by Abby Knox
The eye contact between Phillip and I continues through the tasting, but all I hear is “something-something, dry, something-something, over-proved.”
Oh my heavens, he is livid.
I lazily saunter back to my workstation, swinging my hips exaggeratedly, and wait for the winner to be announced. Of course, it’s the saffron-infused light-up bread carousel. I smile at the contestant named Daisy and think, Show-off.
“Sorry, you didn’t follow the brief, did you?” another contestant comments to me as we’re cleaning up after shooting. Smirking to myself, I think I’m less interested in briefs as I am in Phillip’s boxers.
I don’t notice Phillip stalking toward me as I continue to crack myself up. Not until he’s almost on top of me. I jump as his voice rumbles in my ear from behind. “East wing. Take the second-floor hallway to my private quarters. Now.”
I turn to look at him and whisper, “I missed the orientation tour, remember? I don’t know where that is!”
He grunts in frustration. “Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”
I hardly know what he’s expecting, but I quickly finish tidying up my station and head in a general eastern direction, away from the guest quarters.
Phillip is waiting for me in a dark corner and pulls me into an obliging nook, his eyes blazing.
“I wasn’t sure what you meant by my first time being special, but if it’s angry hallway sex you want, let’s do this, big boy.”
He turns me abruptly to face him square on, his jaw clicking, his eyes blazing. “Would you just…just…”
The poor man has gone nonverbal. Oh dear. What have I done?
“Just…shush.” He crashes his mouth against mine. Hallelujah. Finally. It’s been a long day.
His kiss marks me with passion, frustration, and hunger. His mouth and tongue claim me; his fingers own me as they dig into my hips. The slight pinch spikes my lust for this red-faced, frustrated man. I try and try to kiss him back, but he’s having none of it. He only wants to overpower, to take, to feed himself with me. The way Phillip unleashes his strength against my small frame, I could bend back under the force of his kiss, and I would beg for more.
Abruptly, he stops and pulls me down the hallway. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going where bad girls go.”
Holy shit.
He opens a heavy wooden door, swiftly drags me inside, then turns and locks the door behind him. He’s already rolling up his shirtsleeves to reveal his brawny forearms when he turns to face me. “Pick your paddle.”
I follow his gaze to the array of what looks like ping-pong paddles lined up on the sofa. “What?”
“This is the thing that I need to do right now. This is what I was trying to tell you about last night. If you can’t handle it—”
The realization dawns on me. “Oh!”
A vein in his forehead tells me I should waste no time with questions. I study the array of paddles. Some are leather. Some have feathers. “I’m going to be spanked?”
“Only if you agree to it.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Only if you want it to.”
“Where?”
He answers more questions, and I’m satisfied. I trust him. “You pick,” I say.
“Very well. We’ll start small.” Phillip picks up a pink-handled paddle.
“Bend over and lift your skirt.”
I suck in a breath. “And then…the bed?”
“No,” he says. “Right now, all I want to do is fuck you. That’s a very different thing. But I’m not going to fuck you or make love to you until this blasted contest is over.”
“But why?”
“Because today, you’ve been a naughty girl.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Phillip strokes my hair and says, “You’ve still got some flour on your cheek.”
“Guess I’m messy, too. Whatever are you going to do with me?”
The growl deep in his chest seems to make the whole room vibrate, and I feel it between my thighs. His voice is low and lethally quiet. “Bend over. Lift that skirt. And keep your hands on the sofa.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, my breath shaky.
I do as he says, bending over and flipping the pleated skirt up. The air is chilly against my bare flesh.
Phillip blurts out a curse when he sees what’s underneath.
“What happened to your fucking knickers!?”
My palms sweat as I grip the leather sofa and gaze at him over my shoulder. “Silly me. I must have taken them off somewhere along the way.”
“Chloe. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with fire?”
He grips the handle of the wooden paddle with white knuckles.
“Of course, darling,” I say, imitating his accent.
The paddle clatters to the floor, echoing off the walls. Finally, he’s giving in.
Whack!
The sting of his bare hand against my fleshy bottom catches me off guard, and I yelp in surprise. “Oh!” The slight pain dissipates into warm prickles. “No paddle?”
“Sometimes the only thing that can make my point…” Whack! Another slight sting, followed by more tingles of pleasure spreading across my bare skin. “Is my hand.”
I rest my forehead on my arms, catching my breath, deciding whether I like this. Judging by my body’s reaction? Oh god. Yes, yes, I do enjoy a little spanking. Who could have guessed?
Again, I turn back to look at him, this time pretending I have a tail and wag my tush. “I don’t know, honey. I can think of other limbs that might like to have a turn making a point.”
Whack! Whack! Phillip spanks me twice, quickly, once on each cheek. “Dirty girl.”
The stings pass more quickly this time, and something strange and pleasurable begins to tug at my insides. My nipples harden and ache to be free of these clothes; my lips throb to be kissed; my pussy begs to be filled. A tear forms in the corner of my eye, but it’s not the pain. It’s the torture of not having him claim me all the way yet.
My body, as it turns out, loves torture. I can tell by the way my toes curl, and the swell of pleasure rises inside me.
