Daddy's Tantalizing Little Girl (Wounded Daddies 13)

CHAPTER FOUR

Peter

After four months, one thing is absolutely clear. Serafina is a handful, a hell of a handful. Fi’s a handful as a girlfriend and a handful as a little girl. Of course, since my particular proclivities when it comes to Daddies and little girls involve enjoying little girls who are handfuls, I’m having the time of my life. She takes to the lifestyle immediately, and the fact that it’s only sheer luck that she happened to be interested in it on her own before she found out about Tabitha and Neil isn’t lost on me.

“Daddy!” she pouts as she frowns at me. “You promised you were taking me to get some ice cream!”

“Patience, little girl,” I say with a smile. “I promised I would take you for ice cream when I’ve finished my spreadsheet.”

“But it’s taking so long!” she whines. “I want to go now!”

“We won’t go until I’m done with the spreadsheet,” I say. Jesus! Her little mini tantrum has my cock growing, making my jeans a little uncomfortable. “If you want to keep interrupting me so it takes longer, that’s up to you.”

She lets out a big HHMPH, turns around and stomps to the couch. She plops down on it, brings her legs up and pulls a cushion into her lap. She pouts obviously as she waits. I get back to my spreadsheet and say, “Come back here and then walk to the couch like a polite little girl and sit.”

I keep my eyes on the spreadsheet but I can only imagine how her face looks. It takes a great deal of effort not to check and it also takes a great deal of effort not to laugh. I haven’t the slightest idea what the hell is on the spreadsheet at the moment. I just listen for her movement. She waits almost thirty seconds and then sighs dramatically and gets up. I keep my eyes on the spreadsheet but when she starts back to the couch, I turn and watch.

Jesus Christ, this little girl’s ass is perfect. I remember to focus my attention back on the spreadsheet before she sits down again. “Good girl,” I say without looking up.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she says in resignation.

I’m nowhere near in the right frame of mind to work out the numbers on the spreadsheet now. I edit one cell and then save and close the document. “There,” I say standing up. “Who wants ice cream?”

She leaps to her feet. “Me! Me, Daddy!” she runs over to me and throws her arms around me. “Please can we go? Please?”

I chuckle and say, “Okay, little girl. Let’s go get you some ice cream.”

“Daddy!” she squeals and kisses me all over my face. God, I love the way we go through the whole tantrum, pouting and happiness cycle. Not everyone loves brat play and far fewer people love brat play as a significant portion of the relationship instead of an occasional thing.

I kiss her forehead and say, “Let’s go, princess.”

She squeals with excitement and slips her hand into mine. I think the way she holds my hand might be the thing I like most about going somewhere with her. I get the feeling she doesn’t hold hands in relationships, at least not before me. There’s an interesting kind of intimacy to it, something holding onto my arm doesn’t cover.

“So, little girl,” I say, “give me an update.” She groans and I say, “Come on now, give me an update.”

“Can’t we just enjoy the trip for ice cream, Daddy?” I don’t reply and she groans again. “Oh, all right. I got my registration packet yesterday and I can choose all my classes online today. Satisfied?”

“That might be difficult,” I say as we reach the corner. The ice cream shop is only a few blocks away from the entrance to the subdivision, about a mile and a half round trip, so we’re walking.

“Why?”

“Because if you keep giving me attitude, you’ll have a hard time sitting down in front of your computer.”

She draws in breath sharply and involuntarily squeezes my hand. “Okay, Daddy,” she says in a voice filled with lust. “I’m sorry.”

“Have you thought about what I said?”

“Yes,” she says, “and I was thinking maybe we could compromise.”

She has no idea what she wants to study. I suggested corporate law because it’s a useful skill no matter what she ends up doing. She’s more interested in just taking classes that interest her regardless of their application. “What do you have in mind?”

“What if I focus on corporate law but finish my law school over three years instead of two? That gives me about ten extra classes that I can take just for fun. Also, maybe along the way one of the classes will pique my interest and that will become my focus.”

I pull her around and give her a kiss. “See what happens when you think things through instead of throwing a tantrum.” She blushes and giggles a little. “I’m proud of you, little girl.”

“Tabby’s uncle, my boss I mean, he says I can help with corporate clients as I learn.” I’m impressed. She’s working harder at this than she let on.

“I’m so proud of you, little girl,” I say. “How would you like to take a special trip for the weekend? I have a friend on the coast. How about a weekend by the ocean?”

She squeals and throws her arms around me and squeezes. “When? When? When?”

“Does this weekend work?”

“Yes!” She kisses me and then backs up. She frowns. “But you’re still taking me for ice cream, right?”

“As long as you behave,” I say with a laugh.

She smiles and says, “I’ll be good, Daddy.”

I can tell by the look on her face she intends to push the envelope a little bit, and that’s perfectly fine with me. Hell, it’s a lot more than just fine.