For Her Own Good

by Parker, Tamsen

  “I see you, princess. Stop thinking so much. Let it go. Let it all go. The only thing you need to worry about right now is getting off. That’s it. That’s all you need to do to make me happy, and nothing else matters right now. I want you to come for me.”

  It wouldn’t normally be so easy to focus me, but he’s spent the last hour or so filling my senses, making himself the center of my universe even though I can’t see his face, that his words hold an immense amount of sway and drown out everything else. So, I swallow his assurances down and let that base, pleasure-seeking part of me take over. The glutton, the hedonist, she wants more. So we’ll have it.

  The wool of his pants against my pelvis is a tad scratchy and the friction is a delight. So I rock and push, hips working against him, rutting as he said, and that’s a good word for it. I feel like an animal, one who is intent on following its instincts for taking pleasure. Life is short and brutal, so take your joy and ecstasy where you can. Snatch it out of the sky and hang on for dear life to enjoy the ride, it will be over too soon.

  I can feel my climax coming, bearing down on me like a gathering wave. I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to. I don’t want to.

  “Oh, Daddy, please. Please. I’m so close.”

  “Yes, Star, come on, fuck yourself against me. I want to see you come with your arse stretched around my fingers. Come on, little girl.”

  Between his words, the sensations being inflicted upon me, and the motions of my body, I am so, so close. The penetration, the friction, the taboo, the utter naughtiness of what I’m doing right now, the sweat gathering along my spine and hairline, the slick thrusts of his fingers inside me, the way his knuckles bump up against my ass as I hump his leg and his fingers…

  There it is. The wave crests and crashes, and I feel as though I’m being pulled under and tumbled in the undertow of sensation. Everything is so much. The light behind my eyes, the tone sounding in my ears, how every nerve in my body has come alive and is pulsing with feeling, with the experience of being consumed and swallowed and drowned in pleasure. “Fuck, oh fuck, Daddy, fuck me, oh god, yes. Yes.”

  I can hear him but I can’t, because his voice is coming from above the waves that have swamped me, but luckily I can feel him. The forearm pressed over my low back keeping me flush against his thighs, his fingers planted firmly, god, so firmly, in my backside that keep me anchored so I don’t have to worry about being swept out to sea.

  The squeeze and release of my orgasm consumes me until I’m wrung out and limp, breathing heavily while draped over Lowry’s lap with his fingers still inside me. He’s lifted the bar of his forearm from my back and is stroking me, my back, my flank, my hip, and praising me softly. I want to hear him better, so I turn my head, angle it so my ear can catch his words better.

  “What a good girl you are, so beautiful, such a good girl for Daddy.”

  I practically purr under his ministrations because I like being told I’m good. That I’ve pleased him. That he thinks I’m pretty.

  “I’m going to take my fingers out now.”

  I’m grateful for the warning, and now that I’ve come, it has started to feel a little strange to have him buried so deep inside of me. Of course, it’s a bit awkward to have them withdrawn as well and then to feel the absence of them so keenly. There’s a spark of embarrassment, but it doesn’t manage to catch my mood on fire.

  No, I simply turn over and nestle my bottom into his lap where his cock is still hard, bury my head in his shoulder and slip my arms around him. He’s warm and he smells like himself; his body is strong, his mouth soft as he plants a kiss on the top of my head. I’d snuggle here forever because it feels so very right. As though on Lowry’s lap is where I belong.

  Chapter 27

  Lowry

  Starla is a warm, heavy weight on me, and it’s the most divine feeling. She’s not exactly a rag doll because there’s a specific feeling when a body is deadweight, but she’s not far off. Blissed out and dreamy, her eyes are closed and she’s nuzzled so close to me, all curled up. She’s the sweetest thing. I doubt she notices she’s doing it, but one of her hands has come to rest on my chest and she’s scratching gently through my shirt while her breathing evens out.

  I am…turned on is not a strong enough word for how that made me feel. Turned up? So much of a build and then her pleasure was explosive, incredible. Focusing on her and her alone meant everything else had been excluded from my mind, which was a relief.

