Chapter 11
11
T he question hangs in the air between us, so thick and heavy it feels like I’m drowning in it. Everything Wesley has said tonight makes it hard for me to breathe properly. He wants me as his girlfriend. He wants to be my daddy. He wants me .
And what do I want?
Everything .
I crave Wesley. I’ve spent so long fighting my attraction and affection for him. It’s time to surrender and take whatever he wants to give me.
“Fuck it. Yeah.”
Wesley’s entire face lights up. I don’t think he expected that answer. “Yeah? You sure ?”
“Yes, daddy.” Now that I’ve decided, I don’t feel as shy saying the word.
I’m rewarded with Wesley’s mouth on mine again, his hot tongue forcing my lips open as he squeezes my ass with both of his enormous hands. An embarrassing whimper escapes me as his cock grinds against my belly, and he pulls back with a heated chuckle. “Shit, baby girl. Daddy wants to fuck you so bad.”
I rock myself against his massive thigh, desperate for some kind of relief from the pressure building between my legs. I’m still pretty damn sore, but right now I couldn’t care less. “Then why don’t you?”
His grip on me tightens, holding me still. “We’ve got work to do, remember? What kind of daddy would I be if I let you neglect that?”
“A fun one?” I bat my eyelashes at him, though I doubt it will work.
He shakes his head, meeting my rebuttal with a soft warning smack on my ass. “Nope. Now, show me what needs to get done.”
With Wes’ help, packing up my shop orders goes much faster than usual. He listens to my instructions with such a serious look of focus on his face that it makes my heart melt that much more. Things would go even faster if I didn’t keep distracting myself by glancing up at him to check that he’s not just some figment of my imagination. But he’s real, and he’s here, and he’s surprisingly dextrous packaging up the delicate earrings and necklaces despite his thick fingers. He takes extreme care to make sure everything is wrapped up as nicely as possible. My heart flutters with amused affection whenever his tongue sticks out the side of his snout in concentration as he works with the delicate tissue paper .
Each time I pass him a new stack of items to wrap up, he makes little exclamations about how my art is “cute as shit” and that I’m “super fucking talented”. The off-hand compliments feel strange from a man who, for most of our time knowing each other, has taken great pleasure in teasing me. That is until I realize that Wesley’s never once said anything teasing about my art or shop. Even Doug was a little dismissive when I told him I was going to focus on my shop full time. Most people take one look at my cutesy, weird art style and dismiss me as being as unserious as my designs. But not Wes. In fact, he told Doug off in that very same conversation we had about me making my art the main source of income.
God, how did I not see how much he cared?
“Oh, hell yeah. This one is amazing! I haven’t seen it before. Is it new?” Wesley asks, holding up a tank top with a technicolor raccoon in a birth of Venus pose. It’s nothing groundbreaking, but I’m still proud of the mix of cute and feral vibes I put into the art.
“You keep track of all my designs?” I ask, raising an incredulous brow.
“I follow you,” he says with a shrug, like it’s a given. Which I guess shouldn’t surprise me since he’s apparently been obsessed with me for a year. Affection and arousal warm my insides at the thought.
Wesley smiles as he continues. “I see your stuff in my feed all the time—it’s hard not to with how many people are sharing it. You’re killing it, Ari. It makes me so fucking proud every time I see one of your designs.”
The honeyed warmth building inside me cools, and my cheeks heat as I struggle against the urge to wave off his compliment. I’m not good at handling praise. I know I’ve worked my ass off to get my shop to where it is, but a lot of my success lately comes down to luck and good timing. If I accept his praise, and there fore accept that my shop’s success was my doing, then I also open myself up to feeling like a failure when my surge of popularity wanes.
“Don’t give me that look,” Wes says, tossing a stray piece of tissue paper at me. It bounces off my chin and lands in my cleavage, which makes him cackle in delight.
I glare back at him as I fish the paper out of my boobs and throw it back. It falls short, landing feebly in front of him. “What look?” I ask, with an indignant huff.
He rolls his eyes at me. “The look that says ‘it’s no big deal’. Don’t you dare minimize what you’ve done, Ari. You’re the hardest working person I know. You’re talented and determined and can do anything you set your mind to.”
I blink at him, taken aback by his vehemence. As much as it embarrasses me to be called out like that, his pride in my achievements makes me melt. “I am pretty great, aren’t I?” My tone is playful, still not fully able to accept his blatant praise.
He nods emphatically. “The best. Now, do you have any of these in my size?” He holds the tank top up to his massive chest.
I giggle at the thought of the cute raccoon stretched across his bulk. “Sorry, I don’t have much of a minotaur client base so I didn’t order any in your size. I mean, you could probably squeeze into one, but it would fit more like a crop top.”
“Sold!” he exclaims, snatching a shirt from a box nearby. “All the bros at the gym are going to be so jealous.”
I laugh and shake my head at him. “You’re ridiculous. But if that’s what you want as payment for helping me tonight, be my guest.”
“No way, I’m not taking it for free. I don’t need any payment for helping you, Ari.” His expression sobers. “You know that, right? I’m here because spending time with you like this makes me happy.”
“I know. Gosh, it was just a joke. Let me give you the damn shirt.” The flush from earlier is back on my face. I know it’s silly, but I still feel guilty having him help me out instead of doing what a normal date would do.
“Needed to check. Thank you for the shirt, sweetheart.” His tail snakes under the table to brush against my calf. “You’re such a good girl, letting daddy help you,” he says, voice lowering into a deep rumble.
