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“Out of town,” he replied curtly.
My gaze flashed up to his, trying to figure out his sudden evasiveness. He leaned down and placed his elbows on the counter, capturing me with those steel blue eyes of his. I ground my teeth together in a quick moment of frustration before I remembered myself and smiled again.
“Fine. Keep your secrets,” I responded with as much sass as I could muster, and he cocked his head with amusement at my efforts.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he replied with a smirk.
I laughed softly. He was going to play it that way.
“I don’t have any more secrets,” I lied and the look that followed told me that he knew I wasn’t telling the truth. He didn’t even answer me as he turned back to the stove and put his own plate together. I sat there in silence as a wave of uncertainty poured over me. The skin across my backside prickled and I turned back toward my plate, staring at the deliciously cooked eggs in front of me.
Why did I feel guilty about lying to him? I’d done it time and time again with each one of my marks, so why did I feel this way with him?
Was it just because I was worried Daddy would spank me?
No, I think it was more than just that. I took a bite of my eggs, mulling it over in my head.
I was afraid that he’d end up hating me in the end. I feared the second time more than anything else.
I did know why too.
Because I cared for him. I cared far more than I was supposed to.
I speared a bite of eggs with far too much gusto, and he chuckled.
“Enjoying your breakfast?”
“It’s delicious,” I replied.
“Would you like that mimosa, little girl?” he asked.
“I would,” I said.
He cleared his throat.
“I would, Daddy,” I replied.
“Careful, my feisty little girl,” he warned. “You’re making Daddy’s cock hard.”
My sassy retort died on my lips to be replaced by a heated blush. That had legitimately caught me off guard and I couldn’t hide the fact that it turned me on to be scolded so openly in such a dirty manner.
I stared at my plate instead, not wanting him to know how much his words affected me and knowing he probably did anyway. I picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled at the edge, only braving a look toward him when it felt safe enough.
He grinned perceptively and I looked back down almost as quickly. I wanted to disappear and just when I thought I couldn’t take any more of the feeling of his eyes on me, he walked over to the fridge and took out a small pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and a bottle of champagne. I watched him more closely now. He popped the bubbly and slowly poured a flute about two thirds of the way full. He filled the rest with the juice and carefully slid it across the granite to me.
Carefully, I wound my fingers around the stem and lifted it to my lips, sighing softly in pleasure as the brilliantly decadent flavors washed across my tongue.
“Better than I remember,” I said, and his grin widened even further.
“Good. I leave in a few hours, but you have the run of the house. I’ll leave the numbers for my personal chef and anyone else you might need. There’s a library, a movie room, and a game room on the lower level,” he explained.
“You’re not going to leave me chained up somewhere while you’re gone?” I asked carefully.
“Should I?” he questioned playfully.
“No,” I answered swiftly. His cheeky arrogant grin made my clit throb unwelcomely and I tried my best to ignore it. There was a certain dark glimmer in his eyes, and I wished I could figure out what that meant.
Instead of saying anything more, I just finished my breakfast instead. There was a tense silence between us as we both ate our fill until our plates were empty. I picked up the cocktail and he took my plate after that.
