Page 26 of Daddy, Take Me Away
“There,” he said, hands on his hips, his gaze roving her in hungry approval. “Now it’s perfect.”
The minute he walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him, she was going to masturbate the hell out of herself. If she didn’t, she just knew she’d never get this–him–out of her system.
Except he didn’t leave.
Lowering himself onto his knees beside her, he took off his shirt, tossing it haphazardly onto the counter by the sink. Picking up the plastic cup, he swept her relatively short hair back from her shoulders and poured hot frothy water over her head.
He was careful not to let it get in her eyes, using his hand on her forehead to control the water’s flow. Every pass of his hand as he thoroughly wet her hair cut through the eroticism, broadening and heightening it until she could no longer tell which was worse: the endless thrills that shivered her every time his hands found her, and the devastating loss whenever his touch abandoned her again.
“Here comes the shampoo,” he murmured, the rumble of his low voice trembling through her. “Be a good girl. Close your eyes for Daddy.”
Chloe melted into his touch, her eyes drifting closed as his fingers combed through her hair, gathering up her relatively short hair and scrubbing it into a sudsy hat on top of her head. He constantly wet his hands to swipe errant bubbles from her forehead before they could get into her eyes.
He washed her back, her face and yes, when he selected her arms one at a time to gently scrub her skin from shoulders to fingertips, he even got her armpits. And then her breasts, the warm caress of his hands as he washed her front seemingly oblivious to the jut of her stiffening nipples. She ached there, tiny mews of embarrassed pleasure escaping through tightly pressed lips as she fought to pretend she felt nothing even when his fingers gently circled her nippies in turn, plucking and softly tweaking… Just to hear her mewl again? She didn't know, but she suspected it and yet made zero protests because god forbid he should stop.
She really ought to stop him, before this went too far.
Or was that what she wanted, for him to keep in touching her like this, for him to lower his hand from her breasts to her tummy. Would he go lower down? Her hips twitched, her thighs squeezing tight together as if feeling his touch down there was the last thing she wanted.
Her breath hitched, her throat tightening as in tiny circles he moved down to her tummy. “If you want Daddy to wash hi–your kitty, spread your legs. You don't have to if it's not what you want.”
Her legs were opened as far as the sides of the tub would allow before he'd stopped speaking.
She turned her face away, the heat of her blush hotter than the water she sat in.
“No, my bonnie wee lassie,” he soothed, his fingers caressing tiny circles lower and lower down her abdomen. “Look at Daddy.”
Oh god, his hand was pushing down, infiltrating the space between her trembling thighs. That first electrifying shock when the tips of his palm closed over her pussy and his fingers squeezed…
Oh…
“I own this now,” he breathed, his lips barely a hairsbreadth from hers. “This…” His fingers squeezed, harder, bringing her right up onto her tiptoes. “This sweet kitty right here, belongs to Daddy. Doesn't it?”
She damn near melted right there in his arms.
Chapter Fourteen
Staring at the gargoyle in the rafter beams, Chloe chewed on her bottom lip, her sketch pad in her busy hand drawing and shading in charcoal. This was her fourth attempt. No matter what she did, it just wasn't coming out right and she didn't know what she was doing wrong. Her proportions looked right; it wasn't that she couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. As far as work went, it was probably one of the best sketches she'd yet done in the whole of her life, but something just… wasn't right.
Throwing her charcoal stub on the table, she rubbed her face with both hands and didn't even care that her fingers were spreading coal dust everywhere they touched. So now her face was coated in it too. She sighed, staring at her work in growing frustration until she suddenly realized, her heart simply was not into it.
Where was her heart instead?
Standing abruptly, Chloe wandered across the small three-room cabin to stand in the bathroom doorway. Gazing on the empty tub, she hugged herself, her hands rubbing her arms as if the very real touch of her own embrace could somehow erase the phantom caress of Hamish's hands from her mind.
He'd done things to her bottom. He'd bathed her, for heaven's sake. His caress as he'd washed and rinsed her hair had been the most soothing touch she could remember receiving from any other person in her life. Except Grandpa, but grandpas didn't count at times like this.
Not that there wasn't a distinctly paternal gentleness that had accompanied Hamish as he took care of her. It was in the way he'd spanked her–and yet it was anything but fatherly when his hand came to rest on the hot surface of her sorely punished bottom.
His lecture had felt paternal, too. He'd scolded her for each sin committed, but it definitely hadn’t felt fatherly when he'd put his fingers in her bottom, first one and then two as he'd lubed her up and gently stretched her for the buttplug. Something that had hurt as he'd slowly worked it up inside her, winning squeals every time he pulled the widest part of the plug out of her only to have it relentlessly invade her. Again and again.
It was two in the morning now, and her backhole was still tender. So was her bottom, and there was nothing about any of that that whispered “dad” to her. But it did whisper “Daddy” and “Dominant”, and oh, what those feelings had done to her. Why did just thinking about what he'd done make her this… bothered? This… anxious and needy?
Why did it make her want more?
As much as it had hurt at the time, as much as she'd begged him to stop, if only he were to suddenly walk into her cabin and announce she'd been naughty all over again… She shivered, not an unpleasant sensation. Quite the opposite. She ached for it.
But he wasn't here, ready to punish or not.
