Daddy's Little Librarian

by Maren Smith

  Kurt closed his eyes in a grimace that was just slightly longer than a blink, and then opened them again.

  “I know,” she smiled, and held up her finger. “That’s one.”

  “Damn straight,” he grumbled and pulled out his harmonica to begin the song anew.

  The kids cheered when he was done. So did Scotti. She also threw out her arms, twirling with all the other four-year-olds as Captain Tommy shot the cannon and glitter and confetti rained gently down on her upturned face. She sat for the rest of his shift in a booth in Mermaid Lagoon, with bits of sparkle and multi-colored paper in her hair, on her clothes, and scattered all over her table and booth, swinging her feet under the table, coloring on the tablecloth and humming the birthday song under her breath.

  It was all he could do not to bend over and press a kiss to her forehead each time he had to go out and bus a table after a departing customer.

  A guy could fall in love with that so easily.

  Not him, he mentally corrected himself. Of course not, but… someone with their life a bit more stable and together could.

  Easily.

  Jaw clenching twice, Kurt bussed his tables and quietly envied that faceless, unknown someone.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Yo ho ho, I’m four-years-old,” Scotti sang, hopping out of the car now that she’d parked it in her driveway, taking her purse and the four paper tablecloths she’d completely colored in during his six-hour shift at Pirate Pete’s with her. “Yo ho ho, and I’m getting to be a grown-up little matey.”

  Fighting back a smile, Kurt shook his head and climbed out of the car now too. She played hopscotch up her walkway cobblestones, already fishing her keys out of her purse.

  “How old are you really?” he asked, trailing her to the door.

  “Twenty-six,” she said between puffs as she hopscotched up her three porch steps. When she reached the very top one, with an extra big hop, she spun around to flash him a grin, and in an instant became full-adult Scotti Moore as she walked up to her front door to unlock it.

  Fully adult Scotti still had glitter in her hair and specks of confetti stuck to her clothes.

  “And the Little side of you?” he asked, already missing her.

  Shrugging one shoulder, Scotti pushed open the door and then stepped back so he could enter first. “I don’t know, five or six, maybe. I never really pinned her down.”

  Traffic on the expressway home had been horrible. It took almost an hour to drive what would otherwise have only lasted twenty minutes. But they were home now, and the sun was down. All up and down her quiet suburban street, the streetlights were flicking on, doing limited battle with the growing darkness.

  Her porch was almost completely bathed in shadows and they hadn’t left any lights on inside. He made a mental note to keep the porch lit from here on out and took the lead inside. Listening for telltale signs of an intruder, he flicked on the entryway light and listened. The house remained quiet.

  “What kind of Littles do you like to have?” she asked as he motioned her to come inside.

  “All kinds.” Closing and locking the door, he put his fingers to his lips and motioned for her to stay put. Room by room, flicking on lights and checking every window, closet and exterior door as he went, he checked to make sure they had no unwelcome vermin hiding in the shadows. Only when he was sure she was safe, did he turn the extra lights back off again and return to her at the front door. “Okay,” he said, “Let’s get you into pajamas, and then we’ll have a quick supper before bed.”

  She hopped up the stairs. Literally. One step at a time, her hands on the safety railing, hopped.

  “Someone had too much birthday cake,” he mused, following slowly along behind her.

  “I like Captain Tommy,” she replied, and walked the rest of the way down the hall to the bathroom. “He’s nice.”

  Captain Tommy was a kid, his boss and nobody that Kurt needed to instantly despise with every fiber of his being, like he suddenly found himself doing. “He gave you three pieces of cake and blew his cannon all over you twice,” Kurt said, heading past her down the hall to fetch her bunny pajamas from the bedroom. “Of course, you like him.”

  “You didn’t give me any cake or blow the cannon on me once, and I still like you,” she pointed out. A few seconds later, she stuck her head out the bathroom door and called, slightly embarrassed down the hallway behind him, “That came out wrong.”

