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Chapter 13
Shelby
I tossed my game controller on the floor and dropped into the plushness of the overpriced gaming chair.
I’m so bored! Not only had we not left the house since our shopping spree a week ago, but Noah had not Daddied me once. I wanted to go out for drinks with Dahlia, who would no doubt tell me what I already knew, that I sounded like a brat. I knew I could ask why he was taking it easy on me but that somehow defeated the purpose. I tossed my water bottle across the room in frustration.
To be fair to him, he’d watched me like a hawk, heaping rewards on me for my good behavior. The week had been really positive, and I knew I was growing as a person, learning to recognize my needs and adjusting to healthy eating habits.
Stop whining already!
But something was off. I couldn’t pinpoint it, and I felt pissy.
Didn’t your Daddy say when you felt that way to come and tell him?
But I don’t want to, I railed back, the argument in my head getting me nowhere. I stood and stomped my feet. “I don’t want to adult anymore,” I shouted in the empty space.
Then don’t.
Now that was some sound advice. I’d been good, too good, and I needed to channel my defiance in a way that made me happy. Looking around like a thief, ensuring Daddy wasn’t around secretly watching me, I nearly tiptoed to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I got a nasty idea. I pulled everything out of the fridge and removed all the items from their organizers, then placed everything back so it looked like a normal fridge, messy and unorganized. I smiled gleefully, imagining his face the next time he opened the door. I quickly hid the organizers in the pantry and sat down, laughing. I almost couldn’t wait to get in trouble just to watch the scene unfold and Daddy try to keep his cool.
I found my favorite chips on the top shelf and stood on the bottom shelf to reach them. Grabbing two beers from the fridge, I escaped the kitchen with my contraband. I played the Mission Impossible song while I stalked the hallways, sneaking down to my room, where I promptly shut my door and crowed with glee.
I was a bad, bad girl. I needed to hear some Donna Summer and threw her classic “Bad Girls” album on my new record player that Daddy bought for me. I wiggled and shook my ass while I shoved chips in my mouth.
When “Bad Girls” ended, I knew I needed to step it up and get a little more hardcore, and changed out Donna for Joan Jett, cause I love rock n’ roll! This was my first time playing records and enjoying the room, having been busy painting and assembling furniture and shelves.
Although I’d been cool with the pink bubblegum color on the walls, my teen was a little emo and wanted black with star lights and a disco ball.
I put on Joan and her version of Shout. Her smoky voice pumped out of my surround sound. I grabbed my Jem rockstar microphone and a beer and did my best impersonation of Joan while I bumped and ground. When Bad Reputation played next, I was vibrating and chugged my entire beer down before screaming out the lyrics—“I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation.”
When the song ended, I put my beer bottle down and rummaged through my closet for some items I wanted. Leather pants and bra. I’d talked Daddy into buying them saying they would be perfect for Midgard, and he’d finally agreed. I kept them in my room because I loved wearing the supple leather on my skin.
You Don’t Own Mecame on and I sashayed in front of the wall of mirrors enjoying the patterns of light from the disco ball.
“Don’t tie me down because I’ll never stay,” I yelled a line of the song at my reflection.
“I’m young and I love to be young. I’m free and I love to be free to live my life the way I want”—I ground my hips and tossed my microphone, pressing against the mirror like a lover—“Just let me be myself, that’s all I ask of you.”
As the song faded, my eyes traveled from my reflection to the door to find Noah standing there, observing me. I froze.
“Please, don’t let me stop you.”
“Yeah, I don’t hardly know her, but I think I could love her,” pierced the room. Crimson and Clover, my favorite Joan song.
Holding his gaze in the mirror, I gyrated my hips. Pressing away from the mirror, I ran my hands over my breasts, loving the feel of the leather. I spun around and stalked to him, stopping short. I spun around and bent over right when Joan sang, “I wanna do every weird thing.” I swooped up and wove my body making it look like I was having air sex.
I reached back and undid the leather bra and flung it at him. I gripped my breasts and thrummed my nipples with my thumbs. Even in the dim lighting of the room, I saw Noah’s eyes darken with desire. He stepped into the room, his golden features, the lighter side of his Greek ancestry shone brightly in the room like the sun to my pale moon.
I swirled around him, moving him toward my beanbag chair. He dropped, and I remained just out of reach. Unzipping my leather pants, I slid them, and my G-string, past my hips, until half my ass was exposed. What the hell was I doing? The seductress act was new for me, but if Noah’s expression was any sign of liking my performance, then I’d say I was killing it!
“When she comes walking over.” At that line, I slid my pants all the way down and wiggled my naked ass. I was about to step away when Noah yanked me and my ass landed onto a set of muscular thighs.
Noah’s hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs taking over playing with my nipples better than Joan Jett strumming the strings of her guitar.
“I see my little 80s rocker is feeling horny.”
Oh, boy was I. That little routine made me so wet, and with him watching me, even wetter.
