Page 14 of Daddy, Take Me Away
There was no stopping this. Not now, probably not ever again.
She’s only here ten days, his brain corrected.
We’ll see, his twitching cock replied.
God help him.
Chapter Eight
His grip was gentle, his palm warm as he clasped her hand in his. Walking her to the kitchen table, she watched as he pulled out the sturdy wooden chair set at the head of it. How was it possible that he should seem even bigger when he sat instead of while standing? His biceps bulged beneath the wet fabric of his cotton shirt. God, his lap was just as broad as his shoulders, his hard thighs seeming every bit as capable of holding her as the rest of him. And his hands…
She trembled, her thighs quivering out of control as she stood between his knees.
Call me Daddy, he’d said.
Oh what funny things saying that word had done to her. Her tummy kept quivering, the fluttering of a thousand butterflies driving her crazy, heightening her already peaked awareness of him, his size, his closeness. His Daddy-ness, lurching out of the blue so unexpectedly. Just like in her dreams.
Except this wasn’t a dream. For the first time in her life, it was all too real, and she had no idea how she was going to handle it. She was scared, but also excited, but also anxious and titillated and euphoric all at once. And it was crazy, because she’d already felt what his hard hand was capable of. The last spanking really had hurt. Truth be told, she still had tender spots on her bottom, and she didn’t think for a second he was going to go any gentler with her now.
“Look at me,” Daddy–no–Hamish ordered, waiting until she dragged her gaze up from his hands and his lap. Her timid eyes met his determined green ones. She bit her bottom lip, needing the pain to help ground her before her wayward imagination took flight, turning this crazy moment into something far sexier than it actually was.
What was wrong with her?
So far, literally everything had gone wrong on this trip, so why should this be any different? her subconscious whispered.
Oh god, oh god, the rest of her wailed as he gave her hand a tug, encouraging her to come a half-step closer. His eyes remained locked on hers as he lowered his hands to gather the hem of her skirt.
Was this really happening? Her hands clenched into nervous fists as he raised the wet fabric all the way up to her hips.
“Hold,” he softly directed, and she did. He paused, waiting. For what, she had no idea, not until he finally said, “What do you say, my wee lass?”
Oh. Of course.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Thank you, Daddy.”
For a moment, she thought she saw amusement tug at the corners of his mouth.
“I was looking for ‘yes, Daddy’,” he said, “but thank you works.”
Oh. She quickly dropped her gaze, heated embarrassment flooding up her chest to burn her cheeks. Only now she was watching as his hands released her bunched skirt hems into her grip before dropping once more, fingers hooking into the elastic of her underwear.
“Look at me, Chloe.”
God, her name in his thick Scottish brogue made her tremble harder. She couldn’t handle this, and It only got worse when she crumpled to his will and locked her gaze with his once more.
Down her panties went, straight past her knees to her ankles, and she didn’t know what was worse. Having to stare so deeply into his soul while he bared her most intimate parts, or the fact that he never once lowered his eyes to look at her… down there. No, he was a gentleman of a Daddy, giving her all the modesty he could while sparing her nothing in the disciplinary aspect. She was humbled, embarrassed, fascinated, even as he puddled her underwear around her feet.
“What’s brought you to this, lassie?”
She couldn’t remember anything prior to his fingers slipping into the waistband of her panties.
Oh. Oh yeah…
“I say wrong things.”
He tsked, the faint smile vanishing behind renewed sternness. “You kept apologizing when I told you no, dinnae you?”
She twisted her skirt hems, sprinkling water down her shaky legs. “Why can't I just be sorry when bad things happen?”