  Yes, it did. He didn’t correct her, he just passed her pajamas through the bathroom door and then went to change out of his boson uniform. He put on a comfortable pair of sweats and a t-shirt, something he wouldn’t mind sleeping in as he bedded down again on her floor, and all the while pretended that he was perfectly fine and did not have a semi-stiff ‘cannon’ rising to the mental image of her getting naked just down the hall from him.

  He liked her too, he thought, and headed downstairs to put both their phones on the charger. He then got the mail, answered a text from Grams when she notified him that the police had been by asking for him.

  Did they have a warrant, he texted.

  They did not.

  Did you tell them where I am?

  I did not, Grams replied, punctuating it with three frowny face emojis.

  Go ahead and tell them. I’m not running from anyone. In fact, he’d welcome the chance to ask why they’d be on him this fast after one accidental run in with Krissy, and yet Scotti was sleeping in a slashed bed, and no one was even taking her seriously.

  Scotti had her hair in pigtails when she came downstairs, holding onto Bat Bear by the arm. “There’s a car in the driveway,” she called, bringing attention to the splash of light as it brightened the tiny window in the front door.

  “Get down,” he told her, jogging back out of the kitchen toward the front door again.

  She dropped and sat on the stairs, watching as he peeked outside.

  “Dominos,” he said, reading the brightly lit sign across the top of the car.

  “Woot!” she said and scrambled back up again. “Pizza’s here.”

  “When the hell did you order a pizza?” he called as she scrambled up the stairs to fetch her purse again.

  “When you were checking the house,” she answered. “I was hungry. I hope you like Hawaiian and mushrooms.”

  His exasperated sigh was cut short by the ringing of the doorbell. If it weren’t for the fact that she was cute, cheerful, spritely, and growing on him, he’d be tempted to throttle her for bringing someone to the house without warning him first.

  “I love Hawaiian,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  Scotti came running back down the stairs with her wallet in hand, and he stood by, waiting while she paid the delivery driver. Closing the door, she ignored his censuring frown and carried the pizza and a two-liter bottle of pop past him to the dining room.

  “Yo ho ho,” she sang under her breath, pigtails swinging, and dropped her load on the table.

  “Plates,” he said as she opened the box.

  “Pizza boxes are plates you don’t have to wash,” she replied and pulled out a hot slice. She was eating on it before he crossed the threshold from the dining room to the kitchen. He got two plates and two cups and returned just as she was sitting down, humming and chewing and swinging her feet.

  “So,” she said, before taking another bite. “Do you miss being a cop?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he told her, distributing the plates and laying hers under her hands, whether she wanted to use it or not. “And yes, sometimes I do.”

  “I bet you were good at it,” she said, between chews. “Plus, you know… handcuffs.”

  He almost fumbled the two-liter, laughing instead of opening it. “Police issue handcuffs are not to be used in the bedroom,” he told her, only semi-sternly and poured them both some pop. Fortunately, he noticed the label before he killed his tastebuds on the first sip. “You got diet?”

  “I’m wassing my fig-ur,” she said,
sucking air around a mouthful of hot cheese and pineapple.

  That made two of them. He’d been watching her figure pretty much all day. Of course, he hadn’t yet found anything wrong with it, but he kept that particular observation to himself and helped himself to water from the tap.

  “All right,” he said, selecting a hot slice of pizza from the box. “You know my sad story. Tell me all about you and the groundhog.”

  “Mm,” she gave a rueful chuckle, sucking tomato sauce off her thumb. “What’s to tell? I was young, he was there, it was good for a while and then it was over. And, actually, I even knew it was over before I knew about the affair. All that did was help me get my head right about packing up and leaving.”

  They ate for a while in silence. She had two slices of the Hawaiian pizza, and he ate the rest. To be fair, he left the last piece sitting in the box, politely giving her a chance to claim it for herself right up until she started humming that pirate birthday song again. He finished off the pizza with a clear conscience after that.

