16. Daddy’s Baby Girl
Chapter Sixteen
Daddy’s Baby Girl
Neve
Professor Daddy:
If you’re genuinely insulted, you’re welcome to send me a photo now. I’ll make sure it gets my undivided attention.
I’m grinning like a maniac at my own phone, sprawled sideways on the couch. I’ve got him, and if Grant King thinks he can fluster me with a single command, he’s got another thing coming. Give as good as you get, right? That’s the fun part.
I can’t wait to play.
Me:
I have a better idea
I want you to break down my body language when I was standing in front of you naked
I know it’s burned into your brain whether you took a photo or not
teach me, professor
I watch the little “delivered” dots with unhinged satisfaction. The thread sits quiet for a long time. Thirty seconds, then a minute, then another. I imagine his face when he reads it. I wish I could see him.
Finally, the dots appear. Then stop. Then start again. The anticipation is its own kind of delicious torture. Then eventually, the message comes through—but it’s not text, it’s a voice note. My traitorous hands are trembling as I hit the play button.
“All right, Miss Hart,” Grant’s gravelly timbre rolls over the line. Something creaks in the background. “You want a breakdown? So be it.”
The sound of footsteps starts, then stops, soft-socked padding on wood.
A door opens, then closes with a click. “Let’s start with when you walked in and saw me in your living room.
Totally at ease—at least, when you thought you were alone, and after you realized it was only me.
You didn’t try to cover up, you didn’t try to hide.
” He chuckles, low and rough, and I hear the distinct sound of mattress springs.
My heart jumps into my throat when I realize he’s in his bedroom.
“You were in control from the second you had my eyes on you,” he continues.
“Shoulders back, chin up, hair wet, your entire perfect body still glistening from the shower. You wanted me to look.” He sounds almost angry about it.
“You didn’t get embarrassed when you realized I was there, even when I couldn’t take my damn eyes off you.
You watched me watch you, and you enjoyed it, like the little fucking tease you are.
” He makes a breathless noise, then the voice note cuts abruptly.
My heart knocks as I listen again. He’s right; I did want him to look. That’s exactly what I wanted. Whether I was cognizant of what I was doing or not, yeah, I wanted him to see me. I didn’t care if he did. I’m comfortable with my body—marks, lumps, bumps, and all.
Me:
how did you know I wanted you to look at me?
I wait to see if he’ll send a text or a voice note back, and much to my delight, it’s a voice note again.
Grant hums thoughtfully. “You didn’t cross your arms. You just leaned back on the counter and opened your posture to me.” He groans to himself. “You knew you had me, and you enjoyed it.”
I laugh softly. He’s way too good at this.
I hit record on a voice note of my own, in the spirit of giving as good as I get. “I did enjoy it. I wanted your eyes all over me. I still do. Your eyes, and…” I let my voice trail for a second. “And more. Tell me, Doctor, are you touching yourself right now?”
The dots flicker. Silence drags. I can feel the tension all the way down my spine.
A short voice note pops up, just four seconds. “No,” Grant breathes. “But fuck, Neve… I want to.”
I huff a laugh. I have him right in the palm of my hand, and I love it. Bringing this man to his knees is intoxicating. I send back a voice note. “I want you to as well. I want to hear it, too. Will you let me hear it, please?” I demur.
Grant goes radio silent for a few minutes, and an ugly heat plummets into my stomach, worrying I might have pushed him too far too soon at the slightest hint he might be wanting to give in. I know he wants to give in, but I also know he’s been hurt, and I need to let him go at his own pace.
Then my phone screen lights up, but where I expect to see a voice note or a text message, instead, it’s a call.
INCOMING CALL: Professor Daddy
My entire body flushes.
I can barely breathe. As soon as I hit the answer button, Grant’s voice pours through my phone, slow and low, every word scraping over my skin.
“Neve,” he drawls, slow as syrup, my name sticky in his throat, wrapped in warning and promise. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, do you?”
My breath hitches, and I hear a little clip of amusement from his end. I usually hate not being the one in control, and—believe it or not—I’m not much of a brat. But with him, I both want to obey and push back.
“You know, I think I do,” I say softly. “But why don’t you talk me through it, just in case I’ve misread the signs?”
Grant lets out a muffled groan, and I hear the distinct clink of a belt buckle.
I swallow hard. “Are you touching yourself?”
“Are you?” he counters.
“Not yet,” I whisper as I slide my hand beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts. “Do you want me to, Daddy?” My face flushes as I say it, wondering if it was just a stupid joke and I should drop it, but then Grant groans.
