Chapter 5
Rye
“What are you fucking looking at?” I bark as I step out of the room with my prize wrapped in a black blanket as I carry her out into the club.
So many fucking men everywhere. I hate them all right now.
I grabbed an aftercare kit from the locked closet after I fucked my girl practically unconscious.
What have I done?
I guess that all gets figured out later.
Because right now the only thing that matters is that I've got cradled against my chest as I weave through the crowd.
Most of the patrons and newbies are on round three, or they've tapped out — sitting around on couches, some of them getting their freak on in the sex-positive rooms.
All good. But right now, all I care about is getting Elodie home. And when I say home, I mean the place where my mail gets delivered and I sleep for five years.
I need her in there with me. I want to see what she does inside the walls of my home. Now that she's carrying my cum, her sweet little pussy battered from what I've done everything is going to change.
"Daddy," she whispers into my chest. "What about Anna and Jeremy?"
"I'll take care of them, baby. Don't you worry."
I give every one of these fuckers a glare that has their balls crawling back up inside their body as I work my way toward the entry.
"Get my car pulled around to the front," I bark at one of the staff who nods, scurrying off without question.
Leo is up ahead, giving me a look. I nod to him as I tug Elodie closer against my chest. Not just tugging. Not just against my chest. I'm fucking cradling her the way I had her in my lap, trying to bring her back to the real world after she blacked out — from pain, orgasms, shame, all of the above.
"Leo." I keep my voice low. "Her friends, Anna and Jeremy.
Look them up on the sign-in sheets, make sure they're okay.
Let them know she's coming home with me.
They know who I am. Give them VIP aftercare.
And get me her bag from the locker when she checked in.
" I tilt my chin down toward her. "Baby, what was your locker number? "
Elodie's lashes flick up at me. She's thinking, poor girl, her brain's turned to scrambled eggs. A wicked sense of pride puffs my chest that she's having trouble thinking straight. Because it was my dick that introduced her to this kind of euphoria.
"Five sixty-two," she murmurs. "Locker 562."
God forgive me. I know I love her. I was hard on her. But she took it all. And she loved it. She begged for it.
I pass Leo, who gives me a look that says he already knows. He knows me better than anyone. He can see I'm gone. I'm completely gone for this girl.
Elodie tucks her face against my chest, her little hands folded up under her chin, the black blanket covering everything but her toes as they dangle over the crook of my arm.
I already feel my balls filling back up.
I filled her with so much cum. I like holding her like this. Knowing it's keeping it inside her.
I think of my home. All sleek chrome and hard angles. What the fuck am I going to do with a soft, fragile girl like her in my place?
As we approach the front door, one of the staff members is already holding out Elodie's backpack for me to scoop off their arm. Word travels fast when I move through this place.
I step out into the April evening air and drag a heavy breath in through my nose, out through my mouth.
My black Mercedes is waiting. The valet opens the passenger door without a word, and I tuck Elodie into the seat, buckle her in, throw her backpack between the two front seats, and kiss her forehead.
"Daddy's taking you home now."
I make a mental note to order everything she might need delivered to the front door. What does a girl like Elodie need? I should know. I've known her long enough.
Instincts kick in that I never knew I had. I've always been protective of her, possessive in a way, but now that's all dialed up to ten. Once I'm in the car and moving down the street, part of me relaxes. But there's still a ball of tension in my gut that's new.
I reach over and brush my knuckles down her cheek. "How you doing, baby?" I grab the water bottle from my console, crack it open, and hand it to her. "Drink this. You're dehydrated. It has electrolytes. When we get home, I'm going to take good care of you. Okay, baby?"
She nods. "You've always taken good care of me, Uncle Rye."
God. Just hearing her say that is like a knife in my gut.
I tug the blanket down from her chest. She's still in the pink leather straps.
God, she looks good. I could pull this fucking car over and mount her on my lap right now, but she needs a moment — probably more than a fucking moment.
Her little dancer's body took every inch of my girth, my length.
She didn't complain. She took it like a fucking champ.
Pride swelled in my chest the first time she had an orgasm with me inside her.