  “Knock it off,” he told her.

  “What?”

  “I have to sing that at work, I don’t want to listen to it at home.”

  “It’s a catchy song.” She kept humming it.

  “You know, I never did give you that birthday spanking,” Kurt said aloud. “Do you suppose it’s too late?”

  “It wasn’t really my birthday,” she said, chuckling. “You just looked so cute out there, singing and dancing and absolutely hating it.”

  And then not only was she humming, but she was doing the Boson shuffle, sitting there in her chair with her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yo ho ho, we’re all happy, friendly mateys.”

  She let out a laughing squeak when he abruptly pushed back his chair and even tried to dive for safety, but he caught the back of her pajamas anyway. Her squeak became a shriek as he lifted her out of her seat and dumped her without preamble across his waiting lap.

  He really liked these pajamas. That Velcro bottom flap made everything so convenient, although it was something of a surprise to find she wasn’t wearing panties underneath it tonight.

  She must have been a bit startled too. From the moment he ripped the Velcro tabs apart, baring her bottom to the dining room lights and his open palm, she stopped laughing. She also stopped struggling. Holding onto his leg with one hand and the chair he was sitting on with her other, she twisted back far enough to see him, and for him to see the soft pink blush she wore. The one that didn’t have anything to do with mortification because she was in trouble, but which had everything to do with being bent across his knee, with her bare ass on display and his open hand ready to deliver what in his head he knew was going to be anything but stern discipline.

  “Are you having fun,” he asked, “pushing Daddy’s buttons like this?”

  “No,” she squeaked, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head. But he could see her timid smile hiding in the way she chewed her lip. She wasn’t at all scared of him, and he liked that.

  “Are you going to keep driving me crazy?”

  “I promise to try my level best not to?” she replied, her hesitant voice lilting into a question, which as far as he was concerned, was submissive code for: Please, by all means, spank me.

  So Kurt did, but not like either time before. This wasn’t a punishment; he didn’t start off hard and only get harder. Instead, he started off soft, with swats that hardly qualified as such, with plenty of rubbing, squeezing and cupping the malleable flesh of her bottom with his hand in between.

  She had a fantastic ass. Perfect for spanking. Round and wobbly when he smacked it, firm and soft when he caressed. And she liked it. She liked it so much, she relaxed across his lap and titled back her hips to offer up her bottom for more. The little sound she made in the back of her throat was the kind of sound he’d happily have ripped her clothes off to… followed by his own. But no, he wasn’t going to have sex with her, he told himself. That wasn’t what this was about.

  This was about showing her the Daddy wasn’t always a hard-ass disciplinarian. It was about showing her, he had a sense of humor. That he knew how to play with her inner Little. Knew how to satisfy her, no matter what she was needing, when or even how often she needed it.

  His slow spanks picked up both speed and force. His gentle, squeezing caresses came less often. He was giving her two—three—five brisk swats at a time now, before pausing to rub, and her hand against his legs became a fist, clinging to the soft, excess cloth of his sweats.

  Don’t do it, he told himself.

  But already his hand was moving, off the full summit of her softly blushing bottom and down into the valley between her legs where the cloth of her pajamas kept things hidden in shadow. At the first touch of his fingers caressing a request for access along the inner slopes of her thighs, she granted it, parting her legs for him without hesitation. She did let go of the chair though, and grabbed onto his sweatpants with both fists now. Her breathing was soft, but shaky, and when his fingers dipped into moisture gathering along the folds of her heated pussy, the sigh she exhaled could have doubled as a moan.

  Smooth. She was absolutely smooth, the plump flesh of her outer lips as soft as the name he gave her as his fingers slipped between her folds in search of the pleasuring nub he very quickly found. “I think it’s time these pajamas come down, babygirl. What do you think?”

  If she shook her head—if she hesitated in the slightest—he told himself, he would take that as a no and respect it. He wasn’t a man who forced, and he didn’t want to hurt her by taking advantage.

