Sebastian
The expansive kitchen feels smaller and warmer than usual.
A twitch is developing above my left eyebrow.
I smell her from here. The scent of rose water and linen from the products I had delivered to her en-suite this morning before she woke.
Those are not the only scents prickling the hair on the back of my neck. My senses are acute, and yes, I smell her sweet little virgin pussy.
How do I know she’s a virgin? Hoover made sure. I’m sick, but he’s sicker.
He had a private doctor examine her every month. After all, if he’s selling her innocence, he needs to be sure he delivers what he’s selling.
My throat tightens, my knuckles snapping as I ball my fingers into fists, thinking of her in the shower, the warm water touching her everywhere.
Saliva pools in my mouth. I hate that fucking water.
I take my seat at the head of the table, close enough to reach her if I wanted. Close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat.
"Good morning, Larissa."
"Hi." She inspects her teeth with her tongue, regarding me, then yawns, moving her eyes to a spot on the wall in a deliberate attempt to showcase passive disrespect.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."
Her gaze snaps to mine, and her tongue pokes out.
My dick jumps so high it challenges the security of my belt buckle.
She sets her hands on the table, flexing and stretching out delicate fingers as though she’s priming herself for a fight.
I could circle both her wrists with one hand. Holding them above her head as I pin her to the mattress, her back arched, nipples pink and tight and—
I grip the arm of my chair.
"Better.” Pause. "When I enter a room, you acknowledge me. Properly. Not 'Hi.' Try again."
I imagine my teeth marking her delicate neck. Then soothing the sting with my tongue.
"Good morning, Sebastian." My name in her mouth turns my heart into a pumping, rutting beast.
I lean back, thighs tight, teeth grinding. "You called me something else last night.”
I see her chest flutter with a sudden breath, pink rising across the pale, freckled skin along the tops of her cheeks. Her pupils dilate as her lips part, and every instinct tells me to shove my cock between them and force her to suck.
Instead, I grind out the words. “What did you call me last night, Larissa?”
“Daddy,” she whispers, and something in her demeanor shifts.
“Good girl,” I answer, trying to ignore the sticky warmth that’s gathering between the tip of my cock and my boxers.
“You will use that as my title at all times. Did Maria tell you my name?” She nods, and I’m still amazed that she was able to extract that bit of information from the iron lady of the Mediterranean.
This girl has powers we didn’t anticipate.
"Now. Let's talk about your breakfast."
She glances at her plate. Yogurt, figs, melon, egg, bread. Maybe three bites eaten.
"I'm not hungry."
Liar.
I fist my hands on the wooden tabletop next to the platter of grapes. "When's the last time you ate?”
Her jaw sets in that stubborn line. I want to grab it, want to hold her face still while I—
No. Not yet.
"I eat."
"You pick. You push food around." I lean in, and her breathing changes, gets quicker. I’ve trained many girls, this is not new, but this miscalculation of weight to value has never angered me to the point of violence like it does now. "Starving yourself to meet your family’s ridiculous standards."
"You don't know—"
"I know everything." My voice drops, and I watch her nipples tighten beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
Good girl.
The dress shifts when she breathes, and I imagine my tongue tracing the line down her sternum, turning left to address that hard peak, then right to give equal time to the other one.
"You're eighteen. You weigh less than you did at sixteen." I pause, remembering every minute detail of her medical records I demanded from Hoover before I would agree to take her on. "Who made you ashamed to eat, Larissa?”
She shrugs. “Mom. Hoover. Robert. The world.”
“Your stepbrother—" Her face changes, and I see the truth of it written there. "He comments about your body?”
She sets her jaw with a slight upward tick of her shoulder. “Yep.”
Something hot and violent surges through my chest—protective rage mixed with the urge to destroy anyone who's ever hurt her.
"That won’t happen here. But," My voice hardens. I tell myself that’s professional distance kicking in, "you eat what I tell you, when I tell you. This isn't about vanity. It's about keeping you healthy."
