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“Shh, poppet. Let me earn my Good Daddy badge, please?”
There was a beat of hesitation and he took the opportunity to rock her a bit. Poor thing whimpered in what he hoped was the pain of her shell cracking enough to let him in.
“Say ‘Yes, Daddy.’”
“But the dishes—”
“I’ll finish cleaning up.”The dishes and you. “No need to worry about that. Now come on, what do you say?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
* * *
For some of the men she’d been with, aftercare had seemed rote:this is what I’m supposed to do. Some of them seemed to use it as an excuse to steer toward the sexual, which she didn’t always mind but sometimes it wasn’t the point and she really could’ve done without. She couldn’t imagine any of them insisting quite so adamantly that she give in to them as much during the aftermath as she had during the scene.
With Vance, though… He wasn’t going to let her suit up in her armor again—quite yet, anyway. He’d cracked open her shell, leaving it in tiny pieces all over the floor and now he was cradling the squishy insides of her in his broad palms, being so careful not to puncture the yolk of her soul. It was so wonderful but hurt so bad at the same time. Then again she of all people should know the joy and beauty that could come out of suffering, so she’d let him. This man who had turned out to be nothing like she’d expected.
He held her a bit longer and the only thing that could’ve made it better was having her binky to tuck into her mouth and suck. She probably would’ve fallen asleep. Things being as they were, she let herself be soothed by the steady beat of his heart and surrendered to the insistence of his fingers at her neck. It hurt a little how hard he was working into her muscles and she’d be sore from it, but in that delicious healing kind of way.
It seemed like he waited until she was limp against him before hefting her into his arms. Being scooped up was slightly alarming but the way he held her said there was no way he would drop her. Ever. So she looped her arms around his neck and let him carry her to the bathroom where he set her on the counter between the two sinks.
“Can you sit like this, Lil? Or are you too floppy?”
She made a face and he tapped her nose.
“I like my little girls floppy,” he told her.
Vance had apparently come to the conclusion that she could sit on her own because he let her go and proceeded to peel her fishnets down her legs and off her feet, followed by her underwear.
“Floppy means you trust Daddy. You can trust me, Lil. I promise.”
He slid a hand around her calf, his blunt fingertips caressing up to the back of her knee just short of where it would’ve tickled, added the other hand to her other leg and looked up at her from where he was squatting before her.
With those painfully earnest eyes she would’ve believed him if he’d said the sun orbited the earth. But she simply said, “Okay, Daddy,” and that seemed to be enough for him. Good, because it might kill her to hand over everything she wanted to.
Vance stood and rummaged in a drawer, pulling out a pack of make-up remover wipes. Her face must look like a fucking horror show with all her meticulously applied makeup smeared all over but he didn’t seem to mind, just set to work, smoothing the softly scented towelettes over her forehead and brows before tackling the worst of the mess.
“Eyes closed, poppet.”
Did he call all his littles “poppet” or just her? Selfishly—and probably foolishly—she hoped it was only her. Either way, Lilith closed her eyes as she’d been bade and tried not to resist his tenderness, fought the urge to snatch the wipe away and do it herself.
The truth was she loved being cared for but it was hard to accept. The buzziness and tension of her brain’s insistence that she wasn’t a doll for him to do with as he pleased fought against the pleasure of being tended to, of having something done for her for once. Her fingertips curled over the edge of the vanity and she tried to steady her breathing.
“There we are,” Vance finally announced, and she blinked her eyes open to find him smiling down at her. “Now let’s get you in the bath.”
Oof, now those were fighting words.
She didn’t need for this man tobatheher. She’d already taken a shower today and—
“Don’t fight me, poppet. Unless you’re asking for another spanking to clear your head of all those busy thoughts you’ve got swirling around in there. I’ll be glad to give it to you but I think your bottom is plenty sore already.”
Part of her hissed and arched like a cat, wanted to dare him:Just you try it, you spoiled doughboy.But for the rest of her, that stern tone was all she needed. His arched brow and slight tip of his head was enough to crumble the resistance she hadn’t wanted to put up in the first place.
“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered. “Help, please.”
Her reward was a peek of his shiny white teeth through the gap in his beard.
“That’s my good girl. I’m going to start the water and then we’ll get you out of this pretty dress.”
After he’d started the churning flow of water into the enormous tub, checking the temperature by holding his hand under the cascade, he came back to her. Lifted her off the counter with a firm grip on her hips and then turned her toward the mirror so he could unfasten the buttons that marched down her back. His touch methodical and gentle, she shivered as his fingers undid the closures at her spine.
Finally he was peeling the dress over her shoulders and urging her to step out of the puddle of black lace and tulle, leaving her standing there in only a burgundy bra with black lace trim that he unclasped and slipped over her shoulders.
The way he looked at her in the mirror made her pulse between her legs but it didn’t last long. No, Vance looked away from her reflection and clasped her fingers between his to lead her over to the tub.
