by Jane Henry
“I don’t think you got my point, princess,” he says. His breath brushes my cheeks, minty and cool, and I shiver. I remember what this man did to me last night. My body does, too. My ass tingles and belly contracts at the memory.
“I got your point,” I tell him, and flash him a smile. “Daddy.”
Still frowning, he raises a stern brow at me. “Did you just talk back?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”
If he’s amused, he’s not letting on. “Tanya,” he warns.
I bite my lip and swallow. He lets my wrists go, takes a step back, and stands with his arms folded on his chest. “Go shut and lock the door,” he says ominously. Oh, boy. So he’s going to stand there and watch me do it? I make sure my ass sways a little as I walk on these freaking amazing flats to the door, swing it shut, and flip the bolt.
“Have you checked your phone lately, daddy?” I ask him with a low, seductive purr.
His brows draw together. “My phone?”
“Mmhmm.” I keep my hands tucked behind my back so I look like a good girl. “Your phone.” I should maybe be a little self-conscious about the fact that I texted him boob shots, but seriously, the guy had his hands everywhere in broad daylight, so I have no regrets.
He’s eyeing me curiously, though. “I don’t have a phone,” he says. “There’s just a shop one we all use with the shop number on it.”
I freeze. Someone’s just dumped ice down my back.
“Holy shit,” I say in a horrible, choked whisper, “tell me you know where that phone is.”
Realization dawns on him at the tone of my voice and his eyes go to little, dangerous slits. “What the fuck did you do, Tanya?”
“Where’s the phone?” I croak.
He growls. “Spade has it. Went out to get tires on his lunch break at a dealer we know. Took the phone in case another call comes in we’re waiting on.” He bends a finger at me. “What did you do?”
“Find him,” I whisper with a groan. I slap my forehead. “Do you have something that can drive fast and not these old granny cars or that lumpy truck of yours? Oh! My car! I’ll drive. Just tell me where to go.”
I already have my keys out and I’m at the door.
“Wait.”
“I can’t wait! Are you crazy? I need to get that damn phone before someone else does! Oh, God, I’m such an idiot.” I look over my shoulder at him and wag a finger in his direction. “In fact, you should probably spank me for this.”
He huffs out a totally mirthless laugh. “You still haven’t told me what you sent, and believe me, princess, that’s already a given.” My heart thumps and my panties dampen but I can’t really think about that because I’m trying not to freak out. This isn’t about sex, I tell myself.
Ha. Suuuure.
I just texted my boobs to the creepiest guy ever who I’m going to work with for the next two weeks. I deserve whatever I’ve got coming to me.
“I know where Spade is,” he says. “If I call him, and tell him why I’m calling, he’ll open up that fucking phone.”
“Yes he will,” I say through gritted teeth. “Ow!”
I yelp when his palm connects with my ass. “I cannot believe you fucking did that,” he says, real anger in his look now that what I did really dawns on him. “You so need your ass paddled for that.”
“I know,” I groan. “I’m an idiot.”
His hand comes to my neck and lightly tightens, just enough of a squeeze. “You don’t go there, Tanya.”
“Where?”
“No idiot comments. You did something stupid I’m gonna spank your ass for later, but for now, keep your head on straight and we’ll find that damn phone. Got it?”
I sigh, a lump rising in my throat that surprises me. “Yeah,” I whisper. He releases me, and I head to the driver’s side. He blocks me and takes my keys.
“Funny, baby,” he says, without any actual indication that he’s amused. “So cute you think I’ll let you drive when you’re all worked up like this.”
It comes as no surprise he won’t let me drive right now. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he never lets me drive, he’s just that bossy. I hand him my keys with trembling hands, go to my side, buckle in, and we’re off.
“How far is it?” I ask, wringing my hands.
“Not far,” he says. He’s still angry. I can feel it emanating off him like embers burning in a fire, slow and steady but blisteringly hot. “And by the way, after we get this phone, you have the rest of the day off.”
