Daddy Issues Read online

  “Andi,” he said in a low voice. “Con­sider what we said…that we do not wish to do any­thing that would hurt us—our re­la­tion­ship—out­side of this place.”

  “It won’t hurt us,” I prom­ised breath­lessly. “Re­mem­ber the prom­ise we made—that noth­ing we do will change any­thing.”

  “I can­not help it,” he growled quietly. “Touch­ing you like this will change things. I can­not pet your soft little pussy without want­ing to do it again, even when we leave. I am already fight­ing such thoughts every day, even be­fore we came here.”

  “You…you do? You are, I mean?” I asked him breath­lessly.

  I’d had no idea be­fore the In­sti­tute that Salt had any sexual feel­ings to­wards me. I mean, I knew he felt ex­tremely pro­tect­ive of me, which was nice. And I had felt his body re­act when I sat on his lap—but I had told my­self it was only that—just a phys­ical re­ac­tion. But here he was ad­mit­ting he’d fan­tas­ized about me—prob­ably on more than one oc­ca­sion. For some reason the idea made me feel even more hot and swollen between my legs. He wants you, whispered a little voice in my head. Your Papa wants you…

  “Of course I am want­ing to touch you,” Salt mur­mured, echo­ing my for­bid­den thoughts. “I am a man and you are beau­ti­ful wo­man. My beau­ti­ful wo­man to pro­tect and cher­ish and care for…how can I not also wish to bring you pleas­ure?”

  “Salt…” I whispered, not know­ing what to say.

  “Which is why I will wash you very care­fully with cloth between us,” he said firmly. Then he stroked my hair and mur­mured in my ear, “Come, mishka, spread your legs for Papa.”

  His use of our role play­ing names sent a new wash of de­sire through me. I pushed away the con­fus­ing feel­ings and doubts that had sur­faced in my mind and leaned back against his broad shoulder again.

  “Yes, Papa,” I mur­mured, spread­ing my legs un­der the wa­ter.

  By now most of the peach scen­ted bubbles had dis­sip­ated and I could see what he was do­ing as his big hand came down to wash me. I bit my lip to stifle a moan as he star­ted on the in­side of my right knee and made a long, strok­ing mo­tion with the wash­cloth that ended at my in­ner thigh. Then he re­peated the mo­tion with the left leg and thigh…and went back to the right again.

  I nearly cursed with frus­tra­tion. Damn it—even though he was com­ing really, really close to my open pussy, he wasn’t touch­ing me there at all. I couldn’t stand this much longer! I wanted his hands on me now, even though part of me knew it was a bad idea. Knew that Salt was right and do­ing some­thing so in­tim­ate would def­in­itely change the dy­namic of our re­la­tion­ship.

  Just as I thought I would die of sexual frus­tra­tion, Salt stopped wash­ing me.

  “Now, mishka,” he said softly. “I think is time to shave you—yes?” Abandon­ing the wash­cloth at last, he trailed his fin­ger­tips lightly through the small thatch of light brown curls that grew on the apex of my mound.

  I couldn’t help moan­ing this time. To fi­nally feel him touch me there—even a little, made me crazy.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I…I think so.”

  “Very good then. Stand up. I think it will be easier to do this if you sit on the edge of the tub.”

  Salt helped me out of the warm bath and dried me thor­oughly with an­other big, pink towel. Then he fol­ded it and placed it along the broad edge of the marble tub, in­dic­at­ing that I should sit there.

  I sat as he dir­ec­ted, though the terry­c­loth felt rough against my still tender bot­tom. Salt hummed softly as he went about set­ting up the shav­ing paraphernalia we’d got­ten in the bas­ket.

  I watched him and felt some­thing shift in­side me. In the tub I had felt sen­sual and warm…ready to do any­thing. Yet now, sit­ting there na­ked and wait­ing to let my part­ner per­form an ex­tremely in­tim­ate ser­vice for me, I could feel some of my nervous­ness re­turn­ing.

