Page 25 of Daddy's Princess

My mind quickly conjures the image of Oliver with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pulling me over his lap and spanking me. My core clenches as the fantasy plays out in my mind. My panties are soaked. My nipples are hard. My heart is thrumming in my chest like a trapped hummingbird. And my boss is looking at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“—it’s your choice.”

Wait. What did he just say?

Is it my imagination, or is his breath coming faster? My eyes flick down to his lips, and my core clenches when he slowly licks them. I’m still staring at those totally kissable lips when he starts speaking again.

“I guarantee I can handle whatever you dish out, little girl.” He clenches his jaw, and I hazard a glance up only to be leveled by the hungry fire in his eyes.Holy smolder, Batman.“I would suggest you make the right choice and join me for lunch.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll find out what happens to bratty little girls like you.”

I can’t help wondering what would happen if I kept pushing. Would Oliver really spank me here at the office? “I’ll go to lunch.”

“Good girl.”

I’m in a sort of daze as I follow Oliver out of the conference room. A shiver of arousal skates through me when he casually rests his palm on the small of my back and leads me through the office. The office that is filled with people. People who are staring. I take a quick step away from him and immediately hate the loss of his hand on me. Oliver lets out a low growl and pulls me back to him. His hand returns to my lower back possessively.

Just before the elevator doors slide closed, I see both Britney and Nadine staring daggers at me.

11

Oliver

I could easily takeSugar to one of the many delis or cafes close to the office, but all of those places are crowded and loud, and I’m feeling selfish. I want her attention wholly on me. I don’t want distractions. Which is why we are in a private booth at one of the best restaurants in the city. Probably a little over-the-top, but I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to Sugar Larson.

Her wide-eyed appreciation at everything from The Grotto’s décor to the food she’s slowly devouring gives me the perfect excuse to justify my actions. I would fly her to Paris for lunch if it meant getting to see her eyes light up with every bite. Not to mention the satisfied little sounds she makes when she likes something particularly well.

I’m transfixed as her lips part to accept another bite. My cock throbs in the confines of my pants when her lips close around the morsel of perfectly cooked steak. Her eyes close, and she hums in the back of her throat as she slowly chews. I nearly come like an untried teenage boy when her tongue darts out to lick away a droplet of juice from the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been hard since Monday night, and no matter how many times I’ve jacked off, my cock isn’t satisfied. Only one thing will satisfy this insane desire, and that’s sinking balls deep inside of my bratty little girl.

“Is there something wrong with your steak?” Sugar asks, looking down at my barely touched meal.

I make a concentrated effort to drag my eyes away from her plump lips. Her eyes are narrowed like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. She sets her fork down on her plate, and I’m angry at myself for distracting her from her meal. Watching her eat is my new favorite pastime. Even if my food was dry as cardboard, I’d happily eat every bite if it meant I could watch her simple joy at eating.

“It’s fine. I’m just distracted.”

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, and she worries her napkin between her hands under the table. Something I notice she does anytime she’s nervous. All the sass she showed at the office is nowhere to be seen. It’s as if a switch has been flipped, and instead of the confident spitfire, I have a subdued, unsure version of Sugar. I hate it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, ready to burn the whole building down to fix whatever it is that’s diminished that spark of hers.

“I—” she starts, then seems to think better of whatever she was going to say. “I’m sorry about earlier. In the conference room…” she worries at the napkin so hard that I’m surprised the fabric can withstand her onslaught. “I honestly don’t know what got into me. I’m not usually…” Her words trail off as if she’s embarrassed to admit that she was a brat.

“A brat?” I provide.

Her blush deepens, and her knuckles are practically white with how hard she’s clenching them around the napkin. She’s studying her half-eaten food like it’s got the answers to life’s greatest questions. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I really don’t know why I reacted like that to you. It’s completely out of character for me.” She looks around as if to see if anyone is paying any attention to our conversation before continuing. “Even as a submissive, I’ve never been a brat…”

Interesting. I can’t help but wonder if this meeker version of Sugar, the one she shows the rest of the world, is a protective mask. Is the brat her true self showing through? I’m not sure, but I want to find out. I want to know everything about her, but first, I want to draw her out from behind this façade she’s donned. I want the real Sugar, not the version she thinks she has to be for whatever reason. And I aim to find out what that reason is too.

When I don’t immediately respond, she hazards a glance at me from between her lashes. I raise one of my brows at her, and her eyes spark in agitation. She knows I heard her, and she’s getting riled up because I haven’t accepted her apology. Instead of giving her what she wants, I slowly cut off a piece of my steak and take a bite. I chew slowly and methodically. Her eyes are glued to my jaw, watching it flex. Now that that spark has been ignited, it grows and grows until she’s practically glaring at me.

Ah, there she is.

“Is it really so very out of character for you?” I finally ask.

Now she is glaring. That little spark a flame that threatens to scorch me if I get too close. “Yes. It is.” It takes a lot of my self-control to not smirk at the way she grits those three little words out.

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