Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“You should definitely check it and probably not turn it off, just in case,” I say, my breasts rising and falling with each labored breath.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Check it anyway, you’ll feel better. So will I.”
I slide off the couch, pulling the fabric of my dress back over my breasts, suddenly conscious now of how naked I am. My other hand jerks the hem down, covering my lower half. An awkward stiffness seems to have taken the manic lust from the air.
His gaze trails over my body. Maybe he doesn’t want this to end, but it sure feels like the magical moment has passed.
I lower my gaze, feeling like an intruder in my own apartment. “I’ll go freshen up. Give you some privacy.”
I slip into the bedroom and as soon as the door shuts behind me, I collapse in a crumpled heap on the carpet.
I want him to stay. Even as the twist in my gut tells me this is going too far, too fast, the new wild part of me thinks of what to do.
I crawl to my dresser and open the bottom drawer. I shove the t-shirts and leggings out of the way.
There are all my diaries, going right back years. So much of me is in those pages. And then there are my books piled next to them… even the first one about Penelope.
I flip to the center of one of my favorite Daddy books, the purple bookmark guiding me to a well-read chapter, and my heart pounds. The page is worn at the edges. The emotion as the Little Girl and her Daddy finally let themselves go.
Jack could give me this…
I thought I was bad. A bad girl for feeling like I needed to be protected from the evils of the world, spanked when I step out of line. Punished when I’m wrong and praised when I’m right.
And above all, loved and protected.
I want to believe Jack is the answer to all my dreams.
I hold the book to my chest closing my eyes.
Somehow, I have to convince him to stay…
CHAPTER 8
JACKSON
As she slips behind her bedroom door, that sense of loss overtakes me again.
I’m craving ownership. Permanence. A paternal sense of protectiveness along with a filthy, depraved Daddy fantasy that for the first time feels like so much more.
More than just a fantasy.
A possibility.
I step toward my jacket as the phone rings again. I pull it out and relief washes over me as I see it’s not my mother but my attorney, Isabella Monroe, who never sleeps and thinks I don’t either. Normally, I take her calls no matter the hour, but right now, she can wait. The only call I would take right now would be from my parents. Anything else is insignificant.
I turn my phone to vibrate and set it on the counter, glancing around the small space full of sad, decades old furniture, on top of which is strewn laundry full of bright colors, patterns and polka dots. The place smells of her. Lavender and peaches. Cherries and cotton candy.
On the outside, she’s an angel with wide naïve eyes. But inside, God, she’s a filthy girl.
Only for me.
A tight half-smile plays on my lips as I survey the little apartment. The clothes hanging everywhere. Pink and green underwear and socks decorate the back of a worn sofa. More pink and green patterned pillows add pops of color into the dingy space.
Even this little glimpse into her life feels like a privilege. I pull open a kitchen drawer. My need to know more about her overrides her right to privacy.
Flatware clatters as the drawer slides open. I rub the handle of a simple stainless spoon with my thumb, thinking of it slipping into her mouth.
Lucky fucking spoon.
I want to destroy a piece of cutlery. I’m unraveling one crazed thought at a time.
I want to be the one person on the planet who knows every little thing about her.
I check her cabinets, memorizing the patterned flowers on her dishes, and lean down to pull open a drawer inside are bottles of colored sugar sprinkles, three kinds of vanilla, measuring cups and other baking paraphernalia.
Another drawer has a newspaper on top. I move it away and underneath is a catalogue.
I hold a deep breath as I take it out and open the worn pages. Chastity has gone over the it with a red marker, circling things. Special things.
A pair of panties with the words ‘Daddy’s Girl’ across the ass, a butt plug, a paddle with little flower pattern cut out of the burnished wood, a pink leather collar...
In my head I hear her voice.
Daddy.
She can’t be this perfect for me. The world doesn’t work that way. I’m already memorizing all the things she’s circled, the things I want to give her.
You’re her Daddy.
She’s your Little Girl.
I glance at her closed bedroom door.