  It’s coming back now and there’s some guilt that I’m here doing this, and Tony will never see his loved ones or have any bodily experiences ever again, but mostly I’m still tuned into the curled-up ball of woman who is making the most adorable noises of contentment I’ve ever heard. Sleepy little sighs and muffled huffs make me dizzy—she intoxicates me. It would be easy to become addicted to Starla. I may very well be already. And would that really be so bad?

  I have…feelings about what we do, but not so many that it would keep me from doing it. I’ll have to sort it out on my own because it’s not for Starla to concern herself with. She has enough to worry about. Between her business, her mental health, and making decisions about her father’s business, that’s enough for anyone to deal with. I won’t add my own burdens to the pile. And while I may lay awake at night with the dirty things I said to her and the way she chokes a little when she calls me daddy circling my head, I won’t regret loving her. She’s honest-to-God so special, I don’t know how anyone could.

  I rock her a little and she seems to like that, making a little “mmm,” that makes my heart swell. Aye, I feel badly about it because it wasn’t fair to her, but I never felt this way about Maeve. Was it not possible because of how my brain is wired and the fact that she didn’t need these particular things from me? Who’s to say? I shouldn’t torment myself over that too because we’re both happier now.

  I kiss the top of Starla’s head again, the pale, delicate skin of her scalp showing through the strands of her hair. There are still notes of her shampoo left amongst the human smell of exertion and the mix of the two is sweet.

  “Starla, love.”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’ve got to get up and wash. I’m going to set you down and tuck you in and I’ll be right back.”

  I don’t bother to ask because if I did, she’d beg me not to and I don’t want to refuse her. Not now. As it is, her chin is contracted into a pout when I pull back the covers from her bed then ease her onto the mattress and cover her quickly, up to her chin because she’s naked and won’t have my body heat to warm her while I’m gone.

  I make quick work of washing up in the bathroom because there is a naked woman waiting for me and I can’t wait to have my hands on her again. Not sure if she’ll be up for anything else, which is fine, even though I’m aching. If she’s not, I’ll put her to bed and when she’s asleep, head into the shower to at least buy myself some time and sanity by rubbing one out to what we’ve done. If she is, though…

  She’s not asleep when I’m heading back to bed. Curled up and clutching something under the blankets, yes, but her hazel eyes are open and she tracks me with her gaze. Her cheeks are pink and her mouth is curled into a sweet smile. My darling girl.

  “What’ve you got under there?” I ask as I sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing with my chin toward her chest where she’s clearly holding something against her.

  Her lashes flutter and she looks to the side, perhaps embarrassed. But she doesn’t refuse me, simply tugs down the blankets to reveal a brown furry doll sort of thing. “Is that a—”

  “It’s an Ewok. His name is Wicket.”

  I knew he looked familiar. Though I might’ve called him Chewbacca, and then where would we be?

  “He looks very cozy in there. But also like a fine upstanding creature who won’t destroy your virtue.”

  “Not like I have much left,” she shoots back, a smile on her face.

  Perhaps not, but she seems untroubled by that.

  “Ar
e you tired?”

  She shakes her head, eyes wide, a combination of innocent and instigating. She’ll be the death of me for sure.

  “Hungry, perhaps?”

  We haven’t eaten dinner yet and it’s getting late. I should’ve thought to get some food in her before, but I was distracted. She shakes her head again.

  “No, not really. But there is something I want.”

  It takes a great deal of my self-control not to say, “Anything. Tell me what it is and it’s yours.” The woman could get most anything for herself, she doesn’t need me to provide for her. Not materially, anyhow.

  “And what might that be?”

  “I haven’t…” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and something about that drives me wild. Perhaps the innocence bit again. But no matter what part of my brain it’s pinging, it’s still a potent gesture. Makes me want to rush her, shake her. Haven’t what? But as in most things with Starla, patience is rewarded. “I haven’t had you in my mouth yet. And I…I want to. May I?”

