Big Daddy Page 8

  But there’s no escape.

  I drag my little game out as long as I please, all the while feeling up her breasts and grinding against her ass. We say nothing. We don’t need to.

  “Fuck,” she hisses as I keep the tempo steady, building her up slowly and steadily, feeling the natural desires of her body in the way she moves when I touch her. I’m done winding her up, it’s time to put her to bed.

  She grabs bunches of the sheets in her fist and buries her face in the pillow as she cries out with the sudden orgasm in the cool, dark cabin room. I hold her tight and guide her through it with a steady stroking pace, chuckling softly as I feel the slick honey on my fingers, hot and wet.

  “Just doing my duty,” I growl, pecking her on the cheek. “As a fiancée.”

  She gives an exhausted murmur that sounds almost like a thank-you, but Juliette is spent. And as she drifts off into a peaceful sleep, I’m left to sit in sleepless silence with a sore tightness between my legs.

  Juliette

  I’m drifting along down a quietly babbling creek with crystal-clear waters and tall white trees looming like ancient guardians on either bank. Dark green moss grows thickly across the smooth faces of stones, and teeny-tiny fishes with glittering silver scales dart here and there, disappearing as mirages in the shine of the current. I feel totally weightless. My body is a feather at the soft mercy of the water, whirling in the pools and collecting at the tips of waterfalls. Every motion is gentle. The forest surrounding me breathes and thrums with life of every kind. Black and orange butterfly wings beat alongside tiny hummingbirds, sharing rather than competing around the fluffy center of a flower. I watch them alight on the petals opposite one another, and not even the faintest hint of a struggle ensues. They dip down in alternating motions, one takes, and then the other. I’m entranced by the come and go of their little pollination dance, so distracted that I feel my eyes starting to flutter. Like softly beating wings. Like a curled baby leaf, trembling bright green under the gift of dew. Although the water is cool, I feel totally warm from my head to my toes. All is calm. All is peaceful. All is well.

  Someone is looking out for me. I know that wherever I am, I’m safe. No one can reach me here. I’m cocooned in the radiant arms of what feels like real, genuine affection. And when my eyes do finally open in the hazy light of dawn, it doesn’t take long to figure out why I’m feeling that way. Even though the ache in my wrists tells me I’m still cuffed to the bed, the rest of my body feels perfectly comfortable. I’m cradled gently and protectively in the arms of my handsome captor. I can feel the hardness of his muscular body pressed against my side, his breath rolling across my head. He holds me close, like I’m something precious he doesn’t want to lose. Like if he were to let go of me I would float away. Lately, it has felt a little bit like I’m in a fantasy land. Not that it’s been all pleasant, but this part? This quiet intimacy with Daddy? I can’t help but enjoy it. I love to be kept safe in his embrace. I know nothing can touch me as long as he’s around to watch over me.

  And yet, I can’t seem to shake that little tingle of guilt at the back of my mind. As comfortable as I am, thoughts about my family come sneaking back in. Diesel may not be the shining example of goodness one would want in an older brother, but he’s still my blood. Surely that has to count for something. If it doesn’t, then what have I come back here for? I returned to help my mother through a medical crisis, as a good daughter should. Or so I thought. But if I can so brazenly defy my brother, does that invalidate all the help I’ve tried to give my mom? Can I be both ally to her and enemy to him at the same time? I wish things could be that simple. Black and white, clear lines. But it seems like the longer I spend in this state, the blurrier the lines become. It all smudges together, more watercolor than acrylic. Big Daddy makes me second-guess all the assumptions and self-truths I have been carrying all these years. I can’t pretend like there isn’t a big part of who still feels abandoned, deep down. After all, I lost my father when I was young, and then I slowly lost my brother to his sketchy, grimy friends. I lost him to the highway, to the rev and rumble of a motorbike engine. I lost him to freedom and the open road. I know it’s not my father’s fault he had to pass away, and with how unstable and temporarily depressing it was to be at home after his death, I kind of understand why Diesel would strike out to find some new distraction out of the house. He couldn’t stay and wallow in the bitterness. Besides, Diesel has always been exceptionally good at keeping his own private store of bitterness. He doesn’t need to add to the pile. And maybe I’m more like him than I ever thought, because I realize now that I’ve been carrying a lot of guilt and shame and pushed-down anger. I know it’s not like I was intentionally abandoned, and yet it still feels that way sometimes. My childhood memories are studded with little jewels of sparkling pain, and I can’t look back without wincing a little. But here, in the arms of my handsome captor, I can feel that pain, that bitterness, quaking at the edges around us, unable to penetrate the fortress of Big Daddy’s embrace and reach me anymore. I’m safe, at least for the moment. I almost wish he would stay asleep for a few hours more, give me more time to lie pressed up against his hard body, protected and warm.

