Page 23 of Chaining Daisy
I stare at the screen, where blurry figures move around—shouting and chasing each other in flashy cars no real person would ever own. Is this what being a submissive means? It’s more intense than I expected. In both good and bad ways. I want to yell at him. But I also am nearly delirious with desire right now. I swear the couch beneath me is going to be a ruined soggy mess.
I try to breathe evenly and keep calm, letting Gunnar take the lead. It’s hard though. Even though my eyes are locked on the TV, all of my awareness is focused on Gunnar’s right hand.
In my peripheral vision, I can see him reaching for something.
A throw blanket is tossed across our laps and he whispers, “Thought you might be cold.”
Cold? Are you kidding? I want to laugh at how ridiculous that statement is as he pinches hard and another trail of heat slides down my spine to pulse futilely in my core. But, with the throw blanket covering me, I can at least squeeze my thighs, try to subtly rub my legs together.
“Nuh-uh. Spread those legs, baby,” he whispers.
Dammit.
I open slightly, pouting, hoping his other hand will slide underneath the blanket and search out my clit, through my shorts, under my shorts—I don’t fucking care. I’m just desperate to be touched.
“Please,” I beg quietly.
“Please, what? Use your words.”
“Please touch me. I need your fingers.”
The fingers from his free hand come to my knee, circling there. “Better?” he asks in a low murmur.
That fucking smartass. Oh, I want to smack him. But then I won’t get what I want. I lick my lips and pant as he tugs a little quicker at my nipple, pulling my breast up and letting it fall with each tiny tug—more intense than before. More evil.
“God, please touch my pussy.” I can’t help how my voice gets a little shrill. I’m desperate.
“Shhh.” He shushes me and glances toward the door.
I knew we were sneaking. Fuck. Fuck. How am I supposed to keep quiet?
After a minute, he turns from the movie and stares down at me. “Who do you want to touch your pussy?” he coaches. His brown eyes are a deep melted chocolate that ensnares me.
“Daddy, will you please touch my pussy?”
He gives a soft hum of approval, and his hand slides up from my knee dragging over the skin of my inner thigh. I suck in a breath when his fingers dive beneath the opening in the leg of my shorts. I whimper when he pulls aside the soaked panties that are clinging to me.
“So wet.” He whispers as his finger glides over my folds.
My back arches a tiny bit at his touch—I’ve been waiting so damn long for it that it nearly undoes me. He slides up and down, up and down, mapping the curves, spreading my lips, tracing the soft insides before moving his slickened fingers up to gently circle my clit.
I’m going to explode. My thoughts are tumbling like rocks down a mountain cliff and shattering into little pebbles. Nothing exists but this feeling of falling—my hips start to buck.
“No, princess. Someone might see. Stay still, or I won’t get to finish.”
Goddamn it…I think this might be harder than submission. Shit.
I pant, stilling my hips, fingers digging into the cushion to the point of pain. Oh, I might fucking smack him if he makes me wait much—
He pinches my clit, tugging.
I combust. I explode into a million tiny little pieces. Oh. My. God. I fight not to move my hips but my feet end up kicking at the couch—I can’t control my bucking, though I do bite on my lip to stop the sounds that want to erupt. I become a silent, writhing mess. Gunnar doesn’t let go like he threatened; he keeps tugging, pinching my nipple harder, drawing out the pleasure that has my head turning side to side.
Oh, God.
Oh my God.
I flop backward, boneless, when the quivers stop crackling through my nerve-endings. I’m panting. I’m glowing. A gentle smile graces my face.
