by Stella Moore
To the right, a man and a woman embraced. They were faceless figures, really more of an impression of people than actual depictions. On the left-hand side of the paper, she’d drawn a lone woman, with big sad eyes and tears streaming down her face. Livvy had defined the woman’s features enough that he could tell it was Angela Winters. The word ‘help’ was scattered across the left of the page, but a giant black line down the middle of the paper stopped the words from reaching the couple on the right.
His mind raced, trying to find the words to ease her pain. Ease her obvious guilt over something she never could have prevented. He turned his chair so he was fully facing her and pulled her between his thighs.
But she spoke before he had a chance to organize his thoughts. “Are you mad?”
That, at least, was a simple answer. He settled his hands on her hips and lifted his face so she could see the truth of it in his eyes. “No. Not even a little tiny bit, Livvy. You’re allowed to feel whatever it is you feel. I will never be mad at you for having feelings.”
“I know. I just—it’s stupid for me to feel like this.”
“Not at all. I’d honestly be surprised if you didn’t feel a little guilty. I think that’s a normal reaction, especially when something like this happens to someone we know.”
“Maybe.” The frustration in her expression echoed in her tone.
“Would I lie to you, little one?”
She smiled, just a slight lift at the corners of her lips, but it was enough to ease the churning in his gut. “No, Daddy.”
“Then obviously I’m telling the truth about this, right?”
“I guess.”
It was as good of an answer as he could expect, given the circumstances. “Do you want to talk some more or are you ready to go watch a movie?”
“I think I’m okay for now.”
“Movie it is, then. I think I saw that new scary movie you wanted to watch was available to rent.”
Her eyes lit with delight, momentarily banishing the demons she was struggling with. “Really? But you hate those movies.”
“Then you better go set it up before I change my mind.”
Her laugh eased the last bits of anxiety clinging to him. His girl felt things more deeply than he could comprehend sometimes, and it was a relief to know she wasn’t letting herself be smothered by grief and guilt.
Deciding the half-finished emails in his box could wait, he headed straight for the kitchen and popped a bag of popcorn. He dumped half of it into a bowl for them to share. If he brought the whole bag, she’d eat it without even thinking about it and then she’d be sick half the night.
He was walking into the living room when her phone buzzed. She winced at the readout and answered with obvious reluctance.
“Hey, girl.”
Shannon, most likely. James set the popcorn on the coffee table and joined her on the couch. Glancing over at him, she sent him a small, forced smile.
“Yeah, I heard. Uh huh. No, I totally agree. Rain check. Monday night? Hang on.”
She moved the phone and covered the microphone with her hand. “I was supposed to have dinner with Shannon tonight. I forgot to ask with... everything. Can I go out Monday?”
“I don’t see why not. But take a ride share and you have a three-drink limit.”
Her face fell into a familiar pout. “Three? Really, James?”
He raised an eyebrow, sending what he hoped was a clear message. Since she sighed and didn’t argue further, he assumed the message was received.
She put the phone back to her ear. “Hey. What? No, I’m not in trouble.” Her cheeks turned bright pink at whatever Shannon was teasing her about. “Just making sure we didn’t have plans. I can do Monday. Want to meet me at the office and we can share a ride? Okay. See you then.”
When she’d ended the call, James tugged on her arm. “Come here, Olivia.”
She cringed but obeyed and straddled his lap. Cupping her bottom cheeks, he squeezed, pleased when she yelped. Her marks from the night before must have still been tender.
“Do good girls argue with their daddies about rules?”
Her cheeks, which hadn’t yet lost their color, darkened further. “No, Daddy. But three drinks isn’t a lot!”
“I know. And if I were going with you, it would be different. Three drinks is enough to have fun but still be aware of your surroundings.”
“But Shannon is going to have way more than three,” she whined.
Shannon. He really liked Shannon, but she had a habit of getting his girl in trouble. One of the worst punishments she’d gotten in the last couple of years had been thanks to a shopping spree inspired by Shannon and a few too many drinks.
“Even more reason for you to keep your wits about you. Three drinks are plenty, little one.”
She sighed heavily, but nodded. “Okay.”
