Page 43 of Tamed

It was a problem. It was just a fucking problem. Because instead of recognizing I’d made a mistake in pushing her, I’d leaned into it. I’d spanked her, let her suck my dick, and then I’d had her touch herself and watched as the orgasm rippled over her pretty face. I’d even called myself ‘daddy’.

And I’d liked it. I’d fuckinglikedit.

But that was the darkness talking. That was the devil on my shoulder, whispering that Isabel Fox was gorgeous, and didn’t I want a gorgeous twenty-three-year-old on her knees, ready to do anything I wanted? Didn’t I want my best friend’s daughter sucking my dick and touching her pussy on my command? All with a side order of daddy kink?

Perhaps it was the wrongness of it that had gotten to me, the lure of the forbidden that I’d always been attracted to. That seam of darkness running straight through the center of my soul. The same darkness Old Nick had seen in me and nurtured for years. The same darkness my father had.

Or maybe doing all of this had been purposeful, and I’d been lying to myself from the moment I’d walked back into the room and seen her standing there in that golden dress, all fire and fury and smelling of fucking summer.

Telling myself that I didn't want her. That I wasn't attracted to her. That she was too young, and Ten’s daughter, and she wasn’t actually a beautiful young woman and I wasn’t the cliched older man wanting to relive my youth.

Whatever it had been that had led me here, with her leaning against my leg, her cheek resting against my thigh, her red hair spread over the dark wool of my pants, I couldn't allow it to continue.

I’d crossed a line. A line that was supposed to have remained sacred.

She was that line, because she was the one who’d provided a glimmer of light in the power struggle with Old Nick, when I’d slipped the knife meant for me in between his ribs instead. I’d been waiting for the moment I could take my revenge on him for what he’d made my father do, and I didn’t regret for a second that I’d taken his life.

Back then I’d relished the power I’d had, and I’d enjoyed doing the bad things, the violent things I’d had to do in order to stay on top. But she was the one, even as a child, who’d kept me from heading down the same path as Old Nick, the path of bloodshed and death. She’d shown me that there were still good things in this world, still innocence. Still joy. And she was the one who’d made me realize that I had to have some point of true north in my moral compass, otherwise what the fuck was the point of life?

She’d been that true north. The reason I’d given up my empire and gone legit, was her and without her presence in my life I might as well have stayed on Old Nick’s throne until some other motherfucker decided to take me down.

I couldn’t cross that line. I had to keep that compass point.

But you didn’t did you?

I’d let it go further than it should have, sure, and nothing was going to change what I’d done in the last half hour — the past was always set in stone. Yet the future was still mutable and what happened in Arcadia stayed in Arcadia, and that was the only way forward. What had happened between us could not and would not happen again.

No matter how much you want it to, right?

I stared down at her kneeling on the carpet, slumped against my leg, her flushed cheek pressed against my thigh. The strap of her dress had come off her shoulder and the fabric had half fallen down, revealing the curve of one full breast.

She’d been nineteen when I’d first noticed how she’d blossomed. It had been a gala for Fox Tech, some new product launch that Ten had insisted on me attending, and I’d seen Isabel standing alone and awkward in the ballroom. She’d looked like she’d needed rescuing, so I hadn’t thought twice. I’d headed over there and pulled her onto the dance floor.

She’d worn a strapless gown of green taffeta, with voluminous skirts and her hair had been piled on top of her head in a glorious confection of red curls. Her eyes had been green as grass, and her shoulders white as cream and dotted with little freckles. Some part of me had recognized even then what a beautiful woman she’d grown into.

I’d forced that part of me, the dark part, aside, and I’d refused to see it since. But now there were other images in my head, of her over my knees, squirming as I’d spanked her and watched her pale skin flush red. Of that lush mouth wrapping itself around my cock. Of that pretty thatch of fiery curls between her thighs as she’d yanked her dress up and run a shaking finger over her slick pussy.

I couldn’t unsee that and I couldn’t unsee what was staring me in the face now. Long hair to tangle my fingers into and grip. Curves for days, enough to fill my hands and hold onto. A biteable mouth made for kissing and sucking cock. The most perfect, heart-shaped ass.

My dick hardened despite the frankly magnificent blow job she’d only just given me, but I ignored it. Because while my body might think Isabel Fox was sexy as fuck, nothing would be happening between us, not again, and for too many reasons to count.

I’d done what I’d set out to do and given her a taste of what she wanted, and if she’d handled that far better than I’d thought, it didn’t mean anything else was going to happen.

You want it to though.

My brain was still lazy with scotch and post blow job satisfaction and that thought slid through it far too easily. And before I knew what I was doing, I’d tangled my fingers in the red hair spread out on my thigh, relishing the soft, silky feel of it.

Isabel sighed but didn’t move. As if she was content to keep leaning against my leg, her cheek pressed to the wool of my pants, for once staying quiet instead of giving me snarky comments and bullshit and fighting me all the way.

It was peaceful like this, with her at my feet and a comfortable silence settling over the room. Her warmth was sweet, the feel of her hair between my fingers soothing.

Things between us had been difficult for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like when we weren’t fighting. To have her presence without all the other crap getting in the way. It had been like this years ago, when I’d used to look after her in my tiny, shitty little apartment while Ten was off doing something for Sir George. Old Nick had taught me how to play chess and I’d loved the strategy of it, so I’d taught Isabel as a way to pass the time.

She’d gotten into it in a big way, always pestering me for a game. So, we’d sit in my dark kitchen, at my rickety old wooden dining table, silently staring at the board and trying to outwit each other. I’d have a beer and she’d have a soda, and mostly it was me outwitting her, since she was only six. She didn’t start being a serious threat until she’d turned fourteen, and by then, I didn’t have much time for chess.

But in those early days, those hours I’d spent with her had been the few genuinely happy moments in my life and I’d never forgotten them.

Maybe that was why I didn’t want to move. Why I wanted to sit like this with her, a quiet peace settling over us. But peace didn’t solve the problem of the Hamiltons and it certainly wasn’t something a man like me could allow himself, so after a moment, I forced my fingers from her hair then reached to gather her up in my arms. I stood then turned, putting her down in the chair I’d just vacated, before moving over to the drinks cabinet and getting out another tumbler. I poured her two nips of scotch to take the edge off any shit she was planning on giving me, then I went back over to the chair and held the glass out.

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