“Philip, I—”
Swiftly, Phillip’s body covers me from behind. I’m still gripping the back of the sofa, and his ragged breath is in my ear. “In here, in the paddling room. You. Address. Me. As. Daddy.”
His chest pressing down against my back, his hands over mine, his legs brushing the backs of my thighs, and his groin grinding against my pussy, all of it pushes me closer to the edge. I can barely function, let alone speak. “I…” I swallow. “Daddy, I…I’m sorry, but I think I’m about to come.”
“Wait,” he says, low and gravelly in my ear.
Oh god, that’s not helping me dry up.
“I…it’s too much to hold it in. Please, please, please stop torturing me, Daddy. I promise I’ll be good.”
With a wicked, frustrated snarl, he orders me to spread my legs. When I do, a whole new sensation hits me. His fingers slip inside my wet folds as his big hand claims me, slicking in my wetness. The newness of it all, the greediness, the wet sounds, the groans from him that vibrate through me—it’s so much more than my mind and body can take.
Still, I can’t control my smart mouth. “See, I told you my pussy was ready for you, Daddy.”
“Fuck,” he exclaims again. The erudite Englishman is at a loss for proper speech. Unexpectedly, he sinks one finger into my channel and moves it around.
“Oh!” I cry.
“Good?” he asks, still gravelly and sexy in my ear.
I whimper, “Mmhmm,” now at the point of no return as the walls of my sex clamp down around his thick digit. More. I want more, and I want it deeper. I need it. I nearly had it bare in my hands last night; why can’t I have it now?
I cry actual tears when he removes his finger from my cunt, and with a flick of my clit, pushes me over the cliff entirely. The waves of my release crash over me, and it’s so powerfu
l I might pass out.
My knees do indeed buckle, but Phillip’s got me.
I shudder through wave after wave of my climax as he carries on manhandling my pussy.
When he’s decided I’ve had enough, Phillip swoops me onto the sofa. With me in his lap, his hand remains between my legs, massaging my thighs. The contact pulls two, three more involuntary spasms of pleasure out of me.
Finally, his healing kiss on my lips restores my coherent thoughts. “All right, love?”
I nod. “Yes, Daddy,” I breathe, shuddering.
“Can you stand? Stand up, and let’s see the red bottom.”
I obey, of course, and let him lift my skirt. He tsks. “I’ve left a bit of a handprint, haven’t I? Shall I kiss it for you?”
I simply nod, overwhelmed by his sudden change from domineering to caring. He kisses my cheeks one by one, then gently rubs the red spots. “Did I hurt you?”
I turn and throw my arms around his neck. “No, not at all. I know you would never.”
He laughs, and the vibrations warm me all over. “Come here,” he says, drawing me closer so that I’m straddling his lap. Phillip kisses me all over my face, smoothing out my clothes. His hands are everywhere, rubbing my arms and legs from one end to the other. I feel like a precious jewel in his arms. I knew. I always knew he was wonderful; I had no idea how wonderful he could make me feel.
“Now, Daddy? Now can I have my present?” I run my hand down his front and rest it over his groin. The rigid cream horn is ever-present; I don’t even know what his body would feel like flaccid.
Phillip whispers in my ear, “Tomorrow.”
I whine and heave myself against his body, my words muffled in his shirt. “Why not now?”
“Now, now. None of that. Must save your energy for Cake Day.”
Chapter Ten
Phillip
* * *
Jamie, the director, waves his clipboard in the air, looking like he might walk off the set at any moment.
“You have to get control of the situation.”
I keep my voice calm and measured. “The situation is well in hand.”
Jamie points at me threateningly, and one quick quirk of my eyebrow lets him know I do not appreciate people pointing their fingers at me. “You know damn well this looks like favoritism.”
This accusation makes me belly laugh for the first time in ages. No, wait. Chloe made me belly laugh the other day in the elevator.
“Jamie, how in the world could it possibly look like favoritism when there’s no way she’s going to win?”
Georgianne clears her throat. “Which brings up another question. How did she get here?”
Jamie and Georgianne look at me questioningly. I have a choice now. I could blame it on the assistant producers, say they somehow let her slip through the cracks, or worse, decided to bring her on as comic relief. Either of those explanations would get someone fired. I can’t have that.
So I tell the truth. “Me.”
Georgianne narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t quite understand. Jamie’s jaw drops, and he points at me with his clipboard. I wish he wouldn’t do that. “You designed all this?”
Georgianne snorts. “What do you mean ‘designed’?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and say not another word.
Jamie is a smart man, and he can explain it to her. “Essentially, what we’re talking about here is a casting couch audition. She slept her way to the show.”
Wait a minute.
Just then, the executive producer, Harlow, walks up looking excited. Her face falls when she sees the other two appalled and upset. “Uh-oh, what’s happening, people? What did I just walk into the middle of?”
With a handle on my blood pressure at the implication that my Chloe “slept her way to the top,” I explain things calmly.
Jamie exasperatedly waves his hands around. “And meanwhile, you could have pulled some of that money out of your own ass to bring her here for yourself, instead of involving the show! What was the reason for not giving someone with true talent an opportunity?”