Her blue eyes flicker with curiosity. There's a thickness in my throat like I've swallowed sand.
I run a hand through my hair. Her eyes track the movement, and I watch her swallow.
I pick up the fresh baguette to my right, break it open, tearing off a soft inner piece still warm from the oven, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger. "Open."
Her eyes go wide. "What? That’s one hundred percent carbs—"
"Open."
Her hands are in her lap, wrists pressed together in a perfect position for binding.
The tick, tick of her pulse in her neck matches the thump, thump of my own as blood floods my groin. Her pupils dilate.
Her lips part slowly.
Victory surges through me, hot and sharp.
I place the bread onto her tongue, my fingers brushing her bottom lip.
Soft. So fucking soft.
Warm and plush and perfect, and the contact shoots through me like lightning, like I’m being touched by her everywhere at once.
I grit my teeth to keep from groaning as I watch her chew and swallow.
“Lift your dress.” The words come out of my mouth before I have a chance to second-guess them, and her eyes snap wide. She shakes her head. I drop my voice to a low growl. “You heard me, Larissa, now do as Daddy says and lift the hem of your dress.”
Her pupils are blown wide as she studies my face, but she complies, hands moving, scrunching the fabric, shifting it maybe six inches up her legs.
“Further. All the way up.”
“I’m not going to flash you my—”
“All the fucking way, Larissa.”
No attachments. No exceptions.
I watch her obey, lifting the skirt up her creamy thighs until the tiniest little pure-white panties are revealed, with a growing wet patch where her cunt is indenting the fabric. And I can fucking smell it. Her scent.
It’s all around me, filling my nostrils, filling my fucking mind.
“Who told you to wear panties?” I demand.
“What? I thought—”
“I specifically gave instructions for the dress and nothing else.”
“I didn’t put on a bra…” She falls silent as I glare, understanding finally that when I give instructions, they are to be followed to the letter. No room for negotiation.
“Pull your panties to the side and find your clit with these two fingers.” I hold my index and middle fingers up, showing her what I want.
“No.” Her cheeks flush, and she looks down, and rage floods through me.
I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Do you think you have any choice, Larissa? Do you think that’s what this is? A negotiation?”
For the briefest instant, she hesitates. Then she scowls, but her fingers hook into the elastic of her panties and pull them aside, revealing a sight that will live with me to the end of my days.
Which, with the way my heart is hammering in my chest, might not be much longer.
I watch her fingertips glide over the sensitive outer lips, glistening under the overhead lights. There’s a hint of curls there, natural but barely enough to dapple the outer lips.
“Good girl,” I tell her and see the pleasure spread over her features. Then I pick up another piece of bread and push it into her mouth. "Rub your clit in a slow circle and chew."
“Pervert,” she snaps, but her lips stay open, her fingers continue moving, and Dear God, I nearly bust my nut in my pants.
Christ, those eyes.
They are only dimmed slightly by the intoxicating sight of her pussy. I bite back a groan as she blinks, her lids falling slightly as she swallows the bread, the softest of wet sounds coming up from between her legs.
“From now on, you will associate the pleasure of eating well with the pleasure of touching yourself,” I tell her, watching her delicate fingers move between her outer lips.
“When you eat, you will think of me, Larissa, you will feel pleasure, and you will remind yourself to follow every instruction Daddy gives you.”
I feed her another bite, but it’s not enough.
“Spread your legs wider,” I order.
“No.”
“Do it, or I’ll have my staff come in and do it for you.”
She shakes her head as I slice off a small sliver of fig and push it into her mouth.
“You won’t be in charge here. Now do it.”
She wiggles, and I swallow down the urge to apologize for my demands. When her knees widen, her heels hook on the lower rungs of the chair, and she spreads that masterpiece for me, my balls drawing up so tight I feel them in my throat.
“Larissa, you are a masterpiece.”