  He’s go­ing to shave me. I’m ac­tu­ally go­ing to spread my legs and let my part­ner shave me there.

  It seemed un­be­liev­able and strange to think of al­low­ing this—of let­ting Salt do this to me. Shouldn’t we work up to this some­how? Maybe I should have him shave my legs first. But I’d had them waxed re­cently—I like to keep smooth be­cause of all the swim­ming I do—so that was out.

  Then there was the little fact that we were quite pos­sibly be­ing watched. I really didn’t like the idea of Berkley star­ing at me on a video mon­itor some­where, watch­ing avidly as Salt touched me in all my most in­tim­ate and private places. It made me feel weird and wrong and even more nervous than be­fore.

  By the time Salt was all ready to go with the peach shav­ing foam and the pink razor, I was sit­ting like a pret­zel with my arms crossed pro­tect­ively over my bare breasts and my legs wound tightly to­gether.

  My part­ner seemed to sense my re­newed anxi­ety—(how could he not—my body lan­guage all but shouted it)—be­cause he knelt on the floor be­side me and put one big hand on my knee.

  “Mishka,” he mur­mured, duck­ing his head so he could look into my eyes. “What is wrong? What has changed?”

  “I don’t know, Salt. I just…this feels weird.” I shif­ted rest­lessly on the damp, pink towel, cross­ing my legs even tighter. God, my ass was still sting­ing from the spank­ing he’d given me. I wished I had some­thing softer to sit on!

  “Why should it be ‘weird’ to let me take care of you?” he mur­mured, strok­ing my knee.

  His big warm hand on my thigh made me shiver. I wanted his touch—there was no deny­ing it. But it felt wrong to let him do this—felt dan­ger­ous.

  “It’s just, I’m a grown wo­man, I should do this kind of thing for my­self, Salt. And you’re my part­ner. You were right be­fore—things are go­ing too far. We shouldn’t—”

  “You are not grown.” He stroked my cheek gently. “Right now you are Little. My little mishka. Can you not feel it?”

  “I…” I bit my lip. “I guess so. I did be­fore—in the bath.”

  “And I am not your part­ner,” he con­tin­ued. “I am your Papa—your pro­tector. Your safety in any storm. I will not hurt you, mishka. I will not desert you.” He looked into my eyes and said in a low, em­phatic voice, “You…are…mine.”

  I felt my heart swell at his words and at that mo­ment, all I wanted was to be his, com­pletely and ut­terly. I knew it was wrong—knew it was un­real­istic. I had spent years telling my­self I couldn’t trust any man not to leave or hurt me—years con­vinced that I could only rely on me. And yet here and now, I felt some of that res­ist­ance crum­bling as Salt claimed me aloud for the first time.

  “Salt,” I whispered. “Papa…”

  “Mishka…”

  He pulled me close for a mo­ment, hug­ging me to his broad chest, press­ing my cheek down on his shoulder. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, breathed in the scent of his ocean scen­ted af­ter­shave, feel­ing the crisp Egyp­tian cot­ton of his shirt and his warm skin un­der­neath it. He felt so solid and I was so safe when he en­fol­ded me like that. For a long time we sat like that un­til my heart rate slowed and the ten­sion that had been coil­ing in­side me like a nest of snakes fi­nally dis­sip­ated.

  When he re­leased me, I was ready to let him in.

  “Open for me, mishka,” he mur­mured, strok­ing my thighs.

  Without a word of protest, I spread my legs, bar­ing my pussy for him.

  “Very good. Such a good girl,” Salt mur­mured. He sprayed a dol­lop of the peach scen­ted shav­ing foam on his fin­gers and dabbed it gently over my mound. Then he picked up the pink razor. “Lean back a little,” he told me. “Let Papa reach you.”

  “Yes, Papa,” I mur­mured. I was mes­mer­ized by the sight of his big hand hold­ing that dainty pink razor. I had seen Salt shave his own face once or twice—I’d picked him up for work sev­eral times and had come in dur