His Temptation

by Amber Bardan

  She sits at the counter. “Morning, Daddy.”

  Motherfucker.

  Katie

  I grip the edge of the counter. My gaze flicks back and forth between him and the popped toast. This is the first time I’ve sat down without being told to, and there’s no toast. His jaw pulses.

  Crap.

  My heart flutters, crazy and hyper in my chest. He’s noticed the clippings, and now he really is mad. I swallow. That was the point.

  The whole point.

  Except now he’s looking at me like this, and I’m not at all that sure this will play out the way I’ve imagined.

  Maybe I’ve misread him?

  “Katie,” he grates out.

  A tingle runs up my spine. “Yes?”

  He rounds the counter. “You didn’t take off your shoes before coming inside.”

  All my self-preserving instincts flare with the urge to run to the door and kick off my shoes.

  Instead, I glance down and try to look surprised.

  “Whoops.” I clear my throat to stifle the “sorry” reflex, because I really don’t want to ruin things with good manners.

  “I warned you yesterday.”

  He comes closer slowly. So slowly, there’s time for me to come to my senses and go to the door. I stay seated.

  “It’s almost like you want to be in trouble.” He looks at me steadily.

  A little gasp leaves me. Oh, shit, does he know?

  I take a deep breath. It doesn’t matter, really, as long as he plays along. “I forgot.”

  His jaw firms, and he reaches me. “You know what helps forgetful girls?”

  I shiver, the wet t-shirt plastered across me numbing my flesh. “What?”

  He leans closer, and I get a lungful of his musky cologne and his minty breath together. “Consequences.”

  I twitch. Nipples tightening. Skin prickling.

  He grabs the front of my t-shirt right above my belly button.

  I can’t hold back my squeak.

  His gaze moves over me. My nipples get somehow harder. So hard they pinch. My chest pushes out. His hungry attention devours me.

  There’s no pretending anymore. For either of us.

  “Consequences help naughty, forgetful girls to remember to behave.” He fists my t-shirt. The fabric tightens around my ribs. Water trickles down my twitching abdomen. “Isn’t that right, Katie?”

  I can’t breathe. It’s tight, but not that tight. My pulse is a construction site in my veins, banging in my ears, jackhammering in my throat.

  What am I getting myself into?

  I stare at his hard, handsome face, and I can’t resist. “Yes.”

  “Yes, who?” His scowl lessens, and his bright eyes flash.

  My lip catches between my teeth. “Yes, Mr. Colson.”

  He squeezes my t-shirt tighter, and my back bows.

  “Yes, who?”

  “Yes, Clay.” I can barely hear him over the sound in my ears. Can barely think over the screaming arousal.

  He shakes his head slowly, gaze so sharp on mine, I don’t think an explosion could make me look away.

  “Katie—yes, who?”

  I pant, and my head goes light. Oh, god. I want to play. I really do. My tongue slides between my lips, and for the first time it’s so hard to say the words. “Yes, Daddy.”

  He releases my t-shirt and grabs my waist. “That’s better.”

  I sway in the backless stool.

  Now we both know.

  Now we both agree.

  “It’s important that you tell Daddy the truth.”

  The hand on my side feels twenty degrees too warm, but it’s his words that have me suddenly ready to combust. Daddy. I’ve memorized the shape his mouth just made when he called himself my daddy. Only his hand on my waist is keeping me seated because I’m so fucking excited.

  It’s a dirty game, and it’s kinky play, and maybe I should be ashamed. Maybe another girl would be. But not me. I’ve got no ambiguity twisting that name up for me. There’s no other man to have claimed this title.

  “I will,” I whisper, and it’s true. I’ll behave. I’ll tell him anything. I’ll do whatever he says.

  Just to have him call himself my daddy again.

  He reaches out behind him without even looking and slides the other stool closer. The metal feet screech on tile, and the sound rattles up my spine. He’s so tall that when he sits, one of his shoes presses fully to the ground. He rests the other on the rung above the base.

  “You’d better.” He growls and brings me closer.

