Page 18 of Chaining Daisy
“It’s wrong. People will say things. Hate us!” Her voice comes out breathy inside my imagination, just like it did the first time we met.
“It’s not wrong. We need each other. We make each other feel good. Let me make you feel good.” Fuck. God. The depravity of that role-play heats my blood and makes it course like a river, straight to my fucking dick, which swells against my hand. “Don’t you love me, baby?”
“Yes.” Her voice is soft.
“Then let me in.”
I reach up with my left hand and lick a stripe up my palm as I drop the panties from my right, imagining I just shoved them aside. Then I fuck my wet left hand, squeezing tight, pretending it’s her pussy.
I stare at her figure as I do it, watching as she turns in her sleep, her tank top pulling tight so that the top of her left areola is exposed—so soft and rosy. Perfect for me to suck.
It doesn’t take me long to come—spurting all over my hand.
Then I tuck myself back into my pants and steal away, knowing I’ll be back another night … until one day fantasy can become reality.
“You stupid fuck,” I curse myself, breathing hard as I move from punching to kicking. I smash the side of my foot into the bag, watching it sway. “You should have just asked her out the day you met—”
She would have said no. She wasn’t in any mental space to date. Or she would have said yes and then pulled away when her mother took a turn for the worse. But also … the dark and depraved part of me wouldn’t have liked simple dating as much. The sicko inside of me wanted to be her daddy … actually live out that filthy scenario that started unfurling inside my head the moment I met her.
I couldn’t bring myself to do it while Darla was around. Not outright anyway.
But now, she’s saying yes to dates with other guys … and I wonder if, underneath it all, I’ve fucked things up.
I smash the bag until it feels like my limbs are on fire. I smash until my legs are quaking underneath me. Until my throat is parched and screaming for water. Until my rage has gone limp, and I’m less likely to commit a felony if I learn this Justin-fucker’s last name.
I drag my ass up to the kitchen. I fill a cup with water and drain it before moving to the front hall, wanting to glance at the key hooks on the wall by the front door. Did Daisy leave? Did she run?
Goddammit, maybe she did. Maybe I pushed too fast with the spanking? I should have stayed there and talked to her afterward. What the fuck kind of Dom am I? Apparently reading eighty fucking articles and watching endless porn on the subject does not translate into skills. I’m pissed at myself. I hate fucking mistakes and I think I made one just now by leaving to go expel all my anger without talking to her first.
But her Mustang keys are still on the hook. Her red leather purse is still sitting on the hall table.
I blink at the sight, trying to process what I’m seeing.
She must have locked herself in her room then.
I sigh. I need to apologize for leaving her, for not doing after care, for neglecting her, and not verifying she felt safe even during punishment.
I refill my water glass and trudge toward the stairs. But as I walk by the living room, I stop short. And it’s not at the sight of the scene of my crime, the couch cushions that are still indented from our combined weight. No. I’m shocked into stillness by the vision of Daisy, standing at the opposite end of the room by the bookshelf, her shorts still pulled down around her thighs, her ass exposed the way I left it, her face pressed against the corner.
Did I traumatize her that much when I left? Is she in shock?
Those thoughts drop onto me like an anvil, crushing me with the knowledge that I might have broken her. My sweet, lovely Daisy. The person I adore most in the world. I’m a fucking monster.
How can I fix this? What can I do? She looks fucking comatose right now, unmoving. Shit.
I take a cautious step into the room, not wanting her to think I’m threatening her in any way. I keep my distance, and also leave a path to the doorway clear in case she feels like she needs to run. Leaning sideways so that she can see my face if she turns hers, I call out, “Daisy?”
Her face turns slowly in my direction and that’s when I see the tear tracks that stain her cheeks. I did that. I made her cry. I watch as she blinks, and slowly opens her mouth.
I expect her to scream or cry or call me a bastard. I don’t expect what she actually says.
“Daddy, I’m sorry I made you mad. I put myself in timeout.”
DAISY
My hands are planted against the walls, nose inches from the corner, my body is quivering with excitement and trepidation. I don’t think I’ve ever done anything this forward in my life.
There’s a long moment where Gunnar just stares at me and I think during that short expanse of time that he feels about eighty thousand different things. I can’t identify all of the micro emotions but I’m certain I see shock and skepticism in there before he lands on pure unadulterated lust.