The reality of what's happening blackens the periphery of my thoughts.
She sips the water, then looks over at me as I hum the Mercedes down the interstate.
"I can't stay with you," she whimpers.
"What do you mean? You can stay with me. You will stay with me."
"No — listen. You're supposed to be pretending to be my dad, remember? And do you remember why?"
I stroke her hair, the entire fucked-up setup coming back to me. I'm supposed to be pretending to be my brother this week for her ballet thing. I can't fuck that up.
"Yeah, baby. Okay. I remember."
There's a burning in my chest, frustrated with all the fucking complications that surround us. But no matter what, I'll do right by her.
"We're going to stay at my place tonight. I'm going to take care of you. Tomorrow, back to your house. I'll play daddy. We're going to get you through this interview." I glance over at her. "How could they not want you? You're the best dancer in this whole fucking state."
She giggles as I expose her chest, her little tits bouncing with the movement of the car, those pink straps making diamond shapes around them. So fucking sexy.
"Why do they call you that in there?" she asks.
"Well. I may not have had my own girl. But I have a reputation. Things I've done. Bad things for the right reasons. If you want to know exactly why they call me that, all anyone has to do is put a finger on you. And they'll see. And you'll know."
She draws a shaky breath. "I'm so tired, but I'm so awake. It's so strange, these feelings. What's it called — what's it called when you come down after a BDSM scene? I can't remember."
"You're going to need water. You're going to need lots of cuddles, which I'm going to give you. You're going to need sleep and a bath. Your only job tonight is to let me take care of you."
"I'm seeing a different side of you. Many different sides of you." She pauses. "You were always nice to me. A little grumpy." She smirks.
I frown, hating that she might have thought my grumpiness was ever directed at her. It never was.
"You never made me grumpy, baby. That's just sort of a Scotch baseline."
Another smile. And I realize just how much her smiles have carried me through my life.
Her smiles and making money. Those are the two things that have driven me.
That, and taking care of the true underbelly of this world when it comes into my orbit.
Something she doesn't need to know. Some of the things I've done.
I want her world to be all pink and sparkly and everything she ever dreamed.
"Turn up the heat to 77," I announce as soon as I put Elodie's feet down inside the front door.
“Yes, Mr. McAllister.” The male system voice answers through speakers located throughout the whole house.
"Why do you want the heat up?" She tugs the blanket tighter around herself her eyes dancing around the foyer.
"Because I don't want you tugging that blanket around all day and all night. One of the great joys of a daddy is watching his girl walk around in whatever he wants her in. Which for me tonight is going to be almost nothing."
She gives a little snort and a laugh. "Your place looks different.
I haven't been here in a year." She screws up her face.
"Maybe two. It's all new. I remember over there" — she points to the corner of the living room — "there was nothing.
You had like two chairs. Now it's full. There's art. I really like it, Uncle Rye."
It took me years to decorate this place.
For a long time, I didn't care — I had a bed in my room, monitors in my office, a desk chair that fit me.
That was all I needed. I ordered food. I have a cleaning staff, a groundskeeper.
This house was merely a place to shower, shit, and shave.
Work half the night, sleep four hours, get back up, do it again, feel guilty for beating off.
The last year, since she turned eighteen — twenty times a fucking day thinking about her.
"Well, baby." I grip her cheeks in my palms until her eyes come up to mine.
"In some ways I'm a slow turn. But I'll tell you something.
It was always a house. But the second I put your feet down inside with my cum inside you, after you called me daddy — it's a home.
It's never felt more right than it does right now. "
"See, there you go again. Being all sweet."
"That's the thing about daddies. We're multi-dimensional men.
" I guide her by the hand into the living room, tugging the blanket off her and setting it on the leather sofa so she doesn't feel a chill.
I make a mental note to reorder all my furniture in fabric.
I don't want her naked body sticking to leather.
There's nothing more annoying than trying to stand up and having your skin peel off the cushion.
I want her comfortable — until it's me that makes her uncomfortable.
"Well. One of my dreams is this audition coming up."