Page 15 of Chaining Daisy
A good daddy checks on his gir—SHUT UP!I shout at my brain, which is quickly going off the rails, right when I need to be the most careful. I’m so close to getting what I want. So close. I can’t let this obsession trip me up.
Typing into Google, I search “biggest piranha” and hit enter. Then I hold the screen up so we can both easily see the results. The little card that pops up on the top of the screen states:
San Francisco Piranha
Native to Brazil, the San Francisco Piranha can grow up to thirteen inches and weigh up to seven pounds.
Goddammit.
“Booo!” Daisy’s playful pout is so much happier than the fit that’s occurring inside my head. I’m fucking livid that I won. Normally a competitive dick, a stereotypical surgeon who can’t stand to lose, this moment is turning everything on its head—because the fucking foot massage is a shit prize compared to what I almost got to have.
Fucking internet. Stupid game.
But Daisy bounds up off the couch and kneels on the floor, reaching for my left shoe.
“You don’t have to—”
She gives me a sultry look that hits me so hard I have to lean back in my seat. “Yes I do.” She finishes unlacing my black shoe and tugs it off. “Those are the rules. I have to follow the rules.”
Hell yes, you do.
I shut up because her tone of voice, her use ofthatword, the one we use when we’re playing—bantering—testing that line tells me I need to give in. Combined with the sight of her on the ground in front of me, it’s a triple threat that’s completely irresistible.
I let her tug off my sock and then bare my other foot. Her tiny little fingers clutch both of my feet for a moment, and though I don’t have anything close to a foot fetish, for a second, I imagine commanding her to suck on my toes … just to see if she would.
Would she give in to me? Would she let me dominate her the way I’ve always wanted to?
She sets my right foot down and then moves both hands over to my left foot, positioning her thumbs in my arch the way I like. I’m leaning back against the couch, preparing to close my eyes and try to enjoy this in a nonsexual way—if that’s even possible with her—when her phone vibrates in my palm.
Automatically, I swipe up and put in her passcode to open it, even as she dives across my body to grab it.
“Hey! That’s mine!”
“One of the Wild Flowers having a crisis?” I tease, because she doesn’t typically get evening texts unless it’s from them.
But the text message makes me freeze. Because the very first line says …
Hey, Daisy, it’s Justin.
A guy? A guy is texting her! My blood starts to boil and I push Daisy’s hand away more roughly than I intend to so that my eyes can scan the remainder of the text.
I just wanted to confirm our study date plans for Thursday. And check in to see if the rest of your day was good.
A date.
The beast I’ve been wrangling roars, grabbing the bars of his mental cage and wrenching them aside with a horrible screech as I stand up, causing Daisy to fall back to the floor with a distressed little cry. Rage overtakes me and I throw the phone straight into the the fireplace, where it smashes and falls with an unsatisfying crack.
The demon inside of me emerges, and this time, I don’t think there’s will be any holding him back.
Fuck this little boy.
Daisy is mine.
GUNNAR
With a growl that makes my little Daisy gasp, I reach down and grab her forearm, tugging her up from the rug until she’s standing.
I end up standing too, staring down at her, breathing hard and ragged as jealousy heats my veins. I struggle to get a hold of myself because the beast inside me wants to yell. To throw other things. But that would mean losing control … and control is like my religion. To be in control, to master something … there’s a sense of satisfaction and pleasure that comes with it that’s unlike anything else. I won’t let that go. I wrangle the beast inside me back into his cage, promising him I’ll deal with this. But not his way.