  I have to quietly remind myself that I can’t put all my eggs in one basket here, though. Everything about my dynamic with Big Daddy is based on a shaky, foundationless lie: that we are together in an official capacity. That we know each other well enough to commit to a marriage of both convenience and strategy. I feel kind of like some hapless medieval princess being sold off in marriage to a stranger for the sake of some ill-fated truce. Of course, I hope this truce meets a better fate, but that all depends on our ability to make it look real while evading questions about how and when we met, how we ended up betrothed so seemingly out of nowhere. People will have questions. My mother especially. It’s only fair.

  After all, I would be skeptical of our “relationship” from an outside perspective, too. We are an undeniably weird couple. Gigantic, muscular, brooding Big Daddy and petite, lithe, little me. He looks like he could devour me whole, and to be honest, I’m kind of okay with that. Sure, he still has my wrists in those restraints, but I think I would be here whether or not I’m bound to the bed. Even if my arms were free, I don’t think I would feel particularly compelled to leave. Where the hell would I even go? There is no place safer or more comfortable than right here in this bed, under the sheets, with Big Daddy curled around me like a protective shield. I almost don’t even want him to wake up anytime soon just so I can work in as much cuddling as possible. Naturally it does strike me as kind of unusual just how much joy and comfort I can get from forced proximity to my captor, perhaps. I ought to pull back, resist a little harder. I don’t want people thinking I’m some shrinking violet who doesn’t have the balls or the self-respect to deny my captor what he wants. But in this case, we clearly want the same things. At least for now. We can agree on snuggling in the mega soft bed here. And honestly, for the moment, that’s enough.

  I wriggle closer to my captor and feel his heartbeat thumping slow and calm against my side. I get goosebumps from his skin touching mine, hot and hard. He’s a machine of pure rippling muscle. I can sense the enormous power thrumming inside of him, just barely held back. I know he could so easily tear me apart. I’m just an unwitting fly caught in his spider’s web. He has me perfectly wrapped up, bound by my wrists and getting wrapped up further and further into his clutches. He’s sneaky like that, but I can’t pretend like I’m not totally into it. There are a lot of reasons why I haven’t tried very hard to fight him off. Truth be told, under any other circumstances and with anyone other than him, I would have almost certainly taken a bigger plunge to escape by now. I don’t like being held down in place. I don’t like having my wings clipped. I want to be free to fly as high and as far away as I so desire. And yet? Being close to Big Daddy quells that instinct to flee within me. Breathing in his warm, musky scent makes my body loosen up and relax. Feeling his rock hard muscles ci
rcled around me like a fortress makes me feel important. Precious. Vital to somebody. And when that somebody is a guy as impressive as Big Daddy, it’s hard not to feel a little puffed up. He has good taste, I can tell. I may not be his usual fare, but there’s no pretending we don’t fit and lock in together like two pieces of machinery handcrafted to go together. This is the best place in the world. The safest little corner of the universe and it’s all ours for the taking.

  So, naturally, I’m a little heartbroken when I feel him slowly stir to life and yawn as his powerful limbs stretch out around me. I know waking up means leaving this bed, and I’m quite content where I am.

  A shiver of delight rolls down my spine when I feel him lean in close and press a soft, warm kiss to my ticklish neck. I giggle and writhe around in his arms, both wanting more and wanting escape from the tickly sensation.

  “Morning,” he grunts against my hair.

  I rock back against him. “Yes it is,” I remark.

