Page 38 of Daddy’s Protecting

Dirk shifted her slightly as he moved to support her weight with only one hand. He caressed the length of her ribcage, brushing the sensitive swell of her breast before inserting his hand between them. Gliding his fingers over her sensitive mound, he inched lower to where their bodies joined. Skillfully, he stroked her, targeting the places that brought her the most pleasure.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back as the sensations buffeted her. Cynthia focused on the passion building inside her as she reached for her climax.

“Eyes on mine, Little girl,” he ordered. “I want to see you come.”

She immediately blinked her eyes open and met his gaze. The intimacy of staring into his eyes pushed her over the brink. Cynthia felt her body clench around him as pleasure crashed over her. Struggling to maintain eye contact, she clung to him ashis thrusts inside her built. She knew instantly when he joined her. His eyes revealed the jolt of overwhelming passion that racked his body. The intimacy of their shared bliss carved itself into her heart. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Rocked to the core, Cynthia sagged against his strength. Closing her eyes, she clung to him, letting his strength support her.

“Oh, Little girl. You please me,” he growled softly against her ear as he held her close.

When their bodies calmed, he set her feet down on the tiled shower floor. Dirk dealt with the condom before dispensing liquid soap into his hand. Carefully, he washed them both. Turning her gently under the spray of the cooling water, Dirk rinsed away the lather and the remains of their lovemaking. He toweled her dry and carried Cynthia to the large bed, settling her on the crisp sheets before curling himself around her.

“Sleep, Cindy girl. Daddy’s here to protect you.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and with a small sigh, she nestled close.

CHAPTER 13

The next few days seemed to fly past. Cynthia tried to keep herself busy while her Daddy was at work. Their time together seemed idealistic. She tried to treasure each moment.

On Friday, a text appeared on her phone from James Flanigan, her release officer.I am outside for my first home visit. Please come open the door.

Instantly nervous, Cynthia flew toward the door and peeked out. A tall, thick man stood on the porch. He looked at the peephole as if he knew she was assessing him. Cynthia thought about asking to see his ID but realized she already had confirmed his identity through their previous communication on the phone.

Slowly, she opened the door and peeked through the scant opening. “Mr. Flanigan?” she questioned, needing to double-check his identity.

“Yes. I hope this is a good time for us to talk.” His expression and the messenger bag over his shoulder gave her the impression it didn’t matter whether or not she was prepared to talk to him.

“Of course. Please, come in.” Cynthia opened the door and stepped back to allow him to walk inside. “Where would work best to talk?”

“Let’s sit at the kitchen table,” Mr. Flanigan suggested.

Leading him through the open area, Cynthia gestured to the large oak table. She was pleased to see him sit in a chair that neither Dirk nor she preferred. Sitting across from him in her Daddy’s chair, she tried to control her apprehension as he shrugged off his bag and set it in his lap.

“I will see you for sporadic visits to ensure you are conforming to the conditions of your release while you await a trial date. Each time, I will ask a series of questions. Lying will have disastrous consequences,” he warned.

“I’ll tell the truth,” she promised.

“What is your name and age?”

“Cynthia Grant. I’m twenty-seven.”

“May I see your ID?”

“Let me get it.” Cynthia stood and ran to snag her phone from the couch. As she returned, she pulled her driver’s license out of the pocket attached to the back.

James Flanigan took it from her when she extended the ID. Reading it carefully, he held it up in the air to compare her picture to her real-life image before opening a folder and comparing it to her awful mug shot. Obviously satisfied, he pulled out a sheet and carefully copied her name and age to the form with the date noted.

“Have you interacted online since your release?” he asked. His pen was poised at the first question.

“Only text messages between you and me and myself and the owner of this house.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, sir. I don’t want to jeopardize my release.”

“Have you remained at this address since your release?”

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