“Shhh,” he says, and relief fills me.
“You’ll stay?”
“Shhh,” he says again, and I know the answer is no.
The bed shifts as he sits on the edge. He strokes my temple, my cheek. “So pretty,” he says, and I shiver. I never wanted to be pretty. I never wanted to drive men to sin—until that was all I had left.
His hand strokes lower, down my neck, and over the swell of my breasts. I suck in a breath. This is the most he’s ever touched me. His fingers are light, barely a caress. It’s more like he’s tracing me under my clothes. This is as far as he’s ever gone with me. That may sound strange considering I’ve had my panties down while he spanked me, but nothing else ever happened. Now we’re in a bed and he’s touching my body. My hands lie on the bed, not stopping him.
When he reaches my panties, he slips his hand inside.
My whole body flushes hot and then prickles with goose bumps. I bow up off the bed, a soft sound escaping me. “Ivan? What are you—”
“No, Candy. You know better than that.”
The thud of my heart almost drowns out his words. Almost. I know what he wants from me. I just don’t know if I can give it to him. I move to push him away.
He presses one wrist down on the bed. “Don’t fight me, little one.”
I close my eyes on a deep breath. No, I can do this. God, I’ve practically begged him for this. Now that he’s finally giving it to me, I’m afraid. It’s too much, his calluses on my bare flesh, the contrast of my pale peach panties stretched taut over his large hand.
He seems to be resting there, not moving. I push my hips into his touch, but he squeezes my wrist and lets it go. “No,” he says gently. “You need to be a good girl now.”
My mouth forms the words without making a sound. “Yes, Daddy.”
The shift is subtle, just a twist of corded muscles. Then his fingers are on my clit, around my clit, forefinger and middle finger sliding on either side. Exactly how I touch myself. He’s watched me do it in that basement. He’s studied me, and now he uses that knowledge against me.
Pleasure pours through my body, molten hot, and I moan softly.
It’s more than the way he touches me. It’s how hard he presses, how fast he goes. Every second I spent under him, obeying him, he knew exactly what I was doing. And I know that he was telling the truth down in the dining room. He never did ignore me. Of all the things he did to me, he never did that.
I’m flat on my back, hands bound at my sides because he told me to. My legs are spread just enough for him to touch me. Completely at his mercy.
He rubs faster, and I can’t help myself now. I squirm against his touch, trying to get myself off. “Does it feel good?” he murmurs.
Of course he knows the answer, and even more so when I pant, “Yes, Daddy. Please.”
“You’ll get there, little one. I’m going to help you.”
I don’t know what that means until I feel cool air over my tummy. He lifts my tank top higher until my breasts are exposed. My breasts aren’t small, but his hand covers one completely, plumping it and caressing me until I’m shaking. I’m on fire both inside and out, the flames of my arousal licking me inside, his hands like a brand on my pussy and breasts.
“I feel funny, Daddy,” I say, my voice trembling. “I feel…”
“I know. That’s your body’s way of helping you relax.”
“I don’t—I don’t feel relaxed.” I feel strung up tight, every muscle in my body hard and tense. I know what an orgasm is, I’ve given myself plenty of them, but this is different. Those were stars in the sky, far away and almost invisible. This is like the sun, making me burn. I’m sweating, panting. Begging. “Help me. I can’t…”
“Shh. I am helping you. But you have to let it happen. You have to give in.”
He pinches my clit at the same time as he pinches my nipple, and the heat consumes me completely. I cry out as my climax overtakes me, scorching me, hurting me more than anything, until my body douses the fire, gushing my release over his hand and drenching my panties.
I’m still gasping for breath when he pulls away.
Two fingers push at my mouth, and I open for him instinctively. “Clean them,” he says softly, and I taste the musk of my own release. He rests his palm on my chin, keeping his fingers inside me. I slide my tongue over him, the ridges of his calluses sending sparks through my body.
“Good little girls like to suck, don’t they?”
I nod without releasing him, my eyes wide. I would suck more than his fingers, and he must know that. He makes no move to undo his pants—to fuck me or to let me suck him. He just keeps his fingers in my mouth, casual and perverse, letting me take comfort from the fullness.