Page 45 of Watch Me, Daddy

“You’re pouty, sweet girl, because I presented it like mafia business, like a simple transaction, so you didn’t get to pout, throw a fit and tell me I have no right to just take you,” he continued.

He had seen through the raging storm in my mind, cutting through the layers of my conflicted heart. It frustrated me, how he seemed to understand me better than I understood myself, and the fervent desire I felt for him only added to my vexation.

The heat rushing to my face grew hotter. I wrung my hands in front of me and refused to meet his gaze. I chose to stare into the lake instead.

“Since you didn’t get to do that, I didn’t get to show you that I can and will take what I want, whenever I want,” he mused, his voice growing hoarse with his own arousal.

“I…” I began, but he cut me off. I pressed my lips firmly together, a flash of anger billowing through me.

“…and you’ve been fantasizing about that since I first put you over my shoulder, haven’t you little bride?”

How dare he? I leveled him with a furious look, my eyes ablaze with a mixture of indignation, but that wasn’t all. Even now, a deep, gnawing need was brewing in the pit of my belly, a swirling heat that liked the words that were coming out of his mouth. I shouldn’t be aroused by the idea of him just taking me because he wanted to take me, of him forcing me into marriage with him without even asking me.

It reallyshouldn’tbe making my pussy wet.

Or my nipples throb.

Or my needy little clit pulse with desire.

“Fuck you…” I breathed.

I used my anger as a defensive wall, trying to shield myself from the desire brewing inside me and his all-knowing gaze that kept boring into me. His eyes sparkled with tender warmth and a dark possessiveness.

I hated that I’d been so transparent, that he could see right through me, and that I hadn’t done a better job of keeping my feelings to myself.

I didn’t want him to know how much knowing he’d just decided we were going to marry was turning me on. Lifting my chin, I turned my gaze back to the lake, refusing to meet his eyes. It was as if the water held the answers to the tumultuous emotions swirling within me, a secret sanctuary where I could momentarily hide my inner turmoil beneath the gentle ripples and the whispering waves, at least for a little while.

“So, we’re going to start this conversation over, sweet girl.”

I started, unsure of what he was getting at. Why would we start this conversation over? What purpose could that possibly have? I already knew that we were to be married. He and my father had come to an agreement without me. That much was clear.

With absolutely no say in the matter, I was simply to walk down the aisle whether I wanted to or not. That was the way our world was. I knew that better than anyone.

“What are you talking about? What’s the point? I’m to marry you, and that’s that!” I exclaimed, finally turning my head and meeting his gaze. I expected his anger to match mine, but his eyes were more playful now, and I didn’t understand why.

He lifted me gently from his lap, his touch igniting a trail of electric sensations across my skin. Without a word, he began to walk, leading me with a firm yet tender grip on my hand. The rhythmic sound of our footsteps echoed in the stillness, the path ahead shrouded in the golden hues of the sun’s embrace.

“I’ve decided, Irina, that you will be my bride.”

There was something different about his voice, like he was trying to be intentionally pompous and over the top. I stared at the back of his head, feeling more confused than ever. What was he doing?

“Do you hear me, Irina? You’ll be mine, my bride, my woman. You’ll have no say in the matter, of course… I don’t know why you expected you would…”

It was as if he were playing a character in an elaborate performance. Each word was delivered with a flourish, his speech laced with a hint of playful arrogance. As he spoke, his body language mirrored his theatrical cadence—he gestured with grandiose sweeps of his arm, his fingers gracefully punctuating the air, and his stance exuding a confident swagger. His chest puffed out slightly, and his head tilted back just enough to give off an air of superiority, all while a glimmer of mischief danced in his eyes, daring me to challenge him.

He was playing with me.

I’d play right back.

A grin tugged at the corners of my lips. With a mockingly exasperated sigh, I strode towards him and lifted my hand, playfully slapping him across the face. The noise it made was extremely satisfying, but I hadn’t really hit him that hard at all.

“How dare you! I am not a plaything to be traded like cattle. My name is Irina Morozov, and that means something,” I scoffed, my mood lightening by the second.

Whatever this was, I was curious enough to see it through.

“I would have done you the honor of waiting for our wedding night to strip you bare for the first time…” he said with a mischievously over the top wink, “but since you seem to need an urgent lesson in your place as my future bride, I’ll have to take you in hand right here and now.”

I giggled at his pronouncement, knowing full well he’d seen me stark naked just last night, but that we were pretending he hadn’t.

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