Touch: The Complete Series

by Cara Dee

  "Bend over and hold on to your ankles." A command.

  As I obey, I feel him coming up behind me. He strokes my bottom. He kneads it. He spanks it. I yelp and cringe, then whine as he rubs out the sting. He's being such a meanie!

  "Stand still." His voice is gruff and quiet. "You've had this coming for days, Kayla."

  I snarl. "I've done nothing wrong." My wet hair gets in my face, so I try to blow it out of the way, but it doesn’t work. I give up with a huff. "I've been a good girl."

  "Have you?" He hmphs and slides a finger down to my kitty. Wet already. I'm such a hussy. "If I remember correctly, you've been sneaky a few times." Uh-oh. "Or haven't you tried to get out of the trip to Oregon? Haven't you been a brat?"

  Um. "No?" I squeak. In response, he spanks me again. "Ow! That hurts." I whimper and try to squirm away, though he holds me fast. The next thing I see is his towel being dropped to the floor. "Please, please, please, Daddy! I'll be good. I'll be good. You don’t have to—" Before I can even finish the sentence, he grabs my hips and rams his cock so deep inside my pussy that it steals my breath. My mouth pops open, but no sound escapes.

  "Did Daddy's cock shut you up, baby girl?"

  Unable to form a coherent response, I let out a breathless wail, my nails digging into my ankles so I don’t lose my grip.

  For several minutes, he fucks me like that. He has me at his mercy. Doubled over. His hard cock slamming and drilling deeper. His hands holding me in place, even pulling me back on his erection with some thrusts. There's my whining—and the few moans I can't hold back—Daddy's heavy breathing, the sound of skin slapping, and the wetness I can't hide.

  "Remember your safeword?" He pants, abruptly withdrawing from my pussy. I nod pitifully and sag against him as he pulls me to a stand. "Good. Lie down on the couch again."

  The second my back hits the cushions, he settles between my legs, places a hand near my head, guides his cock to my opening, and pushes forward.

  "Too much!" I cry out, to which he clamps a hand over my mouth. "No, stop! Stop, Daddy!" My sounds are muffled, but he can still hear them.

  I think he senses that I can handle a lot more—that my "reluctance" is too practiced—so he speeds up and goes harder. Wrapping his fingers around both my wrists, he gathers my restrained hands above my head. With his free hand, he begins to pinch my nipples, and he tells me that if I scream or become too loud, he'll bring out his belt when we get back to the hotel room.

  I don’t want his belt. It really stings!

  Each slide of his big cock inside me is like feeding me Viagra for girls; I'm soaking wet, and there's nothing I can do about it. But the pinches, the rough squeezes, and the sharp nips of his teeth…they always confuse me. A part of me needs it, and even wants it, but another part doesn’t. I'm swimming in indecision, which leaves me vulnerable and easier for him to dominate. It's what ultimately makes me yield.

  In a final effort, I try to push him away. I shove at his shoulders and claw at his skin. He tries to kiss me, and I turn away and snarl at him.

  "Feisty little baby slut, aren't you?" He hisses in my ear, sending tingles down my spine. "I think I've let you be a brat for too long, Kayla." The hand that isn't restraining my own hands slides under me and cups my butt. "Haven't I told you that I will always take care of you? Haven't I told you that I'll do what's best for you?" He lets out a gritty moan as he continues to pump into me. "Yet, for the past few days…you've questioned me, begged me, been manipulative…"

  A hard squeeze to one of my butt cheeks makes me cry out. Tears well up in my eyes. He sees it, but he remains ruthless and relentless.

  "Handling a little brat can be fun," he whispers, "but I want my precious sweetheart back now." With that, he takes me even harder.

  Pain mingles with more pleasure as he begins to stroke my clit. Then more pain. Bites, harsh thrusts. More pleasure. He sucks on my nipples, his tongue swirling and teasing. Pain. His entire body presses down on me.

  The brat in me whimpers in defeat and pulls back.

  "Would I ever let anyone hurt you?"

  "No…" I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. "But, Daddy—"

  "No buts." He claims my mouth in a hard kiss and moans. "Trust me, Kayla. When we're in Oregon, trust me to take care of you and keep you happy." I flush with heat, and his reassurances finally settle in. "Work with me instead of against me. If you struggle…we both know Daddy will fuck the fight out of you."

