Save Me, Daddy

“Too bad. I’m not.” His arms enfold me, molding our bodies together. He feels so good, fitted against my skin.

I glare at him. “Do you want me to make a scene?”

He quirks a brow, as though considering it. “Maybe. Anger would be an improvement from your cold disdain you’ve shown me the past few days.”

“I’m not disdainful toward you, Jayson, just apathetic,” I say, trying to appear calm, even though I’m burning up inside.

He makes a scoffing sound low in his throat. “You might hate me, or you might desire me—maybe both—but you are not indifferent, agape mou.”

I know. It’s dangerous to provoke him. Still I can’t seem to keep from replying. “Believe what you will, Jayson. I don’t care.”

His lips curl into a slight smile. “Of course you don’t. You do not care if I put my hand here”—he rests it just above my ass—“or if I put my lips here.” Jayson lowers his head to place a light kiss at the bend of her neck. “You certainly don’t care if I do this,” he whispers against my skin, as his other hand roams from my hip to just under my breast, his fingers grazing it.

I do my best to hide any hint of a reaction, but fail miserably when he sucks at the delicate flesh of my neck, drawing it into his mouth and biting gently. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and I shiver, though the night isn’t cold.

“Yes, I can see you’re totally unaffected,” he says before easing away.

Though I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, I’m dying with desire. Through sheer determination, I make it through the rest of the dance, tearing myself from his arms the moment the song ends. Hurrying away from the deck, I open the first door I come to and flick on the light. It’s not a restroom, as I hoped because I’d be able to lock it--but a small room with a table and chairs. I close the door, leaning against it. My breath is coming strong and fast.

My heart hammering in my ears, I take a deep breath, trying to force myself to calm down. It’s daunting to think about returning to the deck, and to Jayson, but I can’t hide in here all night. As it is, I’ve already embarrassed myself by fleeing from him. And I hadn’t planned on revealing any emotions to that stupid husband of mine.

With another deep breath, I straighten and turn, grasping the doorknob. As the door opens, I gasp to find Jayson standing on the other side. Resisting the strong but childish urge to slam the door in his face I say, “Excuse me,” with what I hope can pass for cool indifference. “I thought this was the restroom.”

He puts a palm against the door, pushing it toward me. He is stronger and soon slips inside. A wave of dread washes over me when he closes the door with a soft click. “Excuse me, Jayson. I need the powder room. Would you please move out of my way.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward. “I know what you need, Harper, and it isn’t escape to the powder room.”

I sniff. “You really don’t know anything about me, so how could you know what I need?” I reach past him for the doorknob, but end up much too close.

“You know what you need too.”

Looking up, I meet his gaze. “What I don’t need is a fling that will complicate things.”

He takes my hand, folding it in his to press against his chest. “It doesn’t have to be a fling, agape mou.”

Shaking my head, I deny his words and my own urges. “Let me go, Jayson. Please.”

He seems a little sad. “I can’t.” Jayson draws me into his arms.

I could step back, or try to resist, but it’s impossible to deny what we both want so much. With a small sigh of defeat, I melt into his arms, pressing my ear to his chest. His heart thumps as quickly as mine, and I move my hand on his chest to his waist, smiling slightly when a light stroke makes his heartbeat get even faster.

Jayson takes my face in his hand, tilting my head back as he descends. His lips, soft and coaxing, convince mine to open with light, feathery kisses. I can’t help but moan softly as he sweeps his tongue over mine. I strain to get closer, pushing my hands under his jacket to feel his flesh through the linen shirt.

His breath hisses through his teeth when I undo the first few buttons and plunge my hand inside. His skin is hot, with a light covering of hair that tickles my fingers. I stroke his hard muscles, moving my hand lower. He exhales sharply when I rake my nails lightly over his nipple.

“Harper.” My name is more a harsh exhalation than a true sound. He lifts me into his arms, making me cry out with surprise, and carries me to the table. It’s hard under my rear, but not as hard as the sleek muscles rippling under Jayson’s skin. Each time he twitches or shudders, I’m filled with joy. It’s exhilarating to have so much power over Jayson, when he usually leaves me feeling weak, no matter how well I might hide it.

“How did I wait so long?” Jayson asks against my lips, before claiming them in a hungry kiss that allows no reply to the question.

My thoughts grow fuzzier the more we kiss. I squirm against him when he cups my breast, thumbing the nipple through the thin layer of silk, sending shots of electricity through me. Threading one hand through his hair, I tangle my fingers in the glossy black strands, while his heart continues to beat fast under my palm.

Jayson’s hands move over my body with blatant possessiveness, but for once it doesn’t bother me. His touch is intoxicating, and his kisses drug me. For the first time ever, I feel true desire. I want him to hold my naked body against his and to grasp his hipbones as I guide him inside me, to squeeze him as he thrusts in and out, to wrap my legs around him and clutch his back as he fucks me.

There are so many sensations swirling around me that it’s difficult to separate the sources until Jayson moves his hand up my thigh, under the hem of my dress. I freeze, eyes wide open, as he hesitates, fingers hovering over the scrap of silk and lace that is the only barrier to my wet opening. He lifts his mouth from mine, and our gazes lock. “Harper?”

The rational part of me screams at me to push his hand away and leave the room before our interlude leads us to a decision that can’t be undone. The other, more primitive part of me yearns to feel his fingers against me, in me. I bow my head, pressing my forehead against his shoulder, letting him decide.

I bite my lower lip when he strokes me through the panties, simultaneously wanting him to stop and wanting to push the material aside. As though he’s reading my thoughts, Jayson slips a finger under the fabric, touching my soft, wet heat. I cry out, lying back as he guides me, his fingers moving restlessly between my swollen, tender folds.