  My lips tingle like I’ve had too much to drink. I’d better, or what? I’m already picturing the what. Imagining being bent over his knee. His hand on my ass. A tremble moves through me.

  He pulls me closer and closer until I straddle his bent knee. Until his big thigh presses against the crotch of my tiny shorts. I wore daisy dukes today just for him. A pair I haven’t worn since high school and barely fit into.

  “How did your shirt get wet?”

  I gasp. No. I pull back, but he holds me there against his thigh.

  I’ve never done this before, but I’m already learning there’s safety in playing games. Security in pretending. You can be someone else. Say things you wouldn’t say. Do things you wouldn’t do. But that—that was all me.

  And he’s making me admit it.

  “Katie, this is your last chance.” He tugs my waist, and my aching, desperate cunt presses to him. “How did your shirt get wet?”

  The tremble gets fiercer.

  My teeth almost chatter. “I wet it with the hose.”

  He takes the side of my face and studies me closely. His scowl is gone. Completely gone.

  His features are open.

  He looks so different. He looks like someone who cares. “It’s okay, baby girl. You’ll never be in trouble for being honest with Daddy.”

  I grab hold of his t-shirt. He’s misunderstood. I’m not scared of what he’s going to do. I’m about to expire from wanting it.

  His thumb moves on my trembling lower lip. “Why did you wet yourself?”

  I pant, trying not to cry. That’s too much. Too real. I couldn’t possibly say.

  “Were you after Daddy’s attention?”

  His touch on me is so gentle, so safe, I find I can nod and admit the truth. “Yes.”

  He looks away from my face and at my chest. “You used your tits to get my attention?”

  My teeth clamp over my lower lip, but I nod again.

  “That’s so naughty, Katie.” This time, his voice is harsh as a razor. He looks at me again. “Now you have my full attention.”

  His hand moves from my waist to jerk up my t-shirt.

  I cry out from the shock of air, sudden and sharp on my aching breasts. Soggy fabric bunches in my armpits.

  I’m not wearing a bra. My chest heaves. I always wear one, but today—today I plotted and schemed. Wanted his attention, just like he said.

  He doesn’t touch me. Not so much as a brush on my painfully tight tits.

  “Are you wet anywhere else you shouldn’t be?”

  I blink, and my fists squeeze hard on his t-shirt. “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Where?” His throat bobs, and it’s the first sign that’s he’s affected by this the way I am. “Where are you wet, baby?”

  My tongue darts between my lips. “Down there.”

  He looks down my body, and his index finger touches low on my tummy, right above the waistband of my shorts. “In here?”

  I nod.

  He flicks open the button, and the zipper skims down. His hand pushes into my underwear, and suddenly there’re thick fingers prodding between my folds—ploughing through my secrets. “I see.”

  I moan, and my hips grind against his hand.

  He wedges deeper inside my pants, touch reaching my sopping entrance.

  “First, you tease Daddy with your horny little tits, and now you tease me with your wet little pussy.” He moves his thigh, pressing his h
and harder to me. “You’ve been a very, very bad girl, Katie.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. All my muscles draw tight, and I grind against his hand. I’m electric in a way I’ve never experienced. Like there’s an extra current of desire I never knew about. A rush of something good and bad that runs from my brain to my body and back again. There’s so much more than attraction and touch happening here. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t look sorry.” His fingers shove inside me.

  Pleasure streams from my pussy and explodes in my middle. I moan, teetering on a breathless edge.

  “Don’t you dare.” He grabs my hip and stills me then pulls his fingers free. “Don’t you dare until I say.”

  My approaching climax cruelly disintegrates. I clutch his shirt with shaking arms. “Please, Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

  He drags me higher up his thigh until my feet are far off the ground, and he holds me with one arm around my waist. “Your horny tits wanted Daddy’s attention, and now that’s what they’re going to get.”

  He palms my breasts with his free hand. Squeezing first one and then the other before bending me to his hungry face. His hot mouth clamps around almost my entire breast. I gasp and jerk. He pulls back, sucking on the nipple hard. Arousal blasts like a lightning bolt.

