Logan’s hand shoots out from the side, grabbing my hip like a vice and he pulls me in toward him, my bottom finding his lap. Despite only being halfway down his thigh I can very clearly feel the steel pipe he’s packing in his pants poking me from behind. And oh my God is it big.
“How long have your little ears been listening in on the conversation at the adult’s only table?”
“I’m…” I begin, my heart hammering against my ribcage. “I’m an adult too.”
He smirks, taking another puff of his cigar and blowing it in the complete opposite direction away from me before stubbing it out in the empty plate sitting in front of him. The same plate where a thirty-two ounce ribeye steak was sitting not ten minutes ago.
“Little girl, you’re anything but. And because of you, I put out my cigar to protect those healthy little lungs of yours. Now,” he pauses. “How much did you hear?”
“Dad,” I say, turning to my dad p
ractically begging for him to put his foot down and back me up on this one. But he just shrugs his shoulders and pulls his hands out from under the table, turning his palms skyward as he gives me a ‘what can I do’ look. It’s just at that moment I feel Logan’s grip tighten on my waist as he pivots me on his lap so I’m literally riding his thigh, facing him.
“I asked you a question and I expect a reply, little one.”
My face steams and I want to punch him, but something tells me doing so will just get this brute off, have him enjoy this little one-sided interaction even more. And the worst part is that I’d enjoy it too, too much. And I’m not about to show him that when he’s acting this way.
“Long enough,” I spit, crossing my arms across my chest in defiance, and also to cover my pebbling nipples.
“Good, so now you know not to plan any parties or try anything because one of us will be staying back to keep an eye over you.”
Which is already a foregone conclusion because it will be my dad. Dad doesn’t have the stomach, nor the muscles or ability to think quick on his feet, to handle the tough stuff.
“I’m eighteen. I don’t need anyone looking over my shoulder.”
“Oh, I’m not looking over your shoulder,” he informs, keeping his gaze locked right on mine. “I’m keeping my eyes right on you, making sure you’re safe and I know where you are at all times.”
“What, you put a monitoring chip in my backpack or something?”
“That Kindle you constantly have your nose buried in would be a better place considering it’s always attached to your hand, but no. You know I don’t trust electronics. I trust my instincts.”
“And what are your instincts telling you?” I question, feeling a surge of confidence and brattiness shoot through me.
“Don’t worry about me, just worry about what I’m telling you…which is to get your little bottom up to bed before it gets spanked for being mouthy.”
Oh, I want to be mouthy all right. I’ve dreamed of exactly that, and just as the visual hits my mind, the mental movie projector coming to life, I feel the exact thing I’ve imagined getting mouthy with jerk in his pants.
His rough grip slides me off his lap to the point of almost pushing me, but he keeps his big mitt on me until my feet are steadied.
“Now get,” he says, flicking his wrist and the back of his hand connecting hard against my Disney print pajamas.
My ass cheeks tighten and my pussy clenches. Why don’t I have underwear on right now? And how did he put so much force behind a flick of his wrist?
And how can I be bratty again to feel his power against my skin again? Knowing my butt is going to be red I’m faced with the option of trying to tempt him to spank me again or to run to my room and finally see something in my life that can be considered a sign of him marking me. I’ve imagined him marking me in so many ways, inside and out, and this is the first thing that’s even come remotely close. And the fact that my dad was close to the action the whole time, yet did absolutely nothing to stop it, only backs up the feelings I have inside for who’s really the father figure in my life.
Who’s really my…Daddy.
I swallow hard and bring my hands behind my body, crossing them over my butt and scurrying off toward my room, goosebumps covering my body and a smile as big as a Cheshire cat crossing my face. But I’m not about to let him see it, or know, that I liked what just happened.
And I’d more than like for it to happen again.
As soon as he gets back. But right now I need to get on my back on my bed and add some physical contact to the other side of my body, knowing my first two fingers are all I’m going to get tonight.
But I can dream. Dream that Logan is exactly what he already is, whether he or my father knows it or not…my Daddy.
2
Logan