Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Nothing stops the pounding of my heart as I realise the water’s stopped in the bathroom.
I feel so small as he appears in the doorway, such a silly little thing as I hide under Jane’s covers, my breath still quick from playing with myself. I hope he doesn’t notice.
His hair is damp, just like mine feels on the pillow under my head, and he looks so nice.
His belt isn’t tied tight this time, it’s loose, barely wrapped around him. His robe shows a ridge of hard chest. A shadow of hair. And my heart is thudding all over again.
I wish I could see the rest of him.
He must know that, because I can’t stop looking.
“We need to talk,” he says. “But not tonight. Tonight is a school night.”
I nod, and I don’t even know why I’m nodding.
“We need to set some ground rules, Laine.”
I keep nodding.
“We need to work out how this is going to be.”
My head keeps on nodding, and I’m smiling a little too, because I think that sounds good. It has to be good, because he’s not freaking out already and telling me to leave.
It has to be good, because his robe is hanging further open and he doesn’t even care.
He doesn’t care that I can see he’s hard again.
That I can see he still wants me.
I can hardly breathe as he steps into the room.
I can hear my heart in my ears as he walks to the side of my bed and flicks off that little light.
My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but they’re too late to see him slip his dressing gown to the floor. I can only hear the rustle of fabric against skin.
And then the cold air as he pulls the covers aside.
The warmth as he slides in next to me.
The sadness as I realise he’s wearing underwear, that the hardness of him feels so far away.
He pulls me close, my back to his chest, and it feels so right to wriggle into him.
His knees come up and hitch mine, his arm creeps around my waist and holds me tight, and his breath is on my neck. It tickles and my breasts tickle too and I want him to touch me so bad.
“We’ll talk,” he says. “Tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say, and it sounds so dorky and pathetic.
“Ground rules, Laine. It’s all about the ground rules.”
I nod. Again.
Feel like a stupid kid. Again.
He’s so big in this bed, so big next to me.
And this stupid little kid feels safe at least.
How I want his hand to move from my belly. Up or down, I don’t care which.
But it doesn’t move. Doesn’t move an inch. Not even when I wriggle and squirm and feel his cock still hard against my ass.
My body doesn’t feel like such a stupid kid at all. My body has a life of its own.
My body knows exactly what it wants to do.
But Nick won’t give it to me.
He breathes into my hair and holds me tight, and finally he kisses my neck and it gives me tingles on top of tingles.
It takes me ages to calm down enough to go to sleep. His breathing is even and peaceful, his body so still as I squirm, and eventually I feel that, too.
I’m right on the edge of dreams as he whispers goodnight.
“Goodnight, Laine.” Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It feels natural.
Right.
This feels right.
And the words that come next feel too right to be wrong.
“Goodnight, Daddy.”
I hold my breath, scared he’s going to pull away, ready with the stupid apologies and the excuses that I’m half-asleep and don’t know what I’m saying.
But he doesn’t.
He doesn’t pull away.
I feel his cock against my ass all over again.
But he doesn’t say a word.
Chapter Eight
Laine
I wake up on my own, and my heart does a little jump. A flip of panic at the thought he’s left me, that he doesn’t want me in the cold light of day.
I slip out of bed and grab my dressing gown, my feet quick on the stairs as I make my way down, and there he is, in the kitchen, and he’s cooking.
He’s already dressed, and he looks even more perfect in his suit this morning. His hair is slick and styled, and so dark that way that you can barely see the grey at his temples. His shirt is crisp and white, and he’s so careful as he fries up eggs.
“Morning sleepyhead,” he says, and he’s smiling. His smile makes my tummy flutter. “I was just about to wake you. Food’s up.”
He flips the eggs onto a plate, and grabs some toast from the toaster. Bacon, too. I smell bacon.
It’s the best smell in the world on a Monday morning.
I take a seat with a smile, say yet another thank you, and my fingers brush his as I take my plate from him. I feel it all the way up my arms.