shirt join my panties.
With every article I remove, my actions get slower, as if staying dressed might be the only hail Mary keeping punishment from coming.
What corner should I pick?
The hotel chair takes up the nearest one, the other by the window. Although the drapes are partially drawn, I’m not about to step up to all that glass naked. I don’t care how many drapes are drawn to shield me.
That leaves the corner by the bathroom and the other by the bed.
Feeling as if I’m going to throw up, I choose the one by the bathroom, just in case. Oh crap, he’s coming up the stairs, the carpet muffling his shoes but not the soft bump of each step bringing him closer to me.
Panic jumps in my chest, but it’s weirdly countered by a flush of warmth unfurling between my legs, spreading through my sex to my womb. I shouldn’t feel anything like that, but it was as if my subconscious is telling me, “Oh, he won’t really use the belt. He won’t hurt us.”
I scramble into the right position in the corner, with my nose almost pressing against the wall by the time he comes in, with his belt already in his hand.
I didn’t know how close I was until I see it dangling in his grip and promptly burst into tears.
“Come here, Princess.” Laying the belt on the bed, he sits next to it and pats his waiting lap.
I have no other option. Running doesn’t escape punishment, only adds to it.
If he doesn’t catch me, his men just outside the door will.
I’ve already taken my clothes off, so I’d be the crazy woman running naked through the hotel and casino.
It’s hopeless, and I know it. Just like I know, the longer I linger in this corner, the worse I’m making it for myself.
Experience taught me that a long time ago.
“Clara,” he calls with the warning tone that makes my nipples tighten and my stomach knot creeping into his voice. “Come to Daddy, Princess.”
I suck in air, trying to ground myself to endure the worst. Don’t cry. That’s another lesson my father taught me. Don’t cry, don’t scream, and don’t fight, no matter how much it hurts. It only leads to more.
Turning from the corner, I go to him, but my knees are shaking.
My hands are, too, so I hide them behind my back so he won’t see how badly, but I can see the belt folded in half by his hip, looped like a thin black snake within his easy reach.
With every step, I’m surprised when I don’t collapse. Soon, I’m within his easy reach.
He removed his jacket downstairs and was dressed now in gray suit pants and his white, button-down business shirt. His attention is on his sleeves as he rolls them up past his brawny forearms to his elbows.
“Did you think about it?”
I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, which makes it hard to answer. I nod instead. I’ve done nothing but think about his belt since he sent me up here.
“Tell me what you did to get sent to the corner.” He finishes rolling up one sleeve and turns to the next.
My mind goes blank. I can’t think past the belt.
“I… I…”
Done with both sleeves, he rests his hands on his thighs. There is no anger on his face, no judgment or condemnation. He just waits, watching me flounder for a good minute before gently inserting, “Was it because you argued with me?”
The second he said it, I remember downstairs in the restaurant. I can’t recall anything I said, but I remember the back and forth of talking to him. I leap on the answer he provided.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Daddy,” I leap again. “Yes, Daddy.”
“That’s incorrect,” he counters, as calm and in control as ever. “You’ll always be free to express your opinions, fears, and concerns, whenever and wherever you have them. I will never punish you, ever, for voicing what scares you. But you took this beyond arguing, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, silently pleading for him not to ask for specifics. I’m so rattled, I can’t remember anything beyond my father’s angry presence. Everything after that is just a vague blur.
“What did you do?” he asks.
My left knee almost buckles out from under me as tears rush to my eyes, filling up the back of my throat and making it almost impossible to speak.
“I don’t know.”
The confession broke me. Refusing to be blinked back, my tears overwhelm me. I can see Daddy sitting right here on the foot of the bed in front of me, but every well-trained nerve in my body expects the worst now.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg, but I know it’s going to happen.
I’ve just given him every excuse he needs to punish me.
I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, so obviously, I think my infraction is acceptable behavior—Fail.
I can’t remember what I said, so obviously, I’m not paying attention—Fail.
If I pick his hand—Fail. If I pick his belt—Double fail.
Everything I’m doing is a failure, and each one carries a price.
I want to go home. At least there, I’ll know what the penalties are.
Taking my elbow, Viktor slides his gentle grip down my arm until I have no choice but to remove it from behind my back. I try to go over his knee when he pulls me, but he turns me around, putting my back to the belt, and draws me to sit on his thighs.