Harlow sweeps her manicured hands in the air. “Oh, calm down. I’ve just come to tell you that I’ve been watching some of the footage in the editing room, and this is the most hilarious episode ever. We want to stretch it out to three, four more episodes at least. Hell, there’s no reason we can’t make it a whole season. Eliminate people. It’ll be tremendous.”
Harlow’s excitement over my deliberate manipulations is now going too far. I can’t wait another whole day to have Chloe all to myself.
“No. I’m not putting Chloe through an elimination. It’s too much. I refuse.”
The executive producer thinks about what I’ve said. We stare at each other for a moment, having a silent standoff.
Finally, Harlow shrugs. “Fine. Whatever keeps you happy, Phillip. People are already going to love this episode, so we can do an entire American season next year if you’d like. Consider this a trial run.”
I nod. “What would make me happy is finishing this bloody shoot.”
Chapter Eleven
Chloe
* * *
We’re halfway through the cake-making contest today, and I’ve yet to see Phillip anywhere. Golly, I hope he hasn’t been fired because of me. I would never forgive myself.
Meanwhile, all this stress is making me forget things. There are only three more hours to create a magnificent three-tiered cake representing our dreams, and I don’t even have my batter perfect yet. All the others have their cakes in the oven already.
All of a sudden, Phillip stalks into the ballroom as if nothing is amiss. His presence does offer me a boost of confidence, and I can recall everything I’m supposed to do. I finally slide the cakes into the oven and get started on making my icing.
That’s the easy part because it’s all going to be white.
By the time the buzzer sounds, I’ve just placed the bride and groom gingerbread cookies on top of the cake. The bride has long brown hair and green eyes like mine; the groom has silver hair made of glitter and ice-blue eyes and holds a rolling pin. The bride is holding a little tiny love note made of edible paper with a special message.
The judging commences, and of course, I’m dead last. Everyone knows Daisy is going to win. Her library cake has gold-leafed books, and she’s even molded a tiny edible rolling ladder.
When it’s finally my turn, my cake is so heavy that one of the assistant producers offers to help me bring it to the judging table.
“And what do we have here?” Phillip asks the question as if he doesn’t already know.
“It’s my wedding cake. It contains all of my hopes and dreams.”
Georgianne looks as if she could eat a horse. “My goodness, you’ve certainly changed course and improved your decorating skills. What do we have here, gingerbread?” She reaches for the bride, and I realize this is not going as planned.
“Wait!” I exclaim, but Georgianne is already biting the cookie, and Phillip is cutting them each a piece of the cake.
Georgianne takes a second bite as the tiny love note falls from the bride and lands on the table.
“What’s this?” she asks.
I blurt, “That’s for Phillip!”
Phillip squints at me, but I see the playfulness tugging at his frowning lips. He can’t help himself. He’s going to smile at me on camera. “For me?” he asks.
He picks up the tiny piece of paper and unfolds it. “Now you’re making me look old; I have to use my reading glasses for this.”
“Oops,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand. Will that mishap earn me a paddling later? Golly, I hope so. I feel warm and tingly below the waist already.
With his glasses in place, Phillip reads the note. “Phillip, Will You Marry Me.”
I hear some of the contestants make swooning noises. Others are so over me and my pursuit of this man that they groan. But I don’t pay any mind to anyone’s reaction but Phillip’s.
&nbs
p; “What is this, edible paper and ink?”
“Yes, Daddy. I mean! Yes, y-yes, sir.”
I’m half blind with embarrassment at my slip of the tongue. People are cackling. Even the clueless Georgianne is finally catching on. “Oh my, you’re a cheeky one.”
Phillip wags the note at me.
“Now I must paddle you for this, darling. Because it’s me who gets to propose first.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Georgianne gasps, finally catching on. People around us are making all sorts of noise, and I don’t know if they’re on our side or not. And I don’t care.
Phillip reaches into his suit pocket and then thinks better of it, grabbing my hand. “No. Not here. Come on.”
We’re out the door of the ballroom and nearly sprinting down the grand staircase and headed out the back door, straight for the rose garden. The sky is gray, and clouds are gathering, but all I feel in my heart is sunshine.
To my astonishment, he leads me back to the exact spot where he found me three days ago. Only this time, it’s starting to rain. Because England.
Phillip gets down on one knee in his fine suit and pulls out a little blue box.
I don’t even see what’s inside, but a blur of silver and pink.
“I was kidding, love. I’m happy you asked. Now, will you marry me?”
First, my hands shake. My whole world is changing before my eyes. Just like the last time I stood in this garden, my knees buckle. And just like last time, Phillip catches me.
He wraps me in a giant hug and we tumble to the ground, laughing.
The laughing turns into kissing, and the kissing grows in intensity as a gentle rain spritzes us.
Before things go too far, I pull away from his kiss to remind him he’s ruining his suit.
“Fuck it; I’ve got a closet full of suits.”
“Phillip. That’s very wasteful.”
“Maybe you can help me with that,” he says.
“Sure.”
“Oh, also, you’re not leaving. We’re getting married as soon as possible.”