Page 32 of Her Royal Daddy
I was a journalist, and while my job title was kind of prestigious right now, who was I kidding? My biggest achievement before this was writing about bake sales and road construction awareness and, ha, about strippers in months-old night clubs that barely warranted more than a tongue-in-cheek nod at the guys shaking their tackle on the stage.
But this man was my daddy, the first I’d ever been free to truly be myself with. He didn’t make fun of me when he saw me hugging on Ms. Beatrix on the plane. He didn’t take advantage of me when I was coming onto him like a randy moose in the stateroom.
He was the daddy who spanked my bottom when I needed it, and fucked me when I deserved it. He made my heart skip and my clit pulse and my panties flood hot and wet, most times with nothing more than a look.
I touched his face, cupping it between my hands. I could not marry this man. If I did, I would ruin every chance he’d ever have of making a difference in Osei. I loved him, but it would be a disaster.
“Would you marry me?” he pressed.
I could see in his eyes what my silence was doing to him, but I knew in my heart that the answer I had to give him would do much worse. So, I didn’t tell him. I kept it to myself and instead, tried to soften it the only way I knew how.
I kissed him. God forgive me, I was kissing him goodbye, but how did one say ‘I love you, but I can’t’ in one kiss alone? It took many. It took passion, and I knew the precise moment when he mistook my ‘no’ for ‘yes’ because that was when his breathing changed. And his kisses changed. He abruptly stood up. Abandoning my waist, he grabbed my ass in both hands and lifted me off my feet, swinging me around to drop me down on the bed beneath him.
All the frustration he’d been harboring mingled with his rising passion as he met my kisses with hungry ones of his own. The way he pulled at my clothes, I knew Daddy was at the end of what he could take. He would not be gentle, but that was okay. He didn’t know it, but this was going to be our last time together. He could spank me, bite me, brand me with bruises from the fierceness from which he clutched and held me. Whatever he gave me, I was happy to take. The marks were temporary; the memory and the pain of leaving were going to last me the rest of my life.
We tore each other’s clothes off. I was every bit as hungry for the hot, hard, veiny feel of his cock in my hands as he was to rip my shirt open and bare my breasts. The heat of his mouth engulfed my nipple. The tugging pull of each suckling draw wound down through my knotted stomach until I could feel it, pulling with the same hungry intensity at my clit. Heated arousal flooded my panties. I needed this. I needed him.
Whatever was I going to do without him?
I got his belt open and his zipper down. It was all the encouragement he needed, and within seconds, my skirt was around my hips and my underwear was on the floor. Ready as I was, I still shouted when he shoved into me. The impossible fullness of him stretched me, filled me. His hands were everywhere—spreading my legs, cupping my ass, tweaking my nipples as he began to ride in short, hard, vigorous thrusts that I could not get enough of. I could not get him deep enough. He could not fuck me fast enough. I was crawling out of my skin with the rawness of my need and he was responding, his lips locking onto the side of my neck in a kiss sure to leave a mark.
“Yes, Daddy,” I wept. “Harder, Daddy! Harder... Harder...”
Mark me.
Bruise me, even.
When this was over, it would be all I had left of him.
“I love you,” I whispered against his skin, but he heard me anyway.
He stopped so abruptly, his cock buried so deep that I could feel him throbbing inside me. All of me throbbed along with him as he shifted his weight to wind my hair around his hand. My own hair became the leash by which he controlled me as he forced my head back until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Again,” he ordered, his lips barely more than a breath away from mine.
“I love you,” I moaned, my breath hitching as he rewarded my obedience with a long, deep thrust. I swore I could feel it all the way up in my throat.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
‘I love you’ became the mantra to which he fucked me, battered me. Owned me.
It was fitting.
It was also temporary, because although he drove us both to orgasm on the force of that repeating declaration, by tomorrow night I’d be on a flight back home and he would know those three little words for the betrayal they were.
He’d never trust them or me again.
* * *
Hot, sticky, sated, and so sick to my stomach that it was all I could do not to throw up, I eased myself out from under Mazi’s arm and slipped out of bed. Sleeping as deeply as he was, he barely stirred, not even when I packed my suitcase, laptop bag, and my duffel of comfort toys. I then sat for forty minutes in the bathroom—in the tub, of all places—hugging Ms. Beatrix and trying desperately to formulate a plan. Sadly, I didn’t have one.
We were on an island; it wasn’t like I could just start walking. I didn’t have the money to get home. Mazi’s father had been paying me, of course, but the money had gone straight into a local bank account. It was not in U.S. funds and it was not readily available at—I checked the time on my cellphone—a quarter to ten at night. I had come here on the King of Osei’s dime. Try as I might, I could not think of a single solid plan that did not have me leaving the same way.
So, that was what I did. All my worldly possessions in tow, I very quietly snuck out of my room and went in search of Mazi’s father. That I managed to keep myself from breaking down and bawling every step of the way was nothing short of a miracle, but I did it. Finding the king’s royal bedchambers was nothing short of a miracle either, but with the help of a passing maid, I managed that too.
It was Jax who opened the door when I knocked.
