Daddy's Tantalizing Little Girl (Wounded Daddies 13)

CHAPTER ONE

Serafina

A guy like Peter is putty in my hands. I realize that the moment I see him sitting at the table. I’m ten minutes late and he sips his drink waiting. I watch him for a moment and try to decide how much longer I’ll make him wait. As I do, a waiter arrives and I’m shocked to see him sign what I can only imagine is a credit card receipt and get up. I sit at the bar watching and he walks away from the table, past the hostess and right out the door.

We were supposed to have a date already or at least have dinner. My friend, one of my best friends on Earth, invited me along but it turned out Peter got called away because of a family emergency. Tabitha arranged this blind date for both of us upon his return. I like that better because he’ll be a lot easier to control. I almost giggle as I think about it.

Fuming, I put my glass of wine down and leave the bar, taking the same route he takes and out into the parking lot. I see him open the door of a silver-colored luxury car and shout, “Hey! What are you doing?”

He looks at me and says in a matter-of-fact way, “I’m going home.”

“What? We have a date. You’re standing me up?”

“We had a date,” he says. “We had a date ten minutes ago.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re going to leave because I was ten minutes late? You could have just called me or texted me.”

“It was pretty noisy in there,” he replies. “Chances are you wouldn’t have heard me with all the people at the bar.”

“That’s…” I pause as the words sink in. He knew I was at the bar. Hell, I was at the bar before he even got there. He knows I wasn’t actually late but just making him wait for me. “You could have just waved me over.”

“Oh?” he asks, “Were you having trouble seeing where I sat while you stared at me?”

I sigh and say, “Fine. If you’re going to be a dick about, I’m sorry. Let’s just go back in and start over.”

He closes his door and starts the engine. Then, the window slides down. “I’ll be here tomorrow as six o’clock and we can start over. I’ll see you then. At the table, little girl.” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply and just pulls away and drives off, leaving me staring after him angrier than I can recall being in a very long time.

I’m still angry a half hour later as I sit on my couch drinking a glass of wine.

I’m still angry an hour after that, watching stupid sitcom reruns.

I’m still angry when I undress for bed and I’m still angry when I turn out the light.

So, I don’t understand at all why the fingers of my left hand start playing with my nipples. I don’t understand why the fingers of my right hand seek a lower destination, teasing along my slit and very lightly touching my clit and exploring my pussy.

I sure as hell don’t understand why I sigh and whisper, “Oh yes. Peter! Yes!”

I stop for a moment in shock but then, suddenly, my hands seem to move much faster, as though they’re moving without any direction from my mind. As I pinch my nipples a bit forcefully and rub harder at my clit, I moan, “Yes, Peter. I’ll be your good little girl.”

This is so damned out of character for me! I don’t understand why in the world my body responds as though I’m in the midst of the absolute best sex possible. I think about the eBooks I’ve read about men who call their girlfriends little girl. I think about how Tabitha calls her boyfriend Daddy. I guess it’s possible Peter said it just in a demeaning sort of way but in the books, the girls call their boyfriend’s Daddy and they call their girlfriends little girl.

Hell, I’ve called guys Daddy before, especially when acting like a little girl gets me what I want.

In the books, it means something different and the book turn me on. It’s idiotic for me to believe Peter meant it the way people mean it in those sexy books but it’s also idiotic for me to masturbating about the asshole in the first place so I don’t really bother working out how silly or smart it might be. I think about my imaginary Peter touching me and calling me little girl. I know he’s a Daddy and he’s available. Tabitha let me know that. Still, this is stupid.

God, imaginary Peter feels good! “Daddy,” I whisper. Then, I shout, “Daddy!”

I’m cumming.

By God, I’m cumming and that never happens after only a few seconds. I slide fingers into my pussy, thinking about Peter on top of me, his smart-ass, cocky expression looking down at me and almost mocking me because of how easily he made me cum. Why in the world I give him that kind of victory when it’s my fantasy, I have no idea but it isn’t long before my fingers slam into my pussy hard as can be and I’m not just cumming but cumming so damned hard I can barely handle it.

“Jesus! Peter! Daddy! Fuck me!”

I keep my fingers moving until I can’t anymore, and I lay there in bed with my fingers deep inside of me just staring at the ceiling and trying to wrap my head around how damned arousing the man is and how I lose control thinking about him. I stare at the ceiling and say aloud, “I need to take control back, damn it.”

I arrive at the restaurant on time and walk directly to the table. He stands when I arrive and pulls the chair back for me. I sit down and say, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.”

He has a faint smile on his face as he sits opposite me.