“Good girl. Turn around, but keep your position.”
Despite her obvious confusion, she shifted so she was still straddling his lap, but with her back to him.
“Lean back,” he said, pleased when she again followed his instructions without question.
When she was situated just how he wanted her, he cupped her breast with his left hand and ran his right down her torso to the band of her yoga pants.
He toyed with her quickly hardening nipple, drinking in her gasps and whimpers as he plucked and tortured the sensitive peak. His right hand dipped under the waistband of her pants to find her wet and ready.
“Good little girls,” he whispered, sliding his fingers through her slick folds, “who listen to their daddies,” he drew out her honey and pressed against her clit, eliciting a long moan from her, “get rewarded. You want your reward, little one?”
“Yes, Daddy.” The words were nearly lost on a gasp. She rocked her hips against his hand, her bottom rubbing against his cock with every movement until he was rock hard beneath her. As uncomfortable as he was, this moment was about her. He wanted her safe, which meant she needed to follow the rules he set in place.
Punishments weren’t the only way to encourage little girls to obey their daddies.
“That’s my girl. Come whenever you’re ready, Livvy.”
Murmuring praise and encouragement in her ear, he continued to tweak and tease her nipple while he stroked her clit. In no time at all, she shuddered, her body bucking against his hand as she rode out her orgasm. He knew her body as well as his own, and he used that knowledge to pull every ounce of pleasure from her until she lay limp in his arms, her chest rising and falling with deep, ragged breaths.
“Good girl.”
Her head rolled to the side and she grinned. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“My pleasure, little one. Ready for your movie?”
“Mmhmm.”
Chuckling, James reached for the remote. He left her where she was, snuggled on his lap while they watched her movie.
Chapter Eight
Services will be held Wednesday afternoon...
Olivia read the sentence for the twentieth time in a row. Services. What an odd word for a time filled with such grief.
Should she go? It seemed like the right thing to do, but just the thought of stepping foot inside that funeral home sat like a rock in her gut. She hadn’t really even known her that well. They’d only met the one time.
“Why the frown, little one?”
At the sound of her daddy’s voice, she looked up and found him hovering over her, concern etched into his features. She handed him the tablet without saying anything, relieved when his expression shifted from concern to sympathetic understanding.
“I know this is hard for you. I’m sure it would mean a lot to her family if we went.”
“I thought you might say that,” she mumbled.
Before he could press, the jarring sound of the doorbell ringing echoed through the house. James handed her the tablet back and headed for the front door. “I’ll be right back and we can talk.”
She waited on the couch, straini
ng to hear the voices in the front hall. When James returned a few minutes later, he wasn’t alone. A man and a woman trailed in behind him. The man wore sympathy like a mask. That was how it seemed to her, something fake he put on for the occasion. The woman’s face was flat—it was the only word that seemed to describe the utter lack of emotion in her expression.
But it was her husband’s expression that sent the chill racing up her spine. It was a kind of cold fury she’d never seen in him—and something she hoped to never see again.
“Liv, Detectives Michaelson and Rogers are here to ask you some questions.” That muscle in his jaw, the one that always let her know when he was trying to control his temper, jumped. “It’s about Angela.”
Her stomach tied itself into knots and she instinctively reached for him. “Angela? What about Angela?”
“We’re sorry to interrupt your Sunday, ma’am.” The male detective, Michaelson, spoke with the same fake sympathy in his voice he wore on his face. “May we sit?”
She looked to James, but he was already gesturing to the loveseat. The pair sat, their rigid postures making them look out of place in her warm, comfortable living room.
Michaelson spoke first once they’d settled on the couch. “How well did you know Ms. Winters?”
“Not well. What’s this about?” Olivia moved closer to her husband, seeking the security she always found in him. “James?”
“I’m right here. Just answer their questions, baby.”
Tightening her grip on his hand, she tried to draw strength from his touch. “I just met her once, when we were doing a photo shoot for a magazine article.”
“This photo shoot?” Rogers, the female detective, pulled a plastic bag out of the portfolio she held. She handed the bag to Olivia.
Olivia’s stomach lurched at the image. It was Angela’s picture from the article, with the word ‘bitch’ scrawled across her face in bold red letters.