  "Oh, God." I gasp as a wildfire blazes through me.

  His promises, his cock, his fingers on my clit—it's all too much. Too much, too much. Suddenly drowning in a big ocean of bliss and euphoria, I sink deeper and deeper into the darkness where I'm left totally free and unchained.

  Tears and sweat dampen my skin. Thoughts, worries, and distractions vanish; they fade away. It's unbelievably freeing to let go. As long as my Daddy is here, everything is perfect in the world. He will take care of me. He will make all those decisions that make my head ache. In return, I will worship him.

  I cling to him, my orgasm still raging inside me.

  "That’s it," I hear him murmur. "There’s my gorgeous little baby."

  His praise leaves me feeling all glowy, and it's only a few seconds later that he jerks and starts coming, coating the inside of my pussy with his release.

  "Christ, Kayla…"

  Still pinned down by his body, there's nothing I can do but take it. Only, now I want it with every fiber of my being.

  My skin, wherever he's pinched me and manipulated my limits, is red and burning hot. It feels like each inch of redness has its own pulse, and it makes me hyperaware of Daddy's touches right now. His labored breaths against my neck, his heaving chest against mine…

  I realize this wasn’t about "letting off some steam." I've behaved badly, and Daddy put a stop to it before I could take it further and really act out. It's overwhelming, the fact that someone else knows me better than I do. I hadn't even noticed just how unsettled the upcoming trip had made me. But I feel so much better now, and not because of a fuck, but because of how he simply made my leash shorter. Sometimes it's necessary.

  "Do you feel better, baby girl?" He kisses me on the forehead and slowly pulls out of me, ending up next to me instead, propped up on his elbow.

  Still overwhelmed, I just nod and give him a watery little smile. Then as whimpers bubble up and my eyes won't stop welling, I glue myself to his body and begin crying. My breaths come out all choppy and fast, as if I can't let go of the emotions quickly enough.

  In my head, I try to think back on our vacation here; I want to recall what I've done to make Daddy notice the problem. I know I've been restless and a bit bratty, but was that enough for him to draw the conclusion that I needed rougher play?

  Evidently.

  "It's all right, my little love." He soothes me, shushes me gently, kisses my hair, and strokes my back. "I've got you."

  "I'm sorry…" My bottom lip quivers. "I didn’t realize."

  "I know." His eyes are gentle now. "But it's not your job. It's mine. Now, let's lie here for a bit. You're still trembling a little." He feels my forehead, then moves down to caress my cheek. "We'll rest, and then we'll shower before lunch. Does that sound good?"

  I nod and burrow myself impossibly closer into him, sucking my thumb into my mouth. "Yes, Daddy."

  Chapter 2

  Our vacation is over too quickly, and I'm thankful for Nicholas's distracting me. On our way to LA—where we'll change flights—he asks me to go over the plans I have for the Lounge with him.

  Before Nicholas bought the place next to Switch, it was a big restaurant, and the kitchen and the private lounge still haven't been dealt with. In the old dining area, however, we now have the Cave, a big space for scening.

  With my tablet between us, I open up the sketchpad software and show Nicholas how the space behind the Cave will look after a couple walls have been torn down.

  First, we have the Cinema—what used to be the kitchen—
and this will actually open a few days after New Year's.

  Switch is closed over the holidays, so Nicholas paid a construction team lots of money to work on our very own movie theater.

  It will be totally dark, with black-painted walls and floors, and instead of cushy recliners, there will be four big, round beds filling the room. And of course, a massive screen on one wall that will show either porn or erotic slideshows.

  Then we have the Lounge…

  "This looks wonderful." Nicholas zooms in on what used to be the kitchen, or mainly, the new arched entrance that leads to it. "How many stalls in the Cave will have to be removed?"

  "All of the ones on the eastern wall." Which means three stalls. A part of that wall will open up to the Lounge. "But I was thinking we could utilize the platform in the original club area a bit more. Right now, we only use it for public demos."

  Nicholas nods thoughtfully. "That sounds like a good idea. There's enough space between the platform and our private booth to keep equipment, too." Exactly. Like, the furniture we have in the three stalls that we need to eliminate. "And how are we on the name? You weren’t sure about calling it the Lounge?"

  I shake my head and take a sip of my Sprite. "No, I don’t think it will fit."