My heart sinks. Ugh. It’s like he’s temporarily firing me.
“Are you letting me go because I acted unprofessionally?” I ask, feeling little and small.
He turns to look at me and shakes his head, then looks back at the road. “No, babe,” he grits out. “But I need to take a look at what you sent. Then, I’m gonna wipe the phone. If he did see what you sent, I wanna make sure none of them lay eyes on you. If they didn’t, we have some business to deal with before you step foot back in that office.”
I cross my arms on my chest and pout a little.
“Are you pouting?”
“Hmmph,” I say in return.
He reaches over and squeezes my knee. “You’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting,” I lie, trying to move away from him but unlike his truck that’s big enough I could lay out on the bench and sunbathe, there’s no room in this little cab for me to move away from him.
“Tell daddy if you’re pouting,” he says, his gravelly voice just a tad bit sweeter when he adds the daddy.
Mmm.
“Maybe a little,” I say. “I just. This is awful. Let’s just get this over with.”
“We will,” he says. “Promise.”
He pulls up to a place with a large sign out front, silver awning with glass windows housing all sorts of car repair things.
“You stay here,” he says, which I’m grateful for. When he goes in, I’ll maybe find a rock to crawl under. I close my eyes and lay my head back on the seat, just waiting for him to finish. A few minutes later, he’s back, and he’s holding a cell phone triumphantly in his hand, but he still looks grim.
“You got it?” I ask when he opens the door.
“I did,” is all he says. He shuts the door and starts the car.
“Oh, God. Did he look at the picture?” I ask.
“Says he didn’t, and I think he’s telling the truth because he’s a really shit liar,” he says. “Plus the phone was still on the console in the car.”
“Then why do you look so…like, stern or something?” I ask.
With a low rumbling growl, he pulls into the intersection and starts heading to the street.
“Where are we going? Levi?” This isn’t the way to my place.
He growls again.
“Um, daddy?”
“Because I fucking looked at the picture,” he says in a choked, tight voice. “And the idea of anyone else looking at that makes me want to…” his voice trails off and he clenches his jaw. “Jesus Christ,” he finally mutters.
Oh boy. This is not good.
“We’ve only known each other like a day,” I say, totally unhelpfully because that only earns me a silent glare.
Lovely.
He’s driving out of the city now, but not far. I’ve never been out this way.
“We’re not going back to the shop,” I say with wonder.
He shakes his head. “You think I want to take the chance of one of them seeing you when I bare your ass?”
I make a sort of strangled noise, which just earns me another raspy grunt.
The streetlights are further apart and the houses are nice, but separated from each other by large distances. We pull in front of a large, rambling house, with a front porch and a massive golden dog curled up on the porch.
“Welcome to my place,” Levi says, still stern and growly but now a little proud.
So he’s brought me to his place. This feels special somehow, like he doesn’
t do something like this often. Then I remember he’s mad at me, and I try to keep the excitement down. Is he mad?
There’s a garage to the side but the doors are shut, and I wonder what’s inside. I suspect I have a good idea, though, and maybe he’ll tell me. When we get up on the porch two more dogs come around the corner and they all greet Levi with excited wags of their tails. Something flutters in my heart, and I smile to myself. His place is more welcoming than mine, the smell of fresh pine and basil from a plant on the front stoop filling my senses.
Levi opens the front door and lets me in, holding it for me. I step into his house, and my eyes open in wonder. It’s nothing at all like I’d expect from a guy like him. It’s a large, spacious farmhouse, with worn, comfortable furniture, bookshelves upon bookshelves housing books of every shape and color, handspun carpets on the floors and multicolored blankets piled in on a rocking chair in front of a large fireplace.
This is Levi’s home?
“This,” I say with wonder, looking all around me. “Is not the type of place I’d expect a guy like you to live in.”
“No?” He crosses his arms and leans against a gleaming chestnut-colored mantle. “What would you expect from a guy like me?”