“No wonder you have to be here on this island. Back home, you’d be serving a life sentence for being a sexual predator, for sure.”
“Your body must disagree, because the sound of the waves out the window isn’t nearly as wet as the sound of you playing in that messy little truth-teller between your thighs.”
I’m hard as nails as she opens her mouth willingly, the movement of her fingers becoming more frantic.
“You like being ordered around by Daddy.”
I trail my knuckles down her throat, feeding her another bite of fruit with my other hand. There’s sweat gathering at the base of my spine.
Every time my fingers touch her lips, my dick gets harder—didn't think that was possible, but here we are.
She gasps, her arousal taking root. The small sound punches me straight in the chest. The straps of the dress wiggle down her shoulders, exposing more of that creamy flesh that makes my fingers twitch.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Her voice quivers, and I think of jumping off the balcony into the surf for making her afraid.
“No. Never.” I pause. “Do you believe me?”
She nods, and
I work the straps down her arms until those juicy little nipples are on full display like two lush strawberries on a circle of angel food cake.
“You’re stunning.” I exhale, unable to continue breathing. Jesus. My palm is on her nipple, and she starts to moan as she moves her fingers faster, faster.
I trail my fingers down the center of her body, the white dress straps hanging on the crooks of her arms, the hem bunched at her hips as I reach out and do something I’ve never done.
“I’m going to help you orgasm. Food, pleasure, the association needs to be solid.” I feed her another scrap of bread, her soft breathing and sweet scent working on me like a drug.
“Daddy, please...” she whispers as I work my fingers toward that heavenly slip of pink and press my middle finger into the wet warmth.
“So wet. It’s working.”
The rim of her barrier is right there. Getting my middle finger inside her an inch is a struggle, but she arches just a hint, her throat working around a swallow, her fingers rasping back and forth, pressing that bundle of nerves faster and harder against the bone underneath.
Another surge of cum spurts from the swollen head of my dick as I watch her body shake with an orgasm, my underwear ruined under the cover of my black pants.
I work her little opening, just enough to stretch the barrier while she chokes and flutters around my intrusion.
The orgasm takes over her tiny form as I battle back my own.
As she twitches and moans, her free hand comes up and flings outward, then, in the periphery of my vision, comes closer in a blink.
The sting of the slap blinds me. Not in fury, but in a surge of emotion so unfamiliar, I nearly wail with a pleasure and lust so deep, I can’t breathe.
We’re frozen for a moment. Her in pleasure, me in shock.
And guilt.
What. The. Fuck?
It’s an emotion I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before, but I recognize it somehow.
And I know it’s because I just put my fingers inside her.
Not because we’re related. Not even because she isn’t aware of that fact.
But because she means something to me. Because I need to give her things, not take.
“What do you want, Larissa?” The words grind out from between my teeth, and I swear if she answers the moon and sun and stars, I’ll figure out a way. They’ll be hers before the day is out.
She narrows her eyes. Not anger, more like… curiosity. Like she can’t believe I’m asking.
“I want to go. I want to leave here.”
My heart wrenches in my chest. “I can’t… You can’t. I cannot give you that, Larissa.” I hate myself. Fucking hate myself. I can’t do it because she’s mine. She stays. Even if she hates me for it, I will not send her away. “But… I’ll do the next best thing.”
I sit back, shoulders square, reminding myself of my job.
"Go put on the white slip-on shoes that you’ll find in your closet. Pull up your dress and meet me at the front entrance in five minutes."
I push back from the table, and she stares at me for several seconds before slipping off the chair, pulling the dress up, then running from the room.
Her little feet slap on the marble as I brace my hands on the table, dropping my head. My dick is in such deep, throbbing pain, I want to unzip and adjust, but I don't trust myself to touch it, because with her around, I’ll never put it away again.
My heart is slamming against my ribs as I bring my finger to my lips and suck on her flavor.
Fuck. Fuck.