“Is that it?” he asks, voice husky with his own arousal. “You want to be Daddy’s baby girl?”
Holy fucking shit.
I don’t realize I’ve moaned out loud until Grant’s laugh rolls over the line. “You like that? You want to be mine?”
“Fuck, yes,” I whimper. “I don’t think I’ve been subtle about that, have I?”
“No. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, Miss Hart, but I like that.
” Another creak. He’s shifting on the bed.
My core goes molten when a zipper hisses, and he grunts.
“God, Neve—if you could see yourself the way I see you… You’d know why I’m losing my mind.
The photo you sent me—your leg, the panties—fuck, baby girl, you look so good in blue. ”
I make another helpless noise, and Grant soughs out another laugh. “You like me talking,” he says casually, followed by the rustle of fabric.
“Yes.”
“I want you so badly it hurts. If I were there, I’d have you against the nearest surface in less than thirty seconds. Now, you keep your hand between your thighs—I know it’s there already, isn’t it? Touch yourself, but not too fast. I want to make this good for you, okay?”
The sound I make is all breath and heat. My hand skims under the lace hem of my panties. I’m so wet it’s a little embarrassing. The ache is everywhere, pressure building behind my thighs, a tight coil at the base of my spine moving like lava behind my hips.
“Talk to me,” Grant says quietly.
“I—” Words choke off. “I’m wet.”
He groans, and I hear the unmistakable, lewd sound of flesh on flesh as he grips himself. God, I wish I could see him. I want it more than anything. More than I want to come, even. “What would you do if you were here, Grant? Tell me, please?” My voice comes out high, more than a little desperate.
He swallows a low growl, and it almost undoes me.
“I’d take my time—you know that by now, don’t you, baby girl?
” He lets the question hang, chuckling when I loose a breathless, needy little sound—as good as assent, in any case.
“That’s right. I wouldn’t ever want to rush it with you.
I want to enjoy you. You’re fucking perfect, Neve.
I’d start with your neck. I bet you like to be kissed there, don’t you? Do you want to be marked there, too?”
My fingers speed up. “Grant, I—”
He hums, a disapproving sound, and I freeze on instinct. “Don’t go too fast,” he reminds me. “That’s it. Slow down. Feel it.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper.
“Good girl,” he praises. “So good for me.”
Oh, God.
“I think you’d let me move you wherever I want you,” he continues, sounding almost disinterested, and for some reason, that only amps me up higher. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Would you want me to manhandle you?”
The sound I make is barely human. I’m so wet it’s obscene. He must be able to hear it. I slow my movements for a second, straining to listen over the line, and I can hear the distinct noise of him stroking himself—long, indulgent sweeps over his length.
God, I bet he’s big.
I want him inside me so badly.
Grant lets out a low, rumbling laugh. “What are you thinking about, angel?”
“You,” I gasp. “I want—”
“Mm, I know,” he murmurs, cutting me off. I stifle my gasp. “But we’re not rushing here. I want you open for me, Neve. Let me take care of you, okay?”
My hips roll up. The phone flops face down against my chest, and stars dance behind my eyes as I picture his hands on me, his mouth, his teeth. That voice, right in my ear, his beard rasping at my overheated skin.
“Are you touching yourself slowly, like I told you?” His tone goes hard, all command. “You better not be going too fast.”
I can barely get the words out, I’m panting so hard.
The crackle of the call catches and amplifies the embarrassing hitch of my breath, but if there’s anything I want to show this man, it’s how much I want him, how he brings me utterly to my knees.
“Yes. I’m touching myself. It’s all I can think about.
What would you do next? Please, tell me. ”
My body is on fire. I press harder against my clit, but don’t let myself come. I don’t want this to be over yet. It can’t be.
Grant’s voice is a rasp when he speaks again. “You’re dripping for me, aren’t you? Gorgeous, desperate—God, I wish I could see you. I want to taste you so badly, put my mouth on you, and make you beg. You want to beg for it, don’t you, Neve?”
Much to my mortification, the sound that comes out of me is a whine; there’s no other word for it. “Yes. Please, please. I want you.”
“Go a little further for me, angel,” he says, low and rough. “Slide your fingers inside. Don’t rush. I want to hear how wet you are. I want to hear you fuck yourself, and I want you to imagine they’re my fingers inside you.”
My cheeks flame. I’m not sure what’s more obscene—the throbbing between my legs, or how much I want to show him I’m good at following instructions.