I wrinkle up my brow and think. “Well, honestly, I have no idea,” I have to admit. “Legit none. But I sort of imagined like an abandoned warehouse or something, I guess. Metal walls. Concrete floors.”
“Sounds comfy,” he says with a laugh. Then he pushes off the wall and stalks over to me. I stand there like an idiot, because what else am I going to do?
He’s either going to spank me or fuck me and I’m not sure which one I want him to do. Preferably both.
When he reaches me, he takes me by the upper arm and holds tight. There’s a large blue sofa that looks big enough for the two of us to sleep in if we wanted to. He folds his large frame into one corner, and drags me over. He plunks me onto his lap, wraps one large hand around the back of my neck and tips my head back so he can kiss me. It’s a quick, rough kiss, his whiskers scraping my sensitive skin.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he says. “Those pictures made me hard as a fucking rock. Where were you when you took them?”
“Um. Bathroom at Jacked Up,” I groan, because I know exactly what’s going to happen next. He tips me to the side on his lap and slaps my ass, hard, with the flat of his hand.
“Told you I’d spank you bare,” he rumbles. He bends me over his knee and hikes my skirt up. I’m dangling precariously over his knee and trembling because I know what’s coming, and hell if I don’t want it.
With a loud rending of fabric, he tears my panties right off me. “Time for those panties,” he says. He folds them up and shoves them in his pocket. This is so damn wrong, but I’ll die if he stops now.
“How many pictures did you send?” he asks.
“Six,” I groan and brace for what I know’s coming, and I’m not disappointed. He gives me six hard, searing smacks that take my breath away but light a fire in me. I squirm on his knee, so damn turned on I can’t even think straight.
“Say, I’m sorry, daddy,’” he instructs, hand perched precariously over my ass.
“I’m sorry, daddy,” I say. My chest gets all tight when I call him daddy. I fucking love it.
Without a word he pushes his hand between my legs and starts touching, fondling, caressing me. I part my legs and pant over his lap.
“Good girl,” he says, gently touching the edge of my channel. “Milk daddy’s fingers like a good girl.”
“Oh my God,” I groan. I’ve never heard a guy talk dirty like this but I don’t want him to stop. He impales me with his fingers. Shooting tremors of arousal shudder through me. I groan out loud, gyrating my pelvis on him.
“Good girl,” he says. “Just like that, baby.”
He’s hard under my belly and I know he wants this badly, as badly as I want him.
“You’re soaking daddy’s fingers,” he says. “Somebody likes getting her ass spanked.”
“Daddy,” I breathe, my need to come getting hotter, more intense. It’s all I can think of.
“Come, babygirl,” he orders, pumping into me harder and faster.
I let myself fly, chasing my ecstasy over his knee like he told me to. Something about the way he orders me to do this makes me want to laugh and cry and snuggle up on his chest all at once, like he’s the one orchestrating my every emotion and need. I need this. This. I give myself over to the power of my climax coursing through me, and just when I’m coming down from the high, he positions me on the couch, my arms on the arm rest. I hear him unfasten his jeans and push them down. He’s ripping open a condom and I’m so damn ready. He slams into me hard, yanks my head back, and the pain radiates on my scalp.
I gasp, hold onto the edge of the couch, and brace myself as he thrusts into me harder, faster. He’s got my whole braid wrapped around his fists and he pulls again. This braid was a good call, I think, in a delirium of pleasure and pain and ecstasy as I chase a second powerful orgasm that rips through me when he grunts his own release.
We’re panting and sweating and somewhere in the distance a dog whines, probably wondering if he’s half killing me.
“God, you make a slut out of me,” I mutter, my eyes still closed. He slaps my ass affectionately.
“I might need to figure out a way to get you to work remotely,” he grumbles. “I don’t get a fucking thing done with you around.”
