Call Me Daddy

I’m so aware of myself. So aware of the skinny jeans Nick bought me, and my baby pink cami and fluffy cardigan. So aware that I don’t look dressed for this, despite his compliments and the warmth they give me inside. “Should I, um… change? Into something more…” I begin, but he shakes his head.

“No. You’re perfect just as you are.”

Perfect.

I want to feel perfect.

I want to be perfect… for him.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing…” I take a breath. “I hope I’m not rubbish… I hope you’re not…”

“Shh,” he says, and my heart leaps as he moves towards me.

He’s so tall, towering above me as he closes the distance. I can smell him. Woody and deep. I love the way he smells.

He tips his face up to mine and my breath comes in shallow little gulps.

“Relax,” he whispers, and his head dips enough that his breath tickles my ear. His hands slide to my shoulders and squeeze, and it feels so right.

I feel the firmness of his chest through his shirt. The warmth of his fingers as they slip inside my cardigan and push it from my shoulders. I feel it crumple around my feet.

“My beautiful girl…” he whispers, and the husk in his tone makes my legs go quivery.

His breath is a warm rhythm, his lips pressing to my skin, and it makes me shiver wonderful shivers. I wrap my arms around his neck, the fine hairs prickling as he kisses so lightly along my jawline.

He pulls away, then pauses, eyes on mine, and I fidget, wet my lips, shuffle from foot to foot.

His eyes stay firm, right on target. My breath is so shallow and his is so steady.

He moves slowly. Lowers his head slowly.

And then his mouth lands right on mine.

The world stops moving. For that moment. Stops.

One long perfect moment.

And the butterflies go crazy.

His kiss is firm. Strong like him. Lips warm and soft.

His tongue pushes inside my mouth, and he lets out a groan, and I love that. I love the way it sounds. I love the way his tongue feels, too. Hot and just the right amount of wet. I love the way it moves around mine, the way he pushes so deep. I kiss him, like I think I should, my tongue twisting with his, my eyes closed tight as I take it all in. I’m making little noises, and my fingers tangle in his hair, and that’s soft too.

He doesn’t stop kissing me as he holds me tight and walks me backwards. My ankle catches on one of Jane’s stuffed toys, and I stumble, but he’s got me. He holds me steady, guides me back a step at a time until I feel Jane’s bed against my legs, and then he breaks the kiss. Pulls away with soft presses of his lips to mine.

I open my eyes and he’s smiling. My lips feel puffy and tingly, and my cheeks burn hot as I smile back at him.

He runs his fingers through my hair, and I gasp as he pulls tight. He tips my head up, and I’m staring, staring at how strong he looks, how different he looks.

“You’re such a good girl, Laine,” he tells me, and my heart lifts for him. “I’m going to take care of you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I nod, and the way my hair pulls in his fist catches my breath.

“You want to be my good girl, don’t you?”

There’s something in the way he says it. Something that makes me feel floaty.

“Yes.” I nod again, and he pulls my hair tighter.

“A firm hand, Laine. That’s what you need, isn’t it? Someone to look after you. Someone to watch out for you. Someone to love you and nurture you.”

“Yes… yes I do,” I tell him, and that makes the tickles come harder.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, and there’s that tone. That caring tone. “There’s no need to be scared. No need to be nervous.”

He lets go of my hair, and once again his fingers glide to my shoulders and squeeze. I feel the tension slipping away from me. His touch makes me feel so wanted, so loved.

I take a breath as his hands move down. Slowly. His fingers hook inside my cami and tug it down, and my stomach churns inside.

I feel so self-conscious in my plain bra, white and dull with just a little trim of lace. I wish I’d have picked something more raunchy, something more… anything, but the look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care one bit.

The look in his eyes tells me he likes it.

His thumbs brush my nipples through the fabric, and I can’t help but gasp; it feels so good I have to clench my thighs. He notices, and his smile is so bright and so dark at the same time.