  “How long have you been awake?” he asks in a low, gravelly voice.

  Ugh, I’ve always found men’s voices to be particularly sexy first thing in the morning when it’s kind of hoarse and scratchy. Mmm. Delicious.

  “Not long. Just been soaking up your warmth. You’re like a space heater, you know,” I tease. “Do you have just a perpetual low-grade fever or something?”

  “I’m just a powerhouse for heat. Totally healthy. And all the better to hold you with,” he growls, pulling me tight to his chest for a glorious moment.

  My heart is already soaring, my body warming and molding to his powerful shape. But before I can really snuggle in as close as I want to, I’m dismayed to find him pulling away. I wish my wrists weren’t restrained so that I could grab hold of him and keep him near. But as always, I am reminded that he is the one in control. I’m at his mercy entirely. He can come and go as he pleases, but I am bound to his will rather than mine.

  I’m embarrassed to realize that I’m actually quite okay with that. I like knowing I’m in such capable hands. But as soon as he slides out of bed, he leaves me feeling cold and lonely. There’s an ache in my heart that I know can only be assuaged by Daddy’s magic touch. I stare at him intently, my lips shaping into a luscious pout. I know how cute I am. I fully intend to use it to my advantage. Two can play at this game.

  “You’re going to leave me handcuffed?” I speak up.

  He gives me a smirk over his shoulder.

  “You sure seemed to like it last night,” he tosses back.

  I blush deeply and pull at my restraints for emphasis. Ugh, bastard. And yet I’m still turned on? Who am I?

  “Come on. That’s different. It’s morning now. I have some things I need to do,” I admit sheepishly.

  He nods and walks back to the bed, reaching for the cuffs. “Fair point. I won’t leave you here to suffer. That would be cruel,” he admits with an easy smile.

  “Thank god,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.

  The breath catches in my throat as his fingertips brush against the slightly irritated, sensitive skin of my wrists. It’s a weird sensation somewhere between a tickle and a burn, but he works swiftly, and the moment I hear the cuffs clink open, my tired arms flop down to my sides, bouncing ever so slightly on the mattress. For some reason, my floppy arms are so funny to me that I actually burst out laughing. The relief in my body from being released of my shackles was damn near euphoric. For a few blissful moments I lie flat on the bed, just grinning up at the ceiling fan. Until Daddy leans over me with a concerned expression, that is.

  “You alright?” he grunts.

  “Oh yeah. I’m great,” I reply. “I would give you a thumbs up but my arms feel like gelatin right about now.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing my arms are still in fighting condition,” he says, scooping his arms underneath my flimsy body and hoisting me up against his chest.

  “I’m not paralyzed, Daddy. I can walk,” I giggle.

  “I’ve already got you in my arms. No wiggling out of this,” he teases right back.

  “You going to watch me pee, too?” I quip.

  “You’re on your own for that. Unless you’re afraid of toilet snakes or something,” he jokes. I gape at him openly as he sets me down on my feet by the en suite door.

  “Toilet...snakes. Did you really just utter that phrase to me?” I scoff.

  “It’s a joke, Juliette. They’re not real,” he assures me.

  “Where’s the joke? I can’t find it,” I retort.

  “Alright,” he grouses. He does a spinny motion with his fingers, then shoos me into the bathroom. “Take your pee. Take a shower, too, while you’re at it.”

  “Wow. Rude,” I mumble.

  “You smell fine, but you’ll feel better after a shower,” he instructs sagely.

  “Okay, I’ll shower. Jeez. You know you’re not my real Daddy, right?” I tease.

  There’s a twinge of a smile on his lips, but the spark in his eye gives it away completely. He gives me a look up and down and shakes his head.

  “How can you look like an angel first thing in the morning like that?” he murmurs.

  My heart stumbles over a beat. I nervously twirl a lock of my tangled hair around my finger and grimace at the state of it. I glance at the mirror and full-on blanch.

  “I look like a gremlin,” I groan.

  He laughs. “I don’t know how you see anything but gorgeousness in that reflection, but I’ll leave you to it. I’ll put your clothes on the bed. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?” I pipe up.