  I've explained my vision already, so he knows. It's going to be a harem-like room, with billowy fabrics, pillows and mattresses on the floor, sconces with lit candles, rich colors of gold, plum, moss green, and wine red. In the middle of the room, there will be two brass poles for dancing, and between those, everything you need for wax play. Candles in various colors—with different melting points—mineral oils and other options for protecting the skin, thermometers, and holders and cups for those who prefer to play with only the wax. All of which will be set up on an altar.

  "I've researched some options…" I tap my chin absently, thinking. "That kind of room is called Oda, but I'm not sure many people know that."

  Nicholas hums. "It's also referred to as a chamber, no?"

  "That’s true." I nod and look at the screen. "The Chamber…The Harem's Chamber…"

  That will actually be perfect! Because we have the Club—the original club area—the Cave, soon the Cinema; yes, the Chamber will be super perfect.

  Nicholas leans close and kisses my jaw. "The Sultan's Chamber, baby girl." I shiver. "A place where a Dominant can drown in pleasure, be surrounded by it, and snatch up a concubine or two."

  I giggle, slightly breathless. And a lot turned on. "Only one for you, Sir." I look up at him a little accusingly. Playfully, of course.

  "Of course." He smiles and grasps my chin, tilting it for a kiss. "You're the only concubine I want." He winks at me and lets go. "But don’t think I haven't noticed the way you look at Dylan sometimes." There's mischief in his eyes, and I feel my cheeks heating up. I had no idea he'd noticed! "The Chamber would be a perfect place to watch him play with Cade, wouldn’t it?"

  "Oh, yes." I grin, excited. Which reminds me, I hope Cade and Dylan's second date goes well. I already know their first was a success, and that was only a few days ago.

  Nicholas tilts his head a little. "You'd tell me if you want more, right?"

  "What?" My eyebrows knit together.

  Now he appears guarded and careful. "More than watching."

  Oh. Oh! No, no. I shake my head. "Eeek," I squeak and giggle just picturing it. "No!" I clutch my tummy, feeling all weird. "I admit that I like to watch, but—" I could never ever participate. I don’t like to share, and I don’t like to be shared. However, playing near Cade and Dylan would be so sexy. Especially since Cade is a Daddy Dom, too. "You're silly, Daddy." I snicker and bury my head against his bicep.

  He rumbles a low, sexy laugh and kisses the top of my head. "I'm incredibly relieved, too."

  That makes me look up at him. "You don’t ever have to worry about that." Then I smirk a little. "You don’t like Dylan much, do you?"

  Okay, maybe that’s taking it too far, but I know Nicholas thinks Dylan is too mischievous. Sometimes, he'll run up to me at the club, poke my boob or something, and then run off again. To which Nicholas will dole out his punishment. But now that Dylan is—hopefully—with Cade, I think Nicholas will breathe a sigh of relief.

  I think it's funny. Dylan is a crack-up. He's cute, too. Silly sexy. He's a twenty-five-year-old clown.

  "That boy is trouble." Nicholas grins wryly. "I sincerely hope Cade will keep him on a leash."

  I shudder, a little intimidated by Cade. He is very nice, but he's not like my Daddy. If I didn’t like Cade, I wouldn’t have set him up with Dylan. That said, he's very different from Nicholas. Cade looks like a bad boy. A biker. A hot biker, but a biker nonetheless. With tattoos, piercings, and a leather jacket to match. He always strolls into the club in jeans, a snug T-shirt, his dark hair buzzed super short, scruff on his sharp jaw, an unlit cigarette behind his ear, and stormy blue eyes that promise indecency.

  I hope Gabriella—another Little friend of mine—won't feel neglected, though. John, Gabriella's Daddy…I don’t really like him. I try to give him the benefit of the doubt since he's Nicholas's friend, but I don’t know. Lately I've seen John take "emergency calls" too often, and so he sometimes leaves Gabriella alone at the club. In the past, Cade looked out for her, but if Cade will be busy with Dylan…

  Maybe she'll open up to me more about it, although I won't be surprised if she doesn’t. We're kinda close, but she's closer with a few others. Sort of like I've grown so close to Evangeline and Brayden. I really like them, and I can't wait to see their collars when I get back home.

  "What're you thinking about, baby?"

