Page 71 of Tamed

I blushed like an idiot. “Yes, Daddy.”

His eyes glinted and he gestured to me to carry on. Then he folded his arms and watched me as I reached for the hem of my sweatshirt once more and pulled it up and over my head. Cool air whispered over my hot skin as I dropped the fabric on the floor, shivering a little.

He said nothing, but he hadn’t said stop, so I didn’t stop.

I reached around and unclipped my bra, slowly easing the bra straps down my arms and holding the cups against my breasts until the last minute.

“If I’d wanted a strip tease I would have said,” he said. “I don’t need embellishments. I just need you naked. Now, please.”

I flushed, fighting the instinctive need to give him a snarky comeback, because now I felt as if I’d done something wrong. But no, he was tired of me fighting and quite frankly, I was tired of it too, so all I said was, “Sorry.”

“Isabel.” His voice held an edge to it. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I was just trying to—”

“What did I say?” His black eyes were very direct. “I said you were enough for me, didn’t I?”

I swallowed, shifting on my feet. “Yes, you did.”

“So. You don’t have to do anything else except take off your clothes. That’s all.”

It was hard to quiet that part of myself. The part that wanted to prove myself to him, but it was clear he wasn’t going to let me get away with anything, so I nodded. “Okay,” I said and then, remembering, added, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.” He made another ‘carry on’ gesture.

So, I let out a slow breath and dropped my bra on the floor, then I pushed down my yoga pants, taking my panties with them, and stepped out of the fabric. Finally naked.

Caleb’s gaze swept over me, making goosebumps rise on my skin. Then he took a step, closing the distance so that the tips of my breasts were almost brushing the damp fabric of his hoodie.

I shivered at his nearness, at his scent and the warmth of his body. I wanted him to come even closer so I could touch him, but that was something he’d forbidden and since I was trying to be good, I kept my hands to myself.

He stared down at me, intent and hungry. “Pretty. You’re very, very pretty.” He reached out, his fingers brushing down over my stomach and before I could catch my breath, he slid his hand between my thighs. I gasped aloud as he touched me, his fingertips pressing lightly, exploring my sensitive flesh. “You’re also very, very wet.” One finger pressed lightly on my clit. “You like following my orders, don’t you, Isabel? You like it very much.”

I trembled as his fingertip circled my clit for a moment and then slid over the slick folds of my sex, finding the entrance to my body, testing me, making me gasp yet again. Then just as I was getting into it, he pulled his hand away, and as I was trying to catch my breath, he laid his fingers over my mouth. “Open,” he ordered.

Automatically I obeyed and he slid his fingers inside, making me taste the salt and musk of my own arousal.

“Suck,” he said. “I want you to taste just how much you want what’s happening between us right now. And how much you love it.”

I didn’t protest. I sucked on his fingers like the good girl I was, the flavor his skin and my own desire making me desperate and needy. Then he took his fingers away and put one hand on my hip, drawing me slowly up against him.

I blinked, trying to get myself together, but it was difficult when the taste of my own arousal was in my mouth and the rough denim of his jeans pressing was against my bare sex. And, God, he was hard. I could feel that too.

“See how much your obedience pleases me, Isabel?” he murmured. “And all you did was take your clothes. So, stop trying so hard. You don’t need to.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I just want… I want this to be good for you too.”

Something flickered over his face, but I couldn’t tell what it was. “It’s already good. Why do you think I’m still here?”

I’d barely had a chance to process that before he let me go and stepped back, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to stop him. “Now, go and get me a drink,” he ordered. “I’d like a scotch. No ice.”

I could do this. I could do what he said without protest. He wanted me, he did, and I had nothing to prove to him. I was enough.

I went over to the cabinet where he kept his alcohol, pulling it open and staring at the array of glasses. Then I glanced over my shoulder to check on what he was doing. He’d sat down on the couch and was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching me watch him. His gaze was so dark, his face set in hard lines, impossible to read. Giving me back nothing, the asshole.

Okay, so I was just going to have to trust that this was what he wanted, me just getting him a drink, so I turned back to the cabinet and bent over slightly, giving him a nice view of my butt, because why not. And I took my time choosing a glass. He liked a heavy tumbler for his scotch, so I chose a plain one in cut crystal, with a pleasing weight to it. Then I chose his scotch. Not the most expensive kind, but his favorite. An Islay single malt, all smokey and peaty.

I poured it carefully, shifting a little on my feet, the movement hopefully distracting and enticing for him. He liked it with a touch of water to release the flavors, so I added the exact amount he preferred from the water jug. Then I picked up the tumbler and carried it over to him.

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