Page 22 of Kneeling for Daddy
She bites her lip to stop it from trembling. “Fuck you… I don’t need saving.”
If that isn’t the truth.This woman I’ve found myself married to isn’t some meek little mouse, trained to obey. She doesn’t need saving. She needs someone who can keep up with her.
I let my hand drift higher, pressing her thigh just enough to make her squirm. Her mug clatters onto the table, nearly spilling as she grabs my wrist, trying to stop me. “Don’t.”
“You don’t mean that.” I hold her gaze, unblinking. “Not when your body is ready for me every time I get near. Not when you come harder for me than you ever have in your life.”
Her nails bite into my skin, but her thighs fall apart a fraction, betraying her.
I lean in, my lips dragging along the shell of her ear as my fingertips brush against her pussy over her shorts. “You want to come so badly it hurts, but you’re too fucking proud to beg. That’s fine, Ani. Be stubborn. Be a brat. But don’t expect me to let you give it to yourself either. Daddy decides when you get to come. And right now? Daddy says no.”
I slide my hand down her thigh, and a strangled sound escapes her throat. Anger, lust, desperation—I can’t tell. Maybe all three. She shoves me hard, forcing space between us. Her cheeks are flushed, and her chest is heaving. “You’re a sick, controlling bastard.”
“Maybe,” I agree easily, leaning back and stretching my arm across the back of the couch. “But at least I’m honest about what I want. Can you say the same?”
Her eyes blaze as her delicate hands curl into fists. “I don’t want you.”
“Liar.”
Her whole body jerks, the word affecting her like I’d struck her. She glares at me but doesn’t deny it this time. With a huff, she grabs the blanket from beside her, wraps it tightly around her body and storms off onto the terrace.
I watch her go, my cock hard and my jaw clenched. This ridiculous war between us is eating me alive. I should stop. I should keep my distance and give her the space she thinks she needs.
But the truth is, I can’t. I’ve never wanted a woman as badly as I want my want my fucking wife.
The pressure hasn’t let up since yesterday. One brush of his fingers against my pussy, the low rumble of his taunting voice in my ear, and I’ve been strung as tight as piano wire ever since. It’s pathetic, really. I hate him. I hate the smug way he looks at me, like he already owns me… like I actually want him, too.
I’ve spent the day pacing, reading, walking laps around the terrace, and even attempting yoga to distract myself from the gnawing ache sitting just below my stomach. It does nothing, because nothing works. Every time I close my eyes, my body betrays me, feeling his phantom breath against my ear as his filthy mouth whispers against it.
Little pet.
I should be repulsed. Instead, I’m restless, and my thighs are sore from clenching them for days on end. Maybe I need therapy, not sex.Yeah, that’s it.A good behavioral therapist and some antipsychotics. Because clearly, I’ve lost my fucking mind if Nikolai King is the only thing on my mind when I consider slipping my hand between my thighs in the middle of the night.
Twisted.
Totally fucking deranged.
That’s what I am for wanting my sham of a husband to fuck me.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of being the one to cave. He’s already so smug and sure of himself. If I ever admitted how badly I wanted him—needed him—he’d never let me live it down. So I do what any wife losing her mind and needing to come would do… I keep my chin up, my mouth sharp, and my pussy barricaded behind barbed wire.
Nik appears from the hallway. Walking toward me at the kitchen island, he does up his crisp button-down, each pulling the fabric more taut across his broad shoulders. He rolls each of the sleeves, accentuating his well-defined forearms.Jesus, Ani… stop drooling.He pulls his watch from his pocket and slips it around his wrist.
“Where are you going?” I ask, my tone a lot sharper than intended.
“Work.” He glances over his shoulder.
“You mean what? Breaking kneecaps? Selling contraband? Hosting a bake sale?” I cross my arms and struggle to keep my composure as I realize I’mfinallygoing to be alone.
His lips twitch at the corner, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he shares, “You’re coming with me.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“You think I’m leaving you here alone? To take care of that little situation you’re pretending doesn’t exist? Not a fucking chance.”
“What am I, your shadow?” I sputter. “Your little puppy, following you around?”
“You said it, not me.” He smirks. “I left a dress on the bed for you. You have five minutes, and then we’re leaving, whether you’re ready or not.”