  I sigh and stow away my iPad. "Brayden and Evangeline. I'm so happy for them, but I expected them to tell me about the collaring." Mark was supposed to collar them the day after Nicholas and I left for Mexico, but when I talked to Evangeline, she didn’t mention anything.

  "He postponed it," Nicholas answers. "I spoke to Mark yesterday. He's bringing them with him to his house in La Jolla after the holidays, and he plans to do it there instead."

  "Oh! I love that idea." I smile. "I hope they get married and have a bunch of babies."

  Nicholas laughs through his nose and gathers me close. "Everyone should have a fairy tale according to you, huh?"

  "Of course." I nod. "Do you know what my own idea of a fairy tale would be?"

  That wry smile is back. "You've told me." He taps my nose. "A kitten."

  Yeah… "Being married to you and having a kitten," I correct him.

  *

  When we board the flight to Oregon—Portland, more precisely—I need more to distract me. We're done talking about Switch, and I'm not ready to hear more about Nicholas's other clubs in the Bay Area, because we all know I'd get a bunch of ideas for projects.

  It's probably best I only have one club to focus on at a time, and there will be plenty of opportunities later for me to get creative with the other venues. I get so easily sidetracked.

  So, now he distracts me with the pros of going to Oregon. He helps me focus on the people in my family whom I actually like.

  It amazes me a little to know that I still have family members on my side after Amanda had called everyone to say that I had "stolen" the love of her life. She really said that.

  She's such a conniving bitch. Her sister Amber, too, but Amanda was always the worst—a bully behind a sweet smile.

  From the horrible night shortly after my thirteenth birthday when my parents died in a car crash, I grew up with Amanda's bullshit. She flashed that smile to Aunt Mary and Uncle Keith, and the second they looked away, she threw harsh insults at me. I didn’t belong in their family, she said. I was the black sheep. Everything I did was wrong. But because my mom and dad had recently died and my aunt and uncle had graciously taken me in, I didn’t have the energy to defend myself, nor did I want to cause problems.

  I've learned to be completely honest since then; except, around Amanda it's too easy to fall back on bad habits. For example, at Amber's we
dding…the second I found out it was my cousin whom Nicholas was dating, I remember telling him—pleading with him—to actually stay with her.

  Can anyone really blame me, though? After all, when I was thirteen, Amanda was twenty-seven. She was an adult, and she acted like that. And what did it all stem from…?

  Bitterness. Jealousy. Resentment. For petty reasons.

  Amanda has always demanded to be in the spotlight, and she had just started her own company when we learned about the car accident. The plan was for our family to go to her "grand opening"—a party for the ad agency she'd started. Instead, it was replaced by a big funeral and mourning.

  I had lost my parents. Aunt Mary had lost her sister and brother-in-law. Gramma Ida had lost her daughter and son-in-law.

  Everyone forgot about Amanda's big day.

  She was bitter and resentful and took it out on me every time she came to her parents' house, which was often since they lived on the same street.

  Three years later, Amanda moved her business to San Francisco, and Amber went with her.

  *

  When we get in the town car that'll take us to the hotel where my family is gathered for the holidays, most of my fears have been calmed, but I'm still super nervous. My gut tightens to the point where I clutch my tummy and burrow closer to Nicholas for comfort.

  "Do you ever miss Portland?" He's trying to keep me occupied with conversation, I think.

  I shake my head no and hug his bicep. "No. I left as soon as I graduated from high school for a reason." For years, I thought I was a nomad. Several in my family have nicknamed me Drifter because I've moved around so much. Sure, I love to travel, but…I'm California-focused now. It turned out I was only looking for the place where I belong. "San Francisco is home."

  Nicholas hums and kisses my temple, then speaks to the driver and idly plays with my fingers.

  It's only a few minutes later that we arrive at the fairly large and upscale hotel, and even though we're not meeting my family until dinner, it's almost inevitable that we'll run into someone in the lobby or…in the elevator, maybe.

  Having shipped our bags home from Mexico earlier, we only have one piece of luggage left, not counting our carry-ons. After thanking the driver, Nicholas shoulders his laptop bag and grabs the luggage, then places his free hand on my lower back to usher me inside the hotel. I clutch my own bag close and look around the Christmas-decorated, brightly-lit lobby, immediately spotting two of my cousins on Dad's side.