Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
I spend almost as much time with those donkeys as I do with Daddy. They are mini’s and only come up to about my waist.
Outside of Daddy, they are my favorite thing in the world. So fluffy, so cute. They come when I call them just like puppies and even though it drives Contessa crazy, and Daddy tells me I shouldn’t, I bring them in the house with me at least once a week and run the halls with them bouncing and following me everywhere.
“You’re pushing, little one. Daddy has to work, that’s the deal. Those miniature donkeys deserve your affection, but you don’t need to guilt Daddy about taking care of his obligations. Now I can certainly give you a nice red ass before I go, but I’d rather get a kiss and a smile.”
I take a deep breath and nod, lowering my eyes, then feel his hand wrap around my neck, his mouth coming down to meet mine. His hand tightens until he’s in complete control of my breath holding it there until I’m on the edge of consciousness.
He lets my lips go and brings his to my ear. “You like that don’t you? I own your very breath. I own whether you live or die don’t I Babybear? I own all of you.”
I nod, feeling the pressure in my face grow as the blood gathers. My lungs burn but his eyes are trained on mine and I trust him utterly.
“Goodgirl.” He mouths releasing my windpipe and connecting us in another kiss, breathing air back into me as my head spins and I still wonder sometimes how things like that light my fire so.
When our kiss is done, he steps to the door before turning to me with eyebrows raised.
“You want me to set the alarm or you want to do it after I leave?”
Panic rises at the thought.
“No, you do it.” I swallow, hoping he won’t make me do it.
“Baby, it’s okay. You know how, you need to stop second guessing yourself. If it goes off, just call the alarm company with the code and it’s not that big of a deal.”
“I know. But you do it this time, okay, Daddybear?” I give him wide eyes and a little pout.
I hate setting the alarm. It’s complicated, and three times I’ve done it wrong, ended up setting off the thing…it blared and nearly broke my eardrums, not the mention the near panic attack it brought on from the sirens that could be heard as far as Cambodia.
I couldn’t figure out how to turn it off and the alarm company ended up calling the police and sending their own private security team to the house.
Twice.
They said if it happens again, they are going to have to charge Daddy a false alarm fee. He told them he didn’t give a shit, but I do. He showed me about a thousand times how to set it, but now I’m so panicked I doubt myself every button I push.
He nods, relenting, then says his usual ‘Goodbye for now’ and he’s through the door, closing it behind him.
A moment later, I hear the growl of a car engine starting up, the mechanical clatter of the garage door, and I know that he’s gone, into the darkness before the dawn, to whatever he does and wherever he goes.
I fight the sick feeling it gives me, imagining he could be lying. He could be with someone else and I would never know.
Surely if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, if it wasn’t another woman but something illegal, he would tell me? We would be able to talk about this secret part of his life and share it. Tackle it together. Isn’t that what couples do?
Even as I think about it, I know we are not like other couples. We are a partnership, that’s true. But Daddy is in charge. The power balance is different.
I give him my trust, my adoration and respect. In turn, he takes care of me like I could only dream. But in the end, it’s his decision and his word that is trump and it’s all part of the beauty of what we have, even if other people don’t understand.
It all churns around inside of me. It doesn’t help I’m so ass over teakettle for him that I can’t see straight. The way I fell into the Daddy part of him has me more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my life.
We’d been on just three dates when I came back to my apartment from a gardening job. It was about a hundred degrees that day, I was filthy, probably stinky, my hair in a mess on top of my head, no makeup and a worn-out pair of overalls with a white T-shirt.
I looked like Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies. Only without the Beverly Hills part.