  She didn’t hesitate and she definitely did not shake her head. Pushing up off his lap, she climbed to her feet with all the unsteadiness of a woman already sinking into the haze of arousal and, blushing furiously, she unzipped the front of her bunny pajamas. The only thing beneath was the soft paleness of her naked skin.

  She unwrapped herself to him as if she were a present, or maybe he only thought that because watching her bare herself began to feel like Christmas morning. Shoulders first, as she shyly shrugged her arms out of her sleeves, then shimmying her pajamas down off her hips and then her legs, until finally she stepped out of them. And there she was. Lean and slender, with small, pert breasts, trim belly and hips, and an ass that could have stopped traffic. Librarian, hell. She could have been a movie star. So long as he was the only one who got to see her like this, she could be his movie star all day and all night long.

  He patted his knee and she obediently lay herself back over his lap.

  “Are you a Little who likes having your bottom spanked?” he asked, letting his hand wander the surface of each round buttock in turn. “No, ma’am,” he said, when she tensed and eventually, she made herself relax again.

  “If I’m not in trouble.”

  “You’re definitely not in trouble,” he promised, adjusting her so her bottom was positioned more prominently. He tapped the backs of her legs. “Open. Show Daddy what’s his.”

  Her hands fisted against his leg and she tensed all over again, but after a moment, she also moved her feet apart, opening up her legs, and putting every secret inch of herself on blatant display.

  The lips of her pussy shone wet under the recessed dining room lights. She was plump and pink with arousal, and he could just see the tip of her clit peeking out from beneath its hood as if every bit as shy for attention as Scotti was.

  Every inch of her was about to get all the attention she ached for, but first…

  His open hand came down with a clap that sounded harder than it actually was. He knew, because although she jolted at the impact, her eyes also closed, her breath became a wanton sigh, and her head lowered. He spanked her slow, but steady, painting her bottom pink, taking his cues from every wiggling squirm as to when to smack harder or softer, faster or slower, and when to switch targets completely, laying a single swat full across her hot little pussy.

  Compared to the force he laid upon her bottom, the slap he gave her pu
ssy was gentle, but she still jumped and cried out, a lusty shout that was quickly followed by a low-throated moan and a grind of her hips against his knee. She shivered, the flesh of her bottom clenching, and when he pulled his hand back, his fingers came away wet and fragrant with the scent of her arousal.

  He was not immune to that scent, that sight, and certainly not to the squirming feel of her grinding upon his thigh. The thrum of arousal pulsed through his veins, burning him from the inside out, pulsing in his head and his chest, and absolutely in his cock. Already he was hard as hell, prodding up against her belly, begging to go where his fingers couldn’t help but return to wander again and again, slipping into wetness, circling the sensitive tip of her clit, rolling it until she was mewling whimpers and rolling her hips along with him.

  Her legs began to shake. Her tiny toes were curled.

  “Say Daddy, may I come please,” he told her, catching her clit between his fingers and flicking it with his thumb. Slow flicks made her back arch and turned her breathy moans erratic. Fast flicks made her legs snap shut and her gorgeous ass hump up and down, riding his hand in a way that made his cock instantly jealous. “Say it. Daddy, may I come please.”

  “D-Daddy,” she broke off with a moan. She gripped and re-gripped at his pants, her trembling thighs spreading open wide. He wondered if she even knew she was doing it, granting him better access, filling every breath he took with the erotic aroma of her. He loved her bucking, grinding, increasingly desperate gasps. He loved even more that he only gave her one line to repeat and yet she had to cover her face with both hands before she could plead out, “Daddy, m-may I come? Please, Daddy!”

  She got it out just in time too. Already her bottom was tightening, her hips jerking. He barely got two fingers up inside her in time to feel those telltale convulsions as her orgasm ripped through her and her greedy pussy clamped down on the digits he pumped in and out of her. She was soft, slick, molten.