Page 70 of Mob Bride

“Yes, Daddy. But rougher. So much rougher.”

I pull my fingers from her. She mewls in disagreement, but I scoop her into my arms and carry her up to the guest bedroom. I don’t know where she’ll want to sleep tonight. I don’t want to make it awkward if I take her to my room. Then she decides she wants to sleep somewhere else. But then again, maybe this’ll make her think I don’t want her in my bed.

Oh, fuck me.

Maybe I should’ve just kept her on the sofa, but we’re here now. I set her down on her feet and go to sit in the armchair in the corner.

“Strip,cailín.Slowly. I want to watch every delectable inch of you revealed to me like you’re unwrapping a Christmas gift for me.”

“But, Daddy, don’t you want to unwrap it for yourself?” She practically purrs.

“Tempting,cailín.Another time. But for today, I want to watch you do it.”

She comes to stand in front of me, unbuttoning her shirt with excruciatingly slow movements.

This is fucking purgatory, and I put myself there.

She peels the shirt down her arms before she pushes down her pants. She leaves just her bra and panties. She kicked off her shoes before she curled up on the love seat with me. She turns around to let me watch her unclasp her bra. She takes it off and flings it over her shoulder at me.

I growl as I catch it. Then she slips her panties down, purposely bending forward as though she needs to push them to the floor rather than letting them drop on their own. It presents the most beautifully erotic scene I have ever laid eyes on. From the way she spreads her feet apart, I have a view of her glorious tits between her thighs and a view of her soaking wet little pink pussy and even her arse. She runs her hands up the side of her thighs, then over the back of them before up to her arse, pulling her cheeks apart. She stands as she does that.

“I told you to strip. I didn’t tell you to tease me.”

I’m out of the seat. My hand lands across her arse hard enough to make her take a step forward, but I’ve already slipped my other arm around her waist, holding her right where I want her. My hand rains down spanks, alternating sides, the sound ringing in the air.

“Carrie, you know this isn’t a punishment, right?”

“I know, Shane. It’s something we both enjoy, and I think this is exactly what I need right now.”

“You need to relinquish control. You need to know you’re not in this alone, and I need to feel like I have some control when I know everything outside this house is a fecked-up mess I can’t fix easily.”

“That’s right, Daddy. I need to not worry about what’s happening for a bit, and I want you to feel like you have control. I know you breathe easier when you do. That bad things happen when you don’t. So, if this gives you the same peace it gives me, I’m more than happy to relinquish control to you.”

She gets me.

“You need a safe word you can use if it gets to be too much.”

“Okay—how about—” She thinks about it for a moment. “Digon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Enough in Welsh. Both my parents grew up in Wales, so they had compulsory language education. I spoke quite a bit of it as a kid, but we don’t use it that often.”

“Would you say you’re still proficient in it, even if you’re not fluent?”

“Yeah, I would say conversationally proficient. I’m not too bad at reading, but I can’t write it well. My grammar isn’t that strong. What about your Gaelic?”

“One hundred percent fluent. Reading, writing, listening, and speaking. We use it as much as we do English. You’ll notice we often switch back and forth. It’s not always because we’re speaking about something private. It’s just that natural to us. Our parents insist we use it whenever we’re with them as though we might somehow forget. My parents learned Gaelic before they learned English. It was the same thing for us. We went tokindergarten already able to read and write some basic things in both languages.”

“Wow!”

It makes me silently wonder if we ever had a family, would we automatically raise our kids to be trilingual? I don’t know that Welsh would be of much use to them. But if it’s part of who they are, then it’s a tradition I would want to keep going for Carrie. The way she looks at me over her shoulder makes me wonder if she’s thinking the same thing. It’s way too soon to even contemplate that, let alone discuss it.

Instead, I focus on where my hand lands with each spank. I get progressively firmer until she’s stomping her feet in between. Her arse is the prettiest shade of pink. It almost matches her pussy. The view I have makes me consider all the things I’d like to do to and with her. It’s a visceral reaction of longing and excitement when I see her like this. I’m excited for what we’re going to do now and all the things we could do in the future.

But it’s longing as well, since as much as I want to make something out of this, I’m still not convinced we can. I know she wants it, and so do I, but wanting something and having it aren’t always the same, especially when you live in a world like mine.

I help her stand and let go of her waist. Then I spin her around to face me and wrap my arms around her waist. Our kiss is one that builds. It starts out fiery but explodes into a full blaze in just a few seconds. My tongue explores every crease and crevice in her mouth until I feel like there’s not a single inch I don’t know, a single inch I’m not committing to memory. My hands run down to her back to her pink arse and squeeze. She yelps, but it only pushes her into a heightened state of arousal.

---