Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
I snort as I inspect the lines on his face, letting myself really look at him. Older, yes. But I don’t register the age. I see the man in the blue of his eyes. In the way his forehead comes together when he’s waiting for me to speak.
“Nerd kink.” I finally say, “It’s a thing, I read about—”
He flattens my hand over my mouth, his fingers tight around my wrist. “I’m all for reading. You might not guess it, but I’m on book 88 of the hundred books to read in your lifetime. But it’s a balance, baby. Reading and living. Right now, it’s about living. Feeling. Experiencing.”
I nod, and he releases my hands, the blood warming to my fingertips.
"I want to see," I say, surprising myself with my boldness.
"You want to see my cock?"
The crude word should shock me. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through my body. "Yes, Daddy, I want to see your cock."
He unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down just enough to free himself, and I have to fight the urge to pull my hand away. He's big and hard and completely foreign to anything in my limited experience.
"Touch me," he says.
I wrap my fingers around him tentatively, amazed by the contrast of soft skin over steel-hard muscle. He groans when I touch him, and the sound makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced before.
"Like this?" I ask, moving my hand the way I think he might like.
"Jesus, yes." His head falls back, and I watch his face as I learn what makes him react, what makes his breathing hitch, what makes his hips thrust into my touch.
"You're so responsive," I say with a smirk.
"Smart ass. Only with you." He looks down at me, his eyes dark with want. "Only for you, little girl."
I continue touching, exploring, learning, until his hand covers mine and stills my movements.
"Stop," he says, his voice strained.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"No, you did everything right. Too right." He tucks himself back into his jeans and pulls me into his lap. "But I think it's time to collect my second payment."
"Second payment?"
"You paid your deposit this morning. But you still owe me for services rendered today." His hands are already working at the button of my pants. "And I think I'll take this one between your legs too."
Before I can respond, he has me on my back on the narrow bed, my pants and underwear gone, his mouth on me with the same focused intensity he brings to everything else.
This time is different from the hurried encounter in his shop. This time he takes his time, mapping every sensitive spot, learning exactly what makes me gasp and arch and forget my own name. He uses his tongue and his fingers and his teeth, building me up until I'm shaking with need, then backing off until I whimper with frustration.
"Please," I finally gasp. "Please, I need..."
"What do you need, little girl?"
"I need you. I need you inside me. Please."
But instead of giving me what I'm begging for, he sits back and looks down at me with satisfaction and something that might be tenderness.
"Not today."
"What?" I struggle to sit up, confused and frustrated and aching with unfulfilled need. "But I thought...I want you to..."
"I know what you want." He helps me get my clothes back on with gentle efficiency. "But you're not ready."
"I am ready. I want this. I want you."
"Wanting isn't the same as being ready." He pulls me against his chest, and despite my frustration, I find myself melting into his warmth. "You've been good tonight. You've learned. And I like you needy."
"That's not fair."
"Fair's got nothing to do with it." His hand strokes through my hair. "Daddy decides when you're ready, little girl. And you're not ready yet."
The certainty in his voice is both maddening and oddly comforting. Part of me wants to argue, to insist that I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions about my body and my readiness. But a larger part—the part that felt so peaceful when he fed me, the part that melted under his authority—trusts that he knows something I don't.
"When will I be ready?" I ask quietly.
"When you stop asking when you'll be ready." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "When you trust me completely instead of just trusting me with parts of yourself."
The rest of the day is my first introduction to some sort of wilderness survival. Cade shows me how to build up the fire, how to recognize the tracks of game animals and get my bearings from the way moss grows on the trees. It’s all too much of a blur for me to remember any of it, but he says it’s about experience, and repetition, and trusting him to keep me safe.