Kerry looks down at me, but only for a second before shifting her attention to Daddy again.
MyDaddy.
It doesn’t seem to matter to the anger churning in my stomach that I didn’t choose this. Hedidchoose me, and I’ll be damned if I let him flirt with another woman right in front of me after everything I’ve endured at his hands.
My mind races as Kerry shows us to our seats. There has to be something I can do to stake my claim, to remind both of them that he ismyDaddy and nobody else's.
As we settle in our seats, Daddy shifts, tugging at his dress slacks to make room for the giant bulge between his legs.
Bingo.
Sliding from my seat, I kneel in front of him, nerves and righteous anger waging such a war in my stomach I’m worried I might be sick. But I have a point to make, so I drag air in through my nose as I reach for the buckle of his thin dress belt.
“What do you think you’re doing, little girl?”
His words freeze me in place, but when I peek up at him through my lashes, there’s a smile curving his lips.
“Nothing.” I mean for the word to come out casually defiant, but it’s barely a squeak instead.
“Hmm. Well,nothingis going to have to wait. The plane is about to take off, so you need to be in your seat, little firecracker.”
Humiliation floods my cheeks. Is that the real reason? Or is it that he doesn’t want me to dothatin front of pretty, perky, perfect Kerry?
The thought of being denied because of another woman turns the heat of humiliation into an inferno of rage, scorching every inch of my body. Ignoring his instructions, I tug the tail of his belt through the silver buckle.
“Tabitha Grace. What did Daddy just say?”
Don’t care. I do at least have enough self-preservation left not to actually say that to his face, but apparently not enough to heed the warning in his tone.
I’m just about to pop open the button on his slacks when he grips my wrist. Fury boils in my veins, but when I jerk my head up to tell him off, the words die on my lips.
Not because he looks angry, which I fully expected. But because he looks downright… amused.
“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the inside of my wrist and sending a ripple of need straight to my clit. “If we weren’t on a schedule, I would give you exactly what you’re looking for right now. But unfortunately for me, we have a flight plan to follow, and there are other planes waiting on us to leave.”
My heart trips in my chest when he gives my arm a hard tug, pulling me forward between his knees. “Once I have you in the air, though, I will bethoroughlyaddressing your disobedience. So I suggest you do as you’re told before you make things any worse on yourself, little girl.”
He releases my wrist and I immediately yank my arm back, cradling it against my chest. It doesn’t hurt, but the skin burns as though he’s branded me, probably from that humiliation-slash-fury cocktail coursing through my veins.
Daddy frowns down at me. “Did I hurt your wrist, baby? Here, let me see.”
I shouldn’t lie. But the thought of him fussing over me is too much to resist and I nod slowly. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m sorry, little one.” Gently prying my arm free, he turns it over, checking one wrist and then the other. “It still doesn’t look swollen. But maybe I should take you to the doctor when we get back home. Uncle Ford has many talents but I don’t think he has an x-ray machine.”
Guilt stabs at my stomach as I try to tug my hand free. “It’s okay, Daddy. It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”
Eyes narrowing, Daddy searches my face, as if he can simply look at me and see if I’m lying. “Tabitha… are you being honest with Daddy?”
“Y-yes. It really doesn’t hurt. I, um, think you just startled me more than anything.”
He continues staring at me, for so long I have to fight the urge to squirm beneath his stern gaze. But then he nods, slowly, and releases my wrist. “All right. Back in your seat, then. And since you are apparently uninjured, we will be having that discussion about disobedience once we’re in the air.”
Blinking back tears, I climb back into my seat. Daddy buckles the belt for me as I stare out the window, trying desperately not to cry.
It’s notfair. He gets to boss me around and make me come against my will and parade me around in public as his Little girl. But the second I want to stake my claim on him, I’m suddenly a bad girl.
The injustice of it all settles heavy in my chest, making my throat ache with the desire to break down and sob. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’m aware of how ridiculous it is that this, of all things, is what threatens to break me.