We clean up and I pad out to the kitchen on bare feet. The kitchen’s beautiful, with huge bay windows, a butcher block table, and stools covered with cushions in reds and blues. Copper pans hang from hooks on the wall, and open shelves house Mason jars of every shape and color. I love it.
I slide onto one of the stools as he goes to the fridge and takes out a pitcher of water. He pours me a glass and pushes it over to me. I take a sip, looking around his kitchen. He seems so out of place with his tats and black clothes, walking barefoot in a kitchen that looks like it could grace the centerfold in the Martha Stewart Living magazine. A large, thick red bowl with a fluted edge holds apples and oranges and lemons, beside a matching cutting board. He grabs a loaf of bread from somewhere, a bread knife, and cuts thick slices of crusty bread, which he piles on a large, sturdy plate. Everything about Levi is big and strong, so it fits that his home and the furnishings therein match that, I guess. Just like his truck.
He puts out a plate with wedges of white cheese, and nudges over a bowl filled with dark purple grapes. My stomach growls.
“A post-sex feast,” I mumble, taking a wedge of cheese with bread. The cheese is strong and creamy and my mouth waters. “Mmm.”
“You like it?” he asks, turning back to the fridge and pouring himself a glass of water.
“Love it,” I say, popping a few more grapes into my mouth.
A corner of his lips quirks up when one of the dogs pads into the kitchen. He bends down and scratches its ears.
“Didn’t really peg you as a dog person,” I say.
He looks up at me with a lopsided smile. “I think all your pegs for me were off the mark, princess. This is Murry.”
I flush a little and nod. “Murry. I like that. And I think you’re right…daddy.”
It feels different calling him that now that we’re sex-sated and eating an amiable lunch, but I wanted to test it out. His eyes warm appreciatively. He stands and leans against the counter. “You ever call a guy daddy?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. I actually didn’t even know it was a thing.”
For some reason that makes him laugh. The deep rumble startles me, and I drop a grape that rolls onto the floor. Murry lunges for it but Levi snaps his fingers with a stern, “No.”
The dog slinks back obediently and trots out the room.
“Wow. Even your dogs do what you say.”
He looks at me curiously, like that’s a weird thing to say. “Of course.”
I smile. Naturally, it’s a given for him.
&nbs
p; “I dunno.” I sigh, take another wedge of cheese, and bring up what’s bothering me. “So...you sure Slade didn’t see that picture?”
The amusement on his face fades. He’s scowling again. Great.
“I don’t really want to talk about that again, Tanya,” he says, but he shakes his head. “And no, he didn’t. If I thought for a minute he did, I’d fire his ass.”
I blink in surprise. “You’d fire an employee because he saw my boobs?”
His eyes darken. Walking over to me, he leans on the counter in such a way he’s caging me in against it. I feel his heat again, and his voice has a visceral response on me when he starts talking. “I’d fire him a fucking minute if I thought he saw your tits,” he says.
“But he works for you,” I protest. “And you need him.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “He’s kind of a douchebag.”
I smile. “Well, I’m glad he didn’t see me. That was a really stupid thing I did. But you sort of provoked me.”
Both of his brows shoot up in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you were the one with your hand up my skirt in public this morning,” I mutter. I eat a whole fistful of grapes at once, so I don’t have to speak for at least a few seconds. It’s safer that way.
“So your response was to take a naked picture of yourself to get me back?”
Now that he says it that way, it sounds kinda stupid.
“Okay, so not my best strategic move.”
He laughs. “Yeah. No.”
We talk easily about anything and everything. Where he got the reclaimed wood on the floors of his kitchen, why he chose this house, how long he’s been here and how many dogs he’s adopted. My father and mother and the places I’ve traveled, what it’s like being heiress to my father’s legacy.
“Have you all started on the car yet?” I ask.
He nods soberly. “Physically, not yet. The most important thing we do first is assess the damage and order parts that take a while to come. Once they’re here, we begin work.”
“Ah,” I say. “Okay. And how long will this take?”