  May she? For Christ’s sake, may she?

  “Och, ye may if you’d really like, but you don’t have to, especially not right now. You’ve just—”

  I can’t finish my sentence because she’s on her knees and curling her fingers into the waistband of my pants, grabbing ahold of my belt and tugging me forward until I’m at the edge of the bed, poor Wicket discarded in the tousle. Well, he probably shouldn’t see this, anyhow.

  As before, she’s got no patience when removing my clothes. Pops a button off my shirt in her rush to get it off, even. That’s fine. My gran taught me how to sew—I’ll sew all the buttons Starla wants to tear off my clothes. She pushes the fabric over my shoulders and works the sleeves down my arms until they slide off at the wrists. Takes a hand and lays it on my chest, looks up at me through her lashes.

  “I…I like how you look. You’re the handsomest daddy in the whole world.”

  I take up her hand and kiss her knuckles, put it back where it was resting over my heart.

  “And you’re the prettiest little girl a daddy could ask for.”

  It’s not an exaggeration, she’s perfectly lovely. Especially when she wiggles up against me, her sweet round tits pressing up against my chest. I have to kiss her, can’t even help it, work my hands into her hair and rub my fingers over her scalp before I let locks of her hair run through my fingers like chestnut silk.

  She breaks our kiss, but it’s only a second before she’s kissing down my neck and over the slope of my shoulder, running her little kitten tongue over my collarbone. She plants more kisses on my pecs, licks gently over my flat nipples then works her way to the center of my ribs and follows the narrowing trail of hair down to my waistband.

  Unlike my shirt, she takes more time here, running fingers along the top of my slacks, and toying with the leather of my belt. Sliding her tongue across the plane of my skin until my hands have curled into fists so I don’t lose control in the face of her teasing. If this were the first of our fooling around, I’d likely be able to tolerate it better, but given that she rubbed off on me earlier as I finger-fucked her arse, well. I’m ready now. So very ready.

  Starla stops her ministrations at my waist and scoots off the bed, tugging my belt until my back’s to the bed, and then… God, dear God, she sinks to her knees and reaches for my slacks again, this time making quick work of the buckle before sliding the belt out of its loops. I’ve got my eyes tightly shut, but when there’s a pause in her movements, I open them so I can check in on her.

  She doesn’t look disturbed in any way, though, simply sitting back on her heels with my belt doubled over in her hands which are resting on her thighs.

  “Would you…not now, but sometime, would you spank me with your belt?”

  My voice is hoarse when I locate the wherewithal to answer her. “I think that could be arranged. Probably if you’ve been a very naughty girl. I would imagine that would smart rather a lot.”

  She nods. “It does. But sometimes I like that. Or need it. Sometimes I need an excuse to cry, you know?”

  “I think I understand.”

  Even though I don’t have the same inclination, I think I do. Even if I didn’t, I would try to give it to her simply because she asked. I reach out to pet her head again, rub a lock of her hair between my fingers. Her lids sink closed and she lets me stroke her for a bit, looking very much at peace. My mind is still a mess from this morning, but if I can’t save everyone, at least I can bring her joy, pleasure, a few moments of serenity.

  After a few minutes, she blinks open her eyes, lays the belt aside, and kneels up again to undo the button and zipper on my slacks and then she’s slipping them down until they puddle on the floor and I kick them off from around my feet. And then, Christ, there’s only a layer of cotton between her mouth and my cock and she leans forward, ghosting a breath over my erection, and I can feel the heat of her through the fabric.

  Still being a tease, she runs her hand along my length, making me groan and drop my head back. My breath comes shallow as she strokes, and stops when she hooks her fingers over the band of my boxer briefs and tugs them down until my cock springs free. A relief, to be sure, but also—

  “Ah…”

  She runs her fingers over my flesh and it feels as though sparklers have been lit in my brain; all sizzle and light and senseless wonder. Gentle, she’s so gentle and cautious as she touches me, it’s going to drive me out of my skin.

