Page 41 of His Little Garnet

ChapterTwelve

Olivia

“Where are we going?” I ask Papi two days later when he opens my stroller next to the front door. Other than his house and the attached clinic, I haven’t been anywhere yet. “Don’t you have to work today?”

“Nope. It’s not a work day. We’re going to a friend’s house. His name is Ekert. His Little girl is Sophie. I told you about them. They’re the ones who arrived here from Earth two weeks before you and me.”

I’m lying on the floor on the soft padding where he always places me to encourage me to work on my strength. I’ve gotten better in the last few days. Not only can I pull myself up on all fours without a problem, but I can also crawl. It’s not pretty, but it’s getting better. I thought today I might try pulling up to standing. If I hold on to the side of the sofa, I bet I can do it.

The furniture in Papi’s house is built for him. It’s huge. Climbing up to sit down would be a challenge, but he’s warned me about ten times already that Little girls aren’t permitted to climb onto furniture. It’s not safe.

It dawns on me that Ekert is the jeweler, and I roll onto my front and scramble away from him. I’m not sure why I bother. It’s not as if I could possibly get away from him if he didn’t want me to. Not even after I regain all my muscle strength.

“Where are you going, naughty girl,” he teases.

I shake my head and keep going, aiming for the hallway. I’ve never wandered off like this. I prefer to stay on the padded area he created for me in the living room. It’s a comfort zone.

Large arms suddenly wrap around my waist and lift me off the floor.

I squirm and wiggle and go limp, trying to get him to put me back down. “No, Papi. I don’t want to go to Ekert’s.”

He doesn’t release me of course but pins my back to his chest with both arms, not even flinching at the fact that I keep kicking his knees.

“What’s gotten into you, Baby girl?” he asks as he carries me to the sofa and sits, still pinning me to his front. He spreads his legs so I’m dangling between them, not reaching the floor.

I push at his forearms with all my might. My mad that has eased over the past few days comes back in full force. “Let me go.”

“You’re going to wear yourself out, Little one. But I’ll wait.”

His calm demeanor makes me more mad. I hate how he can remain so impassive while I’m having a tantrum.

A tantrum? I’m having a tantrum. Like a baby. What’s wrong with me?

I know exactly what’s wrong. I don’t want to go to the jeweler’s house.

When I’m exhausted, I hang limply in his grip and start to cry. “You said you wouldn’t make me get the rings if I didn’t want to,” I wail.

Papi eases me up so I’m sitting on one of his thighs between his legs. He frowns at me, though it’s hard to see through my tears. “Baby girl, I meant what I said. I will not force you to get your titties pierced. That doesn’t mean we can’t visit my friend so you can meet his Little girl and make a new friend yourself.”

I humph, crossing my arms. “You just want to trick me into going there so you can pressure me to let someone stick a needle through my titties.” I flatten my palms over my breasts and squeeze them.

Papi narrows his gaze farther. “That’s not true, and I’m offended that you don’t trust me. Ekert is my friend. The only time I’ve seen his Little girl was through the monitors at Club Zoom the night he went down to claim her. I’d like to see my friend. It’s been six months. And I’d like to meet his Little girl too. If you want to be disagreeable, you can stay in your stroller and sulk, but you’ll be missing out on another opportunity to make friends.”

I’m breathing heavily as I stare at him. My bottom lip trembles. “You’re not fibbing me?”

He shakes his head. “Papi will never lie to you. Never. Have I yet?”

“No, Sir.”

“I know you’re struggling to accept your new life, Little one, but you need to have a bit more faith in me. Your behavior is unacceptable. You may not leave a room and wander off by yourself. You may not throw a tantrum. And…” He pulls my wrists away from my breasts. “You may not cover your titties.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to look at them all the time,” I counter, defiantly.

He lifts a brow. “Maybe I don’t want you to fondle them because I get to decide when you’re permitted pleasure. Not you,” he challenges.

I gasp. Every other Little girl I’ve met at the clinic has said their Papis don’t let them touch their nipples. This is the first time Chadka has made this a rule with me. “I wasn’t trying to fondle them,” I protest. “I was just covering them.”

He chuckles. “Since I have no way of knowing the difference, from now on, you may not cover them. You may not touch them at all. Understood?”

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