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He hit her again and again and despite having to rub her face into the mattress and clutch the quilt between her fingers, not a single tear fell. Goddamn her stubborn tear ducts, what the hell? Did they not understand self-preservation?
Plum heard the hairbrush clatter to the floor and then she was back across Daddy’s knee, not certain of how she’d gotten there because everything was kind of dreamy and fuzzy. A soaring fog that was slashed first by the rushing pain of Gideon removing the clamps from her nipples, followed quickly by a stripe of pain across her backside as he brought his belt down across her cheeks. Over and over again until she couldn’t take it any more.
The reluctant tears finally fell, cooling her hot skin as they rolled down her cheeks and she begged. Begged him to stop, wailed apologies, made all the promises she could think of if he would just stop.
And finally he did. The pain didn’t stop, oh no. She doubted it would for days. She’d be swollen and red and then bruised with welts marking her flesh for days, if not a whole week, maybe longer. The welts would fade quickly, yes, but the bruises would linger, first turning from red to a purple so deep it would be almost black before fading to a gruesome yellow. And she’d track the progression lovingly—okay, maybe obsessively—in the mirror.
Plum was floating but aware enough to comply when her daddy told her to spread her legs, and then he was fucking her slick cunt with his fingers, urging her to rub off on his thigh.
“Go on, darling, you’ve earned it. Daddy wants to see you come.”
The pain and the pleasure and the elation and the guilt all coalesced into a feeling she wouldn’t be able to describe no matter how much time she was allowed. There were no words for it. It was just…feeling. The most. The best and the worst and the everything.
She worked her hips on Gideon’s muscular thigh, finding the angle that would give her the contact and pressure on her clit she needed to get off. The fingers stuffed in her pussy and his thumb pressing against her ass were wonderful, yes, but without friction on her clit she wouldn’t come.
But this? Yes. Oh, yes. He’d driven her out of her mind, made her a ball of sensation, with no self-consciousness. What a gift.
And what a gift the shuddering climax was that followed. It hit her so hard she saw stars and felt the pulses ripple through her whole body—how she cried out and clutched at the linens, rocked her hips against him while he finger-fucked her until the aftershocks had all but died out.
When she was done, boneless and breathless, he shifted her onto the bed and pinned her hands behind her back, his weight holding her down.
“You make me crazy in all the best ways, little girl. I’ll never get enough of you. I’m greed made flesh around you, and I’ll never stop demanding more. More, Plum. I want more of you. All of you.”
It was with a ragged groan that she felt hot ropes of come land on her beaten ass and her lower back. It felt like a blessing, like a benediction. Like joy and forgiveness, and dare she say it—when he collapsed upon her, his weight heavy and warm and confining, his breath hot and harsh against her ear—it felt like love. And she didn’t know much about holiness or God or anything like that, but she was fairly sure what they had just done was divine.
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I hope you loved watching Father Gideon discipline his beloved and bratty Plum! In case you missed their story, you can read their whole journey to an HEA inPlum’s Priest Daddy.
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First There Were Two
A Cosima’s Club Owner Daddies Prequel Short Story: Hudson and Ian
Please note that this is bonus content, and can best be enjoyed after readingCosima’s Club Owner Daddies!
Chapter One
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Hudson asked as he shoved Ian through the door to their room.
His roommate had been gripping the back of his neck the entire way back from the party across campus and Ian felt…some kind of way about that. A hot and tingly ache that reached into all these spaces, all these places he thought he might like Huds to touch him, use the same firm grip of his massive ham hands and…hold him, steady him. But mostly his blood was still boiling and if he couldn’t punch Justin—again—then Huds was going to have to do.
Ian balled up his fists and turned on his massive motherfucker of a friend. “I was thinking that Justin Hancock the third is a fucking asshole who deserves to be punched and since no one else was doing it, I did.”
Hudson stood there, all six foot seven of him, looking like a put-upon bear.
“Yeah, Justin’s an asshole. Everyone knows he’s an asshole. You know what else he is? Fourth generation legacy and he could probably shoot a professor on the quad and he wouldn’t get kicked out.”
Ian knew that. Just like he knew losing his cool wasn’t the best way to handle shit, and yet here they were.
“So he just gets to be an asshole? With no repercussions? That’s not fair.”
He sounded like a whiny ass five-year-old, and he felt like one too. Out of control, his feelings clawing at his skin like his body wasn’t big enough to hold them. He’d been hot-headed his whole life and it was really fucking annoying.
It was like his emotions went from zero to sixty in a split-second and there were no options in between. Chill as fuck or losing his goddamn mind. That passion could come in handy but he wished there was some middle ground. Everyone around him probably did too.