  I squeal and jerk.

  He holds my waist harder and releases my nipple. “Don’t you move.”

  I squirm. I can’t listen. I can’t do what he says. My body is a bundle of combustible energy, and I can’t keep it contained.

  He pinches my damp nipple. Pain streaks through desire and pushes me closer to the orgasm I can’t hold back.

  “I said, don’t move.” He pinches my other nipple. “I said, don’t you dare come without my permission.”

  I shout. My whole body goes tight. He sucks my breasts again, devouring me like I’m the only meal he’s ever had. I keep my hips still, joints locked tight. But my muscles, my muscles won’t listen. My abdominals clench and contract, trying to force a move. The agony of keeping still is another pleasure. I’m an overdrawn bow—taut and under so much tension, I’m about to snap.

  My pelvis rocks the slightest bit, and his thigh grinds a blissful pressure on my cunt. A deep moan winds out of me.

  He tilts my hips away, the asshole, as if he knows. The tension ebbs.

  “That’s it, now you’re really in trouble.” He pushes me to the tiles.

  My knees knock on the cold, hard floor, and I grab on to his leg with both arms. “Please, Daddy.”

  His belt jingles.

  Yes. I sink onto my heels and let him go, reaching for the deep pink, thick cock that springs free.

  He smacks my hands away. “Bad girls don’t get to play with cock.”

  My hands fall to my lap. Then what the hell does he want from me? He buries his hand in the back of my hair and pulls my head back. My back bows. A tingle stings my scalp. My neck arches.

  My heart riots.

  “Now these tits will get the attention they deserve.”

  My eyes widen. From this angle, stretched for him, I can’t see his dick. All my attention is on his fierce, lust-filled face. But I hear the sound.

  The jerking sound of his hand stroking his cock hard.

  Each sound hits me like a little whip. I stare at him. See his expression contract more and more until his teeth are bared.

  My vagina is a buzz of humming tension. I squeeze my thighs. Heat streaks across my freezing chest. He growls. I shudder, everything but my restrained head twitching. He ejaculates all over my bent body.

  He growls again, louder.

  Trickles run over my skin, and my body goes weak.

  He sinks down in front of me and catches me up in his big, strong arms. I rest my head against his shoulder. What’s happening with me? I feel drugged on feelings. Drunk on sensation.

  He cradles me, and now his touch is so very tender. “Look how dirty you are, baby.”

  I glance down at myself. There’s grass and dirt on my feet and up my legs. There’s semen all over my tits. I am filthy.

  “I think it’s time you had a bath.” He presses his lips to my forehead.

  I grab on to his neck and don’t even know what to call the sound I produce. It’s too much. That kiss on my forehead.

  It’s too much for me to bare.

  The water he lowers me into is warmer than I’d prepare for myself. My skin changes color as his hands move over me, my flesh getting pinker and pinker, as though I’ve been plucked. And that’s how I feel. Plucked. Peeled. Raw and exposed, and in this moment, I’m not sure I can survive it. He kneels fully dressed by the tub and washes me while holding my head above water by the back of my neck.

  I close my eyes. I don’t want to see him. This feels too strange. My hands fist at my sides. I know it’s not possible that I was born taking care of myself, but I have no memory—none—of having ever been bathed by someone else.

  He moves his attention down my belly then slips his hand between my legs. A mellow pain flares.

  I grab his hand. “It hurts.”

  My vagina feels like I’ve been hit between my legs. I’m so engorged and sensitized, so full of need, it seems too late for pleasure.

  “Trust me, baby girl.” He moves his hand and reaches for the plug. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll make you feel good.”

  The water level lowers, exposing my knees, my thighs, my belly… Until I’m boiling hot and trembling cold at the same time. He puts the plug back in and reaches for a bottle by the bath then pulls off the lid with his teeth. The contents pour over me. Oil pools in my belly button then flows lower. He sets the bottle down.

  He rubs my belly. “See?”

