Icy lust flashes through his eyes. “I am taking care of you, little one. That little pussy needs time to heal. I’m sure you’re sore today, aren’t you?”
A flush heats my cheeks. Very sore. “I don’t care about that.”
Two hands lift my chin, and I meet his eyes. “I care,” he says softly. “I’m not going to fuck you again until you’re ready to take me. But if you want to please me…”
My body tightens. “Please.”
He cups my cheek. “So pretty. So eager. And such a fuckable little mouth.”
The thing I can never tell anyone—not even Ivan—is that I would have done this no matter what. If I had stayed at Harmony Hills, Leader Allen would have used me this way. He’d groomed me for this purpose my entire life, not just at the end, and that grooming made me who I am. A disciple. A victim. I’d have been on my knees for him. I’d have been a good girl.
The difference is that I chose this. I chose Ivan. He may be a monster, but he’s my monster.
“Take me out,” my monster says.
I fumble with his pants. The button and the zipper are like foreign technology, my fingers suddenly clumsy. He is already hard, but I feel him grow thicker as I work him free. It makes me blush, feeling the effects of my awkward obedience.
The suit pants give way to a soft, stretchy boxer material. I glance up to find him staring right at my face. He isn’t looking at what I’m doing with my hands. He’s studying my reactions, and it makes my heart beat double time. What will he see? Nerves? Excitement?
I don’t know what he wants to see.
The skin of his stomach is hot as I slip my fingers under the waistband of his boxers. His abs are hard, and they ripple at my touch. I pull gently, but the fabric is caught against his erection. I’m afraid to pull very hard, afraid of how much pressure is okay. I have some experience with cocks, touching them, rubbing my ass against them in the club, but that knowledge is limited—and it slides away under the role I’m in. The innocent little girl.
He makes no move to help me or to free himself. He just watches me with an intent curiosity to see what I’ll do next. What I do is use my other hand to grasp his shaft and carefully pull the fabric over his cock. He feels impossibly hard against my palm, silk smoothed over a steel rod. His cock flexes in my hand, and I jerk back, letting him go with a sound of surprise.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper. “It scared me.”
“You’re doing great, little one,” he says soothingly. “You did exactly what I asked you to. Daddy will never get mad at you for that.”
Men like to teach you things. That’s what gets them off.
“What should I do next?”
The amused light in his eyes says he knows exactly what I’m doing. And that he likes it. “Lift up your shirt. I want to see your pretty nipples.”
Instead of obeying him, I cross my hands over my breasts. “What if you don’t like them?”
“Why would you think that?” He seems genuinely curious.
He’s seen them a hundred times already. And the insecurity is completely real because of it. He’s seen them a hundred times and never been overtaken with lust to the point that he had to have me. He’s seen me and rejected me. We’re playing a game where all of this is new—and it is, in a certain way. But in another way it’s the inevitable conclusion to years of foreplay. Both a beginning and an end.
“Because you’ve seen a lot of girls.” It’s a form of torture to be this open, this honest, like needles pressing under my nails. These words are everything I’ve ever feared. “How can I be special?”
He could ruin me with his answer.
He leans forward. “Candace, I’m sure your nipples are as pretty as the rest of you. But they aren’t what make you special.”
I look down, still cupping my breasts, shielding them. “Why then?”
He reaches out and taps my arms, and I let them fall. He cups my breast gently, his thumb fanning over my nipple. It stands up beneath the tank top. He keeps rubbing back and forth until the twinge between my legs grows sharp.
“Because of how sweet you are,” he says softly. “How hard you try to be good for me. Do you know how rare that is? How special? There is no other girl like you, Candace.”
“I’m not,” I say, and it comes out almost on a sob. “I’m not good. I’m always talking back and not listening and—”
“It’s normal for little girls to test their boundaries, to push them. That doesn’t make you bad. But you always come back to me, don’t you? And you always take your punishment so well. That’s what makes you good. That’s what makes you special.”
But can you imagine how it would feel to find a sacrifice you wanted to be there? Who begged to stay?