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He took my hand within his, his massive one dwarfing my much smaller one. He led me forward and I took a step.
Fuck. My bottom was sore. The fabric of my jeans was so damn unforgiving, stretching tight and putting far too much pressure on my punished flesh. I had the distinct feeling that if I complained I wouldn’t find any sympathy. If anything, he’d probably put me over his knee to remind me that I’d earned every bit of that sore bottom as he made it even sorer.
He led me up a set of stairs to the ground level and I could see that it was sometime in the evening because the fiery tendrils of sunset were still apparent on the horizon. His windows were tall and clear, showcasing mouthwatering views of the mountains that were far more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
I followed him through a sitting room. It was so incredibly well-styled and luxurious that I was almost afraid to touch anything along the way. I wasn’t typically intimidated by money. I’d been around the rich for a long time. I was used to elegant touches and expensive things, but this felt almost like it should be a museum.
There were life-sized bronze statues that appeared to be priceless ancient relics, tapest
ries that spoke to old vestiges of civilizations long gone, and more modern touches in the paintings hung along the walls. It was all so incredibly beautiful that I just admired it for what it was.
Dean led me up another flight of stairs and then down an oversized hallway to what appeared to be the master bedroom. It was like we had entered a hotel suite. He didn’t pause and allow me to admire the massive king bed or the soft leather couches next to the large windows or the door that was slightly ajar that appeared to lead to the largest closet I’d ever seen.
Instead, the two of us entered the bathroom and that took my breath away. I had to blink several times and even considered pinching myself because I almost thought we’d left his house and walked straight into a spa. The floor was the most decadent marble tile I’d ever seen, and the shower looked like a massive grotto of gray rock. Everything was intricately designed and built in a way to mimic the outdoors, down to the waterfall splashing in the corner. There was even a wet, tropical scent that permeated around us that reminded me of coconut and pineapples.
He turned back toward me with a hungry look in his eyes. He’d never let go of my hand and for some reason that felt special. Kneeling down, he finally released my fingers and traced them down my legs. He took a hold of my ankle and carefully removed my left shoe and then the right. I fidgeted nervously as he proceeded to take off my socks too, leaving my feet bare.
At least my toes were still painted. I chewed my lip, remembering how I’d thought that the strawberry margarita pink color had been pretty back then while now I just felt silly standing here in front of him.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He chuckled softly and didn’t really answer. Instead, he stood up and grasped the button of my jeans. Deftly, he undid them and slid the zipper down slowly. This time, he was gentler as he pushed my jeans back down, making me feel small and vulnerable as he removed them.
“Step out of your jeans,” he instructed.
I obeyed and I didn’t know why.
My movements became hesitantly automatic and as he pulled my pants from my ankles, I was exceedingly aware of my nakedness from the waist down once again.
He reached for the hem of my shirt. I was wearing only a tank top.
“Dean,” I whispered.
“Arms over your head, little girl,” he commanded, and I hesitantly did as he asked. He lifted my tank top, baring the lacy pink bra I had underneath.
He made me feel so shy. I covered myself in an attempt to maintain some semblance of modesty, but he calmly brushed my hands away.
“This color is very becoming on you. I’ll have to remember that when I spoil my little girl with fancy gifts sometime soon,” he murmured.
I blushed. I hadn’t expected any sort of praise from the likes of him and I wasn’t prepared for the way it warmed my heart either because it made it feel like he actually cared.
He couldn’t, could he?
“Turn around,” he said softly, and I did. With practiced ease, he unclasped my bra and then his hands on my shoulders turned me back to face him. I stared at the floor. Sure, he’d seen me naked many times before, but this was different.
“So very beautiful, little girl. It pleases Daddy to see you entirely bare for him,” he said tenderly, and a soft hum of embarrassment fell off my lips. I shivered, not from the cold but from his observant eyes on my skin. He was still fully clothed and the dichotomy of power between us was so off-set. He was in control right now. I wasn’t.
I wasn’t brave enough to ask what he was up to. I was curious though, so I lifted my eyes, watching as he reached for me and gently took my left nipple between two fingers.
“Your body betrays you, little girl. I can see you fighting me but know that Daddy is going to win this little game.”
“What game?” I blurted and he simply smiled.
“Your breathing gets quicker when I touch you. Your eyes dilate, your shoulders round toward me. You want to submit to Daddy, but there’s something deep inside you fighting back,” he murmured.
I didn’t tell him that he was right. I wanted to fight him. I didn’t want to give in to these wicked desires that kept forcing their way out of me whether I liked it or not. I was a proud girl, and he wouldn’t be the one to break me.
He pinched my nipple more firmly before and then he twisted it hard. I gasped in surprise as he grasped my right side and repeated what he’d done to the other. I pitched forward toward him and he caught me as I stumbled, searing agony blazing across my breasts.