  His touch is firm and warm, and the caress has new arousal layering on old. That’s the thing about water. It’s wet but not slippery. His touch moves down between my legs again. I moan and arch, his fingers sliding over my stiff clit. Water is wet but hard, and he knew just what to do to break the tension. He rubs me there, just on my clit, with three fingers.

  I grab the sides of the bath. My moans echo around the bathroom. I pant and claw at the bath.

  “That’s it, baby.” He leans deeper, so it’s no longer just his hand holding me up. He slides his arm under me so my neck is in the crook of his arm, then he rubs faster. “Come for Daddy.”

  I shatter into particles no bigger than dust. My orgasm rips through every cell, twisting bone deep, until there’s no bone, no blood, no body, just bliss.

  Water sloshes. My feet bang against the base of the tub, and I shout long and loud. My knees come up, and I grab hold of them, shaking, and start to cry.

  He hauls me out of the tub, sloshing water everywhere, and cradles me in his lap. I cling to him, feeling the fabric he wears soaking between us.

  This time, the wet clothing is warm not cold.

  I’m crying—why? What’s happening to me?

  He falls onto his backside with me in his lap and drags a towel around me and tucks it in. “Shh.”

  I tremble in need of something so deeply I could die of longing for it, and it’s so close, right here, and I don’t know what it is.

  “I’ve got you.” He rocks me and holds my cheek, pressing my face to his shoulder. “Daddy’s got you, baby.”

  And there it is.

  Chapter 4

  I tug on the end of the shirt he loaned me and hover in the space between the living room and kitchen. The shirt is way too big. It hangs over my shorts and makes it look as if I’m not wearing pants.

  Clay cooks at the stove. The scent of charring bacon wafts over to me and makes my belly gurgle.

  “Sit down, Katie,” he says without turning.

  My breath catches, and my mouth opens to speak, but then I close it. He’s bossy but back to himself, and I’m back to me, and it’s odd.

  Odder that normal should be so strange.

  I step into the kitchen and glance at the table set for one. Now he’s cooking breakfast for me?

&nb
sp; I clear my throat. “Clay?” It feels awkward to call him by his first name, but given the bathing and ejaculation that’s transpired, it’d be more awkward not to.

  He glances over his shoulder.

  My fingers twist in the bottom of the shirt. “I can’t stay.”

  He frowns and looks at the plate, before setting a sausage, bacon, and two eggs on it. “You can eat.”

  I glance at the clock on the wall. “Class starts in an hour, and I need to go home and change first. I can’t go like this.”

  He takes the plate to the table instead of the counter. “Come here.”

  I blink and swallow. This isn’t like before. He’s not being Daddy, he’s just his bossy self. Me, I don’t know what I’m doing or how to respond. Play happened in fearless intuition and honest fantasy. But now, in the cold reality of normalcy, I have absolutely no idea how to behave.

  I go over to him.

  He looks down at me then pries the fabric from my twisting hands.

  Holy fuck, are we going at it again?

  He undoes the bottom buttons, all the way up to my midriff, then crosses the ends and pulls the shirt tight at my waist.

  My chest floods with air.

  “There.” He knots the ends a second time. “Now you don’t need to go home and change.”

  I glance down at myself. Well. I’m presentable enough with the shirt tied and his clean white socks folded down to my ankles.

  He pulls back a dining chair. I sit on the soft, padded seat. He slides me in on the chair then retrieves two cups of coffee from the counter and returns to sit at the head of the table next to me.

  I pick up the knife and fork. “You really didn’t need to cook for me, toast is enough—”

  “Don’t you like eggs?” He glides my coffee over the tabletop.

  “I like them.” My stomach gurgles again. In fact, I love eggs.

  He picks up his cup. “Don’t you like bacon?”

  I blink. “I like bacon.”

  “Sausage?” He drinks.

  “I like sausage, too, I just meant you didn’t need to go to the effort just because I—” I clear my throat and glance away.

  Because I let you come on my chest. Let you bathe me. Cried in your lap.