Chapter Five
Sissy
Something is very wrong with me. I’m flushed and heavy in places I’ve never experienced an increase in weight. My breasts, my sex. They feel swollen and that sensation makes me restless. So restless as I follow Locke up the stairs to his second-floor apartment. The sun is rising in Vegas and it’s already a hundred degrees, my dress beginning to cling to my body everywhere, dew popping up in the valley of my cleavage.
Or maybe it’s not the weather causing me to sweat. Maybe it’s the purposeful manner in which Locke moves, back muscles shifting in patterns, his hefty frame standing between me and the world. So sturdy and solid. Determined to take care of me.
Daddy.
He’s called himself that name twice.
I liked it both times, even if I was confused by the way hearing that title seems to crank up my need to tempt him. In the past, when I fantasized, it was about Prince Charming arriving on his horse to take me away from the farm. The prince in my dreams had golden hair and a blindingly white smile. A sword at his hip.
Locke is not Prince Charming.
He’s something I didn’t know enough to need. There is something about him that reaches deep inside of me and tickles desire to life. Icky sticky desire that makes me want to be a little…mischievous. Even naughty. I want to hear him call himself Daddy again so I can feel that twist low in my tummy. I want to call him that. When his big body was wedged between my thighs in the parking garage, I swear I’ve never felt more like…myself.
A self I didn’t know existed.
She’s clawing her way to the surface now, though. Eclipsing the farm girl.
Locke turns to look at me as he twists the key to open the door and I bite my lip, struggling to keep my breathing under control. If he won’t give me my first kiss, maybe I have to find a way to take it.
That initiative is intoxicating. I’ve lived my life without freedom, but it’s rushing in now and spreading to every corner of my body, making me feel loose. Unrestricted. And when he gestures for me to enter the apartment in front of him, I look the man straight in the eye and let him see the wildness unfurling inside of me. His Adam’s apple lifts and falls in response, that wide chest shuddering up and down. Without looking, I know that rod is still protruding from his lap and I want to rub it with the palm of my hand. I want him to hold me down and hump me like he did just fifteen minutes ago in the parking garage.
But I’m distracted by the scent that wafts out from his apartment.
It’s incense and musk. It’s him.
All over. Everywhere.
I drift inside and let the essence of Locke wrap around me, my pulse accelerating when his body heat warms me from behind. Touch me. “Living room is here on the left. Kitchen is straight ahead.” His voice is like sandpaper. “Down that hallway to the right is where you’ll sleep. Door on the left. Right across from…mine.”
Am I imagining the increase of heat at my back? The sound of him inhaling near my neck? “Is there somewhere I can shower?”
He must be close because I hear his heavy swallow. “Yes. Last door at the end of the hallway. Towels are in the cabinet. Use whatever you need.”
Why do those four words turn my mouth dry?
I don’t know, but I turn and find him an inch away, hands clenched at his sides, a thick ridge behind his zipper. Sweat beads on his hairline. His eyes are almost glassy and they’re riveted on my mouth.
“Use whatever you need,” I echo back to him, being more daring than I’ve ever been in my life. Leaning in and pressing my open mouth to the center of his broad chest, dragging my parted lips to the right and letting them coast over his nipple. “Use me, Daddy.”
“Stop,” he says through clenched teeth.
“I can’t,” I say, voice hitching, my tongue emerging to lick across to his left nipple, laving it through his white dress shirt. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”
“Then I’ll stop for us both,” he grinds out, taking me by the shoulders and twisting me around to face the hallway. “Bathroom. Now. March, young lady.”
If he thinks speaking to me like a father figure is going to turn me off, he’s sorely mistaken. If anything, I sink deeper into this unrepentant need as he walks me, hands on shoulders toward the bathroom. Halfway there, he curses vilely, his hands drifting down to my hips and squeezing, gathering the back of my dress a little in his hands, his breath scraping in and out.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, guiding me over the threshold of the bathroom door and smacking the light on. “Shower now. I’ll leave you a T-shirt outside the door and we’ll worry about real clothes after you get something to eat. Not to mention, we both need sleep. You can’t get the kind of rest you need in the back of a car.”