My breath hitches at his sudden energy shift. He has a hungry look in his eyes that signals that fun, friendly Wesley is taking a backseat to his daddy persona.
“I think I can finish these last few orders in the morning,” I say breathily, unable to look away from him as he slides his tail up my leg in a slow drag.
He crosses his arms over his chest, giving me an appraising look that makes my skin tingle with excitement. “You sure? I don’t want to encourage you to be irresponsible.”
“I’m sure.” I squirm at his authoritative tone, arousal pooling in my belly. “I need you, daddy.”
Wesley stands from his chair and crosses to my side of the table in a heartbeat. He reaches down and scoops me into his arms with ease. I let out a squeal of surprise and he shushes me. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Daddy’s going to take care of you now.”
He strides down the hallway and into my bedroom, then sets me down on the edge of the bed with surprising gentleness, given the intensity of his energy. His hands slip under the hem of my shirt, and I inhale sharply as his fingers touch the bare skin of my stomach. I barely resist the urge to suck my belly in as he runs his hands across my stomach with a pleased hum. He clearly likes my body, and he’s already seen me mostly naked, but the impulse to pretend it’s smaller is a holdover from past relationships. With Wesley, maybe I’ll finally be safe enough to accept my bo dy without fear of being torn down by the person who’s supposed to love me.
Unaware of my internal struggle, Wesley strokes my stomach a few more times before pulling my top up. I raise my arms to aid the removal of my shirt and he murmurs a soft “good girl” as tugs it off carefully.
“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze raking over my exposed skin. “Take your bra off, sweetheart.”
A wave of shyness courses through me, and I hesitate, the urge to cover myself with my arms too strong to resist.
Wesley’s eyes narrow. “Don’t hide from me. I’ve been waiting all day to see you again. Show daddy those perfect tits.”
My breath hitches at his words, and something shifts inside me. I realize that in this moment, I don’t have to be the Ari burdened with relationship trauma and body hangups. I can just be Wes’ baby girl—untethered to anything but trust in his gentle, but firm guidance and the knowledge that he’ll keep me safe.
I nod. “O-okay, daddy.” My skin prickles with excited nerves as he watches me unhook my bra and push the straps off my shoulders with faintly trembling fingers. When I’m bare to him, his eyes darken.
“Perfect.” He sinks to his knees in front of me, and coasts his hands up my sides to cup my breasts, his huge palms engulfing them and reminding me just how much bigger he is than me. That unfamiliar sensation of being small is emphasized by the fact that I still need to look up to meet his eyes, even when he’s kneeling.
“Daddy,” I whisper, my voice hoarse even though he’s barely touched me.
He groans softly and his head dips to press his face into my neck, taking a deep inhale as his thumbs swirl teasingly over my nipples. “You make it hard for me to go slow when you say that so sweetly, baby girl. It makes the beast inside me want to co me out and make you scream it.”
“You can use me how you want, daddy. I want to make you feel good.” I don’t recognize the blend of meek vulnerability and arousal filling my voice, but the thought of him being so undone that he can’t hold himself back from taking what he needs from me makes me burn with desire.
Wesley raises his head from my neck and meets my eyes, pupils blown wide. “Sweet, perfect girl. I’m not sure you’re ready for that.”
“I am! I promise. Please,” I say, my voice almost a whine from how much I want him to keep going.
He chuckles, the dark warning threaded into his laugh making my stomach clench in anticipation. “We’ll see about that.” He hooks his fingers under the waistband of my skirt, tugging it off with deft ease, then stands back up. I want to cry out in protest, pull him back down to my level, and kiss him until we’re both breathless, but I know that’s not how this game works.
Wesley towers over me, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he unbuckles his belt. I take in the outline of his cock, absurdly thick and erotic with how it strains against his pants. When I’m able to tear my eyes away, he’s grinning at me.
“You like what you see?” he asks as he strips off his shirt, then toys with the zipper of his pants. I’d roll my eyes at his cocky confidence, but I’m too turned on to give him shit right now.
Instead, I continue to sink into my role. “It’s so big, daddy.” The momentary embarrassment from the silliness of the words quickly fades when his nostrils flare and his expression grows even more heated.
Wes reaches down and grabs his length through the fabric with a low groan. “Mmm, it’s all for you. Been hard all day thinking about your sweet pussy.”
“I thought about you, too,” I murmur .
He reaches out and strokes my cheek, and my eyes flutter closed at the tenderness. “Naughty girl. Did you touch yourself thinking about your daddy’s cock?”
As hot as it would be to say yes, I tell him the truth. “No…”
He frowns. “No? Why not, sweetheart? I don’t like the thought of you being needy all day.”
“I didn’t have time and…” My cheeks grow hot and I hesitate, not wanting to ruin the mood.
He tilts my chin to guide me to look at his face, which holds a mixture of sternness and concern. “And what? Tell me, baby. No secrets between us.”
“I… I’m still a little sore.” My pussy throbs and I feel the dull ache between my thighs from how much he stretched me last night.
His grip on my chin tightens, and he lets out a low, displeased sound. “You’re still hurting? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s okay. It’s not that bad. I still want to do this.” I’m so turned on and part of me likes the thought of feeling the pleasure-pain of him stretching me again.
He lets out a disbelieving huff. “I’ll see for myself. Spread your legs for me, baby girl. Let daddy help make you feel better.”