Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Sage
Iwant to spin around and demand why the hell I would do it for him. For Daddy. But my thighs clench around my core as I replay his words. That’s why I’m going to do anything he says.
Somewhere inside me, I must trust him. If not, then there is something seriously wrong with me.
“Keep moving.” His lips brush my neck as he murmurs in my ear. Realizing I’m leaning on him, I pull in a fortifying breath and take the next step. “Last room at the end of the hall.”
The hardwood is smooth under my feet, not a scratch or mark to dull the shine.
Reaching for the knob, I hesitate. What does his bedroom look like?
Instant flashes of a king’s room flit through my mind.
Thick blankets and plush furniture. A four-poster bed large enough for a harem.
Everything decorated with glittering gold trim, and instead of royal purple as the main colour, satin black dominates the room.
Barrett covers my hand with his and curves it around the doorknob, forcing me to open it and abandon my imagination.
My imagination isn’t too far from the truth.
The room lacks the glittering gold trim and the four-poster bed, although it is a king.
The cream walls give contrast to the black bedding, furniture, and area rug that protects the hardwood floor from the legs of the bed.
The bed, two nightstands, and a settee are the only pieces of furniture in the room.
A large walk-in closet is on the left with the doors wide open, showing his neatly hung clothes and drawers built into the back wall.
The other door in the room is ajar, but clearly leads to a bathroom.
The click of the bedroom door shutting behind me makes me gasp. I turn around. Barrett pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor.
“Now show me what you did the other night.”
I’m shaking my head before I speak. “No.” I swallow the bit of panic that rises with my denial. “No, I won’t let you make me do this alone again.”
I’m in no position to argue with him, but I don’t expect the consideration in his eyes as he stares back at me.
“Please.”
His lips twitch and I have the feeling I fell into a trap with that one word. “Please what, pet?”
The trap. Daddy. But is it a trap if I enjoy it, too? It’s just a name, a title, a kink. Does it really matter what I call him if it gets him to touch me himself?
It matters. I feel it when it escapes my lips, when I see his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, satisfaction filling his features. It matters.
“Please, Daddy.” I let those words sink deep, knowing I’ll be saying them again in the future. Knowing that the more I say them, the more they’ll matter to me.
He hums and moves closer, his hand reaching up to run the back of his knuckles over my cheek. “Ah, pet. Something wrong with doing it alone?”
“Yes,” I hiss while his touch traces down my neck and shoulder.
“What was wrong with doing it yourself?” His rough knuckles move over the top of my breast until they reach the tip.
“It isn’t enough.”
“I told you it wouldn’t be.”
I nod, quickly. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on his hand and every point where he makes contact with my skin. Circling my nipple, then the underside of my breast. Down my torso to finally uncurl his hand and allow his fingers to brush my centre.
“Spread your legs.” His breath flows down my cheek as he’s bent toward me. I don’t quite reach his shoulders when standing straight. He wraps his other arm around me, holding me close while he explores with his fingers. He’s curled around me and I feel cocooned.
With my legs spread, I lose a bit of height and his every exhale moves the hair on the top of my head.
“You’re going to tell me what you did to yourself.”
“I don’t want what I did to myself. I want what you can do.”
He chuckles. “That’s a nice stroke to my ego, pet. But it’s not going to work. Start talking.” His finger hovers over my clit, touching but not applying any pressure. Like a searing prickle that sets me on edge.
“I …” This is fucking hard. I’m far from a prude or shy about my sexuality, but describing this in enough detail for him to repeat the actions sends heat into my cheeks. The skin burns and spreads slowly down my neck.
“Tell Daddy what you did, pet,” he croons, the sound drawing a whimper from me.
“I used two fingers on either side of my clit.”
“Good girl. Like this?” He slides his fingers down between the layers and back up, pinching his index and middle fingers together to trap my clit.
“Yes.”
“Tell me when to make the next move.”
I dig my nails into his biceps, pulling him as close as I can. The hair on his chest tickles my nose every time I breathe in his scent. He smells so fucking good.
I’m directing this, but in no way do I feel as if I have the power.
“More.” I bite my lips together to cut off the whine. I’ve begged him enough.
“More what?”
“A little faster.”
He picks up the pace and varies the pressure between his fingers. My knees weaken and I drop my head to his chest while my grip changes to hold myself up.
My core weeps. I’m desperate and it isn’t fair. This is only the tip of the iceberg. He’s going to set me on fire and I’ll be unable to settle the flames. I’m desperate to burn and he hasn’t touched me nearly enough.
“Look at me, pet.” He’s impossible to ignore when he coaxes with his smooth, deep tone. Lifting my head, I blink up at him. “Is this what you did next?”
I lose my breath as he moves his hand lower and slides one finger inside me. “No.”
“No?”
“I used two.”
“Of course you did.” Barrett adds his other finger and pumps them in and out with a solid rhythm. Hard in. Slow out.
It takes no time for my climax to build, trembling through my walls as I squeeze his fingers. I push all of my focus to that one sensation, hoping with every fiber of my being that the explosion comes soon.
“You’re not coming yet, pet.”
“What?” I question before I can stop myself.
“Coming is a reward.”
“And what the hell have I done to have rewards revoked?” I squeak, tensing in his hold while my hips tilt toward him, begging for him to change his mind. He hasn’t changed his rhythm, but his words are enough denial to make my climax seize, tripping on the edge.
“What have you done to earn them?”
“No. No, I’m not playing that game.” My voice firms and I try to pull away from him. His arm tightens and he shoves his fingers deep, hooking them to hit the spot that makes my thighs clench together.
“I don’t play games, pet.” Something in the way he says it, I hear the assassin. I study his unyielding gaze. His eyes see deep, too deep to the part of me that is pleased he isn’t playing games. I don’t want them. But if his comments about rewards aren’t a game, then …
“What are you saying?”
“What is there to understand, pet? I’m Daddy. You don’t get to come if you don’t do what I told you.”
“But I don’t like doing it myself.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It doesn’t feel,” I hesitate, trying to find the right word, “pleasurable.”
“But you got yourself off the other night, pet. I was there to hear it.”
Heat fills my cheeks. “It takes a lot of thinking rather than feeling.” My thoughts had been swarmed with him, filling in the blanks of all the things I didn’t know about him.
Like the scars on his chest. They weren’t in my thoughts, but now that I know he has one about three inches long between his two lower ribs on his right side, and a small round one in his left shoulder, I’ll imagine tracing them with my tongue as he forces me to climax.
“How do you masturbate?”
“Toys. I’m not turned on by the feel of my own hand.”
“Interesting.” His grip eases and he starts to move his fingers again. “But still not coming yet.”
“Daddy.” A whimper trembles out of me as his chest rumbles with his chuckle. I catch my breath and bite my tongue. I didn’t mean to say that, and I sure as hell didn’t mean to sound like that.
“That’s exactly what I want to hear.”