  As he’s closing the door, he replies, “You’ve got a lot to learn, little thing.”

  Before I can ask any further, he closes the door and walks out. I hear the bedroom door shut, too. His footsteps disappear and it dawns on me that he is putting a lot of trust in me. He’s gone the opposite direction of the front door. I’m not locked in. Theoretically, I can just turn on the shower water for white noise, tiptoe out into the hallway, and make a measured bid for the door. But then again, I am reminded quite sorely, there looms the same problem as before. Where would I go? Who would help me? How could I escape when I don’t know which way to run?

  And besides...I don’t want to leave. I know that fact in the deep beat of my heart. I want to stay, to be wherever he is. So I dutifully go through my morning routine, put on the comically oversized clothes left out for me, and trot out to the living room, my damp hair dangling loose and heavy around my shoulders.

  He does a double take when I walk in the room, able to see me from his vantage point at the kitchen counter. He waves me over. I follow the scent of sizzling bacon and eggs, the tick-tick of a toaster oven, and most importantly, the slightly bitter aroma of black coffee. The two of us pile up our plates and sit in the living room to eat while Big Daddy explains to me all the different ways in which a young woman like me could feasibly defend herself against assailants. My stomach churns as he talks about this topic. I hope to never end up in such dire circumstances. I don’t want to fight. I will if I have to, but I will resist it until I’m cornered.

  “Do you really think I’m going to need to know this information?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. But I would rather have you well-informed and prepared for the worst than let you remain...helpless.”

  I bristled a little bit at that. “I never said I was helpless,” I assert.

  “I know that. You’re strong. I knew that the moment I saw you. But these men, these associates of Diesel, they know how to hurt people in a way that is almost barbaric. They don’t share the same regard and respect for life as we do,” he explains gravely.

  “You’re talking about my brother, you know,” I hiss.

  “Well, then for the sake of this exercise, let’s keep Diesel out of the picture. Think of it this way: you’re a young woman who’s been sucked into the middle of a war. There are bound to be victims. Collateral damage. I don’t want you to become that collateral da
mage. I don’t want you to be a victim, Juliette. I want to help you protect yourself, just for the hypothetical moment in which I might not be there to save you,” Daddy goes on, and I find myself enchanted.

  He really does just want to help me. And he proves it over the next hour or so, walking me through the various ways I can fight back or at the very least stun my attacker long enough to give me some breath of a chance to escape them. He teaches me to kick at the knees, knee the groin, bite the hands, push the eyes and head-butt the nose. He shows me step by step how to block someone’s attack, how to tuck and roll away, how to swipe at my attacker’s ankles and scream as loud as I can in his ear. That one was especially fun to learn.

  Before long, we’ve worked our way down from standing, to crouching, to kneeling, to toppling over together on the floor of the living room. Almost wrestling, not quite laughing, but my heart is hammering a million miles a minute. Every brush of his firm body against mine lights a fire inside of me. It’s almost hard to breathe, the desire is so thick. And I can tell that the feeling is mutual. His cock strains hard through the fabric of his pants as we roll and caress and explore one another’s bodies. I tilt my head back as he roves down my body, kissing and clawing his way down. I tremble and twitch at every stimulating moment of friction, and I roll my hips upward to meet him, eagerly encouraging him to devour me. And devour me, he does.

  His tongue goes rigid and circles my clit, waking me up with a few zaps of what feels like electrical pleasure. I buck and whimper under his hot, wet mouth, my folds getting slicker by the second. He plunges his tongue in and out of my aching cunny and darts back out to roll up and down my twitching petals. It’s almost hard to remember to breathe, I’m so turned on. I just can’t get enough of him. Every surface of his body, every movement of his mouth against my flesh, the soft growls and groans that escape his throat as he takes me for everything I am. He’s masterful with that tongue, and when he slips a long, hooked finger inside my pulsing pussy, I immediately curl my toes and cry out. An orgasm stumbles through me, making me convulse with involuntary twitches and sighs. It feels so damn good. A rush of golden warmth tingles in every cell of my body and all the tension I’ve been holding just melts away.