Page 51 of Daddies Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies)
“Or what? You’ll spank me again?”
He smirks at the hopeful tone of my voice. His authority presses over me as he uses his size and proximity and that damn confident silence.
Grant gives me one solid swat on my already aching ass, and my yelp has us both breathing heavily.
“Get changed and get in bed.”
“It’s still early.”
“Do as you’re told, Harper.”
I pout at him, then get bold, pulling down my underwear under my oversized shirt. His eyes sparkle with leashed energy and hands clenched into white knuckles.
Then, I strip Trent’s shirt over my head, showing off my bare breasts as he watches. I push them together with my elbows, wiggling and exaggerating my movements so that they jiggle and sway as I finish pulling the shirt down my arms.
My nipples are so hard and aching for his touch.
He doesn’t move to touch me though, but his gaze does rove over every inch of my exposed flesh.
I swear he has murder in his eyes as I finally cover myself back up.
Grant leans in as I blink innocently up at him. “Bed.”
“Yes, Daddy.” I slip into it, watching the darkness fill his features before he retreats.
He shuts off my light, but the day is still streaming into my room. Bed without dinner. Another punishment, but it’s not like I didn’t snack pretty much the entire time I’ve been home. Anxiety manifests that way for me most times.
As the light wanes, I catch the reflection of a lens in one of the abstract decor items across the room. I crawl out of bed to examine it.
Definitely a camera. And for some reason, I’m sure Oliver is watching me through it.
Riled up from the day, I pull it free and settle it on the desk across from the bed. It’s the perfect view for him to watch the show I’ve got in mind for him.
I prop myself on the corner of the desk, pressing the rounded edge against my silky-covered mound. It hits my clit, and I let out the whisper of a moan. I haven’t been comfortable enough to take the toys out of the spot I hid them day one.
And I’ve always had a high libido.
My hips gyrate, teasing myself with small touches until the pleasure grows into something with a little weight. Teeth pinching my bottom lip, I let out another soft moan.
Can Oliver hear me, too?
God, that thought makes me even more aroused. I groan this time, sinking harder into the wood to get a spike of pain that burns me a little brighter.
I retreat to slip off my shorts, and I press myself bare over that beveled edge.
My bruised ass sends a renewed pang of soreness through my muscles. It amps up the pleasure, and my breath comes a little harder.
I picture Oliver in his room, that computer chair propped in front of four monitors. Yes, he has four. Front and center shows the upshot of me grinding from the camera I found, but the other three are other shots from the room.
Because I’m not an idiot. I know this place is bugged to the nines.
He’s probably sprawled out in that chair, legs wide like he can’t muster the energy to sit up straight. Hands on his thighs as he watches me, seeing everything. Oliver always sees everything.
I keep things slow to give him a better show. And honestly, I just give into the burn of pleasure.
What would it take to get him hard? To have him take himself in his hand for me? To have him search for the pleasure of denying us both touch? To prolong the build up until one of us breaks?
Fuck, I want him to be turned on by watching me.