  Taking pity on me—or deciding that she would in fact like to render my brain into porridge—she circles her fingers around my cock and then lowers her head until her mouth surrounds my crown. And then I’m muttering all sorts of blasphemies as she uses her hand and her mouth to work at me, licking and sucking, bobbing her head until all my attention is focused on my cock.

  I’m not proud of it, but how am I supposed to think of anything else? With the slick heat of her mouth, her dextrous tongue, and the way she works the rest of my shaft with her hand, I’m lucky I’m still on my feet.

  “Star, I’m getting close. Do you want me to come in your mouth? Or—”

  She pops off to answer, lips swollen, but doesn’t let go with her hand. “In my mouth, Daddy, please. I don’t want to waste a drop.”

  Not waiting for a response, she latches back on and works me over. The sparklers have turned into full-on fireworks now and I slide my hands into her hair, fisting them close to her scalp and showing her the speed that’s going to take me there. She hums when I do, a little noise of craving and pleasure, and that more than anything else is what finally sets me off.

  “Get ready, little girl. Daddy’s coming.”

  And I do, Christ, do I ever, my hips bucking and my bollocks emptying into her hot, wet mouth. It seems to go on forever as she milks my cock with her tongue and draws every last bit out as she said she would.

  At last she stops and withdraws, resting her head against my hipbone, and spent as I am, my cock still twitches at the feel of her warm breath.

  “Come on, Star, up you get. I need to lie down before I fall over. You did a real number on me, you know that?”

  I settle into Starla’s bedclothes and she snuggles up next to me, chest to chest.

  “You liked it?”

  “Did I like it? I’ve nearly forgotten my own name, so yes, I’d say it was fecking brilliant.”

  She laughs and cuddles closer, and I have to drop a kiss on the top of her head as I hold her. How in Christ’s name have I been blessed with this woman? I can’t ask too many questions because I don’t think the answers will ever satisfy, but for now, I’ll hold her and keep her close and try to be the kind of man a woman like her deserves.

  Chapter 28

  Starla

  “Hello, this is Starla Patrick.”

  “Ms. Patrick.”

  The voice is low and rumbly, like it comes from inside a barrel.

  “This is Jerome Garrett. We met once when you were small.”

  I’ve been tweaking my ADHD
resource list for Nora to include things that might speak to her more, like ADHD Alien and How to ADHD. Now my brain has to screech to a halt, back up on the freeway to half a dozen exits ago and then go into drive.

  “I don’t remember that. I do remember you weren’t a great favorite of my father’s.”

  That’s a nice way of putting it. My father loathed Jerome Garrett, talked about him as though he were the devil incarnate.

  Garrett laughs, a huge hearty thing, and I try to picture him in my mind. Unlike my father who was a smaller, wiry man, Garrett’s always looked big in the press, larger than life: tall, broad, with a big gut.

  I should probably feel threatened by him, but I don’t. Wary, sure, but not threatened.

  “Oh, but your father was a great favorite of mine. I never would’ve accomplished half of what I have without him to compete with. Used to drive me up a fucking wall, but he was a savvy, ambitious man. ‘Like’ may be too strong a sentiment, but I always respected your father and I’m sorry for your loss.”

  His candor is disarming and I have to remind myself that Garrett is the enemy. No one who wants to do a hostile takeover of my father’s life’s work is someone I should be charmed by.

  “Thank you. Aside from belated condolences, is there a reason you’re calling?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is. I have a business proposition to discuss with you.”

  Which makes my blood run hot.

  “Oh really? I thought you had other plans for taking over Patrick Enterprises whether I wanted you to or not. And now you want to talk about it? It’s a bit odd, don’t you think, to fill me in on your nefarious plot? I suppose you’d like to do it over whisky and cigars. Or perhaps a cask of amontillado.”

  He laughs again, and I don’t know whether to be insulted or pleased.

  “Feisty like your father, I like that. I suppose we could do that, although I was going to suggest dinner in the seaport. We could sic the lawyers on each other if that’s what you’d prefer, but I thought we might enjoy this more.”