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“I got you this as an…experiment, I guess.”
Oh boy, his voice was rumbly and delicious as it reverberated through the sounding wall of his chest into her ear. She’d never been turned on by a man’s voice before, but Evander could read the Bible from cover to cover and she’d be enraptured.
Callie lifted her head, but he just made a soft noise in his throat. “Keep your eyes closed, sweetness, and open your mouth.”
Because she was tired and still shaken from the nightmare—and because it was Evander giving her the gentle command—she obeyed blindly, settling her cheek back against his chest and parting her lips obediently.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured as something cold and rubbery pressed on her tongue. “Suck.”
Hesitantly, she closed her mouth on the foreign object and gave it a testing pull. The initial tang of yucky rubber faded as raspberry blossomed over her taste buds. With a low purr of enjoyment, she wiggled closer to Evander and sucked in slow, soothing draws.
Then her eyes popped open.
“Yes, it’s a pacifier,” he told her with a rumble of laughter. His eyes gleamed with amusement when she tilted her head back to look up at him. “Everyone in your life appears to have demanded you be something other than what you are. As a result, you’ve spent years denying a vital part of yourself to keep them happy. That ends now, Callie. No more shutting Little Callie into a dark hole.”
She blinked, then swallowed hard as her throat and eyes began to burn with tears. Behind the plastic cap of the pacifier, her lips trembled. Despite the flavored teat in her mouth, she mumbled, “Evander—”
“No, sweetness. What do you really want to call me?”
A sniffle teased her nose, and the burning grew stronger until a tear escaped to soothe it. Slowly, she lifted her hand to the pacifier and popped it reluctantly free.
Did she dare say it?
Could she find the courage after so many years of being relentlessly molded into someone her father—and then Daniel—decided she should be, instead of nurturing who she truly was?
Daniel would’ve taken the cane to her ass all over again if she ever slipped up and called him Daddy. But then, he wasn’t cut from that cloth. Given the dishonor he brought to the termDom, she hated to think of how twisted he’d makeDaddy Domseem.
“Don’t be nervous, Callie. If you need it, you need it. Take it. Kink isn’t limited to one desire or inclination; I’m not practiced in the art of being a Daddy, but I’m willing to give being yours everything I’ve got if you’re brave enough to ask for it.”
Itseemed so huge. There was a difference between fighting herself for a little playtime where no one saw her acting decidedly unladylike, and voluntarily opening herself to public scrutiny.
People were cruel; she knew this.
But she wanted what he was offering. So fervently, her Little gave her no choice over what she said next.
“Daddy.”
Chapter Two
Evander
Evander eyed the row of stuffies propped against the pillows on the massive hotel bed and smirked. Every night so far, Callie had organized them in this precise order, and every damn night he made her choose one and only one to join them.
He liked having someone to hold on to while he slept, but not an armful of stuffed toys.
As the shower ran in the opulent ensuite bathroom, he listened for any signs of distress. Callie had been in adult mode when she went in, but her Little had been causing havoc since the moment she called him Daddy on the plane. Darting out, dabbling her toes in new waters, then retreating back into her safe space.
With her pacifier in use, landing hadn’t been as traumatic as the take-off, much to his relief, and the drive from the airport to their hotel had been interesting. It wasn’t difficult to see where Elias’s attention was located; partly on the road, mostly on the fascinating woman staring out through the SUV’s tinted windows at the beauty of Denver.
Which was why Evander was planning a slight deviation to tonight’s movie entertainment. One he knew Eli would get behind without issue, but that was perhaps a potential strain on Callie’s limits.
They’d find out in ten minutes or so.
Selecting a bottle of lube and a soft blanket from his suitcase, he stretched out his back. Clean and still a bit damp from his own shower—one he’d taken solo as to not get distracted by a naked sub beneath the water with him—he’d chosen only a pair of black sweat pants. No socks, no underwear, no shirt.
The Adagio was one of several hotels constructed and run by his own company, with great success. Now almost three years old, the newness was well worn, offering the aura of comfort, class, and consistency. With the right staff at the helm, the hotel was climbing ratings and drawing in regular, return customers.
Room 505 was Evander’s—no exceptions. Furnished to his specifications, with a fraction of his personal art collection on the walls, he refused to share this space with paying clientele.