“What is this?” Hearing the hitch in her voice, she tightened her grip on James’s hand and silently prayed she wouldn’t break down in front of the police.
“Is this a picture from the article you mentioned?” Detective Rogers asked.
“Yes. What’s going on? Who...” Olivia’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she teetered on the edge of the breakdown she was fighting so hard to avoid. But then James squeezed her hand, settling her and pulling her away from the edge. Feeling steadier, she met Detective Rogers’s gaze head on. “Who would do this to her? Is it because of the article?”
“We can’t say.” Rogers held her hand out and Olivia passed the bag back to her. “Right now it’s just one small piece of the puzzle.”
“When you were at the photo shoot, how did she seem? Happy? Anxious?” Michaelson spoke again, drawing her attention away from his cold partner.
“Excited. We were all so excited and a little nervous, I guess. But I mean, that’s normal, right?” She looked to James, who nodded and squeezed her hand again. “It’s normal to be excited and nervous. She didn’t seem scared, or worried someone might kill her over her face in a fucking magazine.”
The initial shock at being questioned by the police was wearing off. Anger, hot and righteous filled the void left behind.
“Liv.” There was no scolding in James’s quiet, soothing tone. “They’re just asking questions. It’s part of the process.”
Swallowing her anger and grief, she nodded and focused on the detectives again. “Anything else I can answer for you?”
Michaelson stood and shook his head. “Not at this time. Thank you.”
With one last squeeze of her hand, James stood and ushered them out. It took longer than it should have for him to return, and the anger she’d held back during the interrogation began to boil over.
“So,” she snapped when James returned to the living room. “What did they say? Should I be on house arrest until they catch this asshole?”
To her surprise, he grinned. “You know me well, don’t you? No, they don’t think there’s any threat to you or the others in the article. Like they said, it’s just a piece of the puzzle.”
“The puzzle.” She all but spat the words at him. “She’s not a puzzle, James. She was a person. And someone killed her. Because she was good at her job? Maybe a little too cutthroat for some neutered jackass in a suit? Fuck that.”
“We don’t know why, yet. We might never know. And it pisses me off, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. It pisses me off. And it scares the shit out of me, because there’s a small piece of it that touches you. I could kill this sonofabitch for even that small piece of horror touching our lives.”
What did it say about her that his anger soothed her own? Olivia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, her head tilted back. “I love you.”
His arms came around her, safe and comforting. “I love you too. But you’re not going to like what I have to say next.”
Alarm bells rang in the back of her mind. “Uh oh. Why?”
“Your plans for tomorrow, with Shannon.” Lifting a hand, he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Instead of going out, have her come over for dinner.”
“What?” She tried to pull away, but his arms tightened around her, holding her in place. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
Despite the icy warning in his tone, she shook her head. “I’m not changing my plans.”
“You will if I say so, young lady.”
She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him to go to hell and that he couldn’t control her. But a small, quiet voice reminded her that this was what she’d asked for. She’d wanted her daddy back, and this was what daddies did. They protected their little girls. With that in mind, she took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, if you tell me to change my plans, and that’s your final decision, I’ll accept it. But can we talk about it? Please?”
It had been the right tack to take. She saw it in the way his mouth lost its tightness, the way his eyes softened. “We can talk about it.”
“I love that you want to protect me. But you can’t lock me away like a princess in a tower. I have a life and a job.”
With a defeated sigh, he dropped his forehead to hers. “I know. But I won’t risk you, either. Compromise?”
“Compromise.”
“One drink. Home by ten.”
It was excessive. But if it helped ease his anxiety over the whole situation, she could humor him. “Deal.”
“I mean it, Liv. If you break either of those rules, I’ll blister your ass with your hairbrush until you can’t sit for a week. I’m not playing with this.”
“I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to obey.”
These were the times when submission was the hardest. When she honestly felt he wasn’t being reasonable or fair, but she had to swallow her pride and do as she was told.
“Okay, Daddy.”
The tension gripping him eased a bit. “Thank you, little one.”
His arms tightened around her, and she snuggled into his embrace. And said a little prayer she’d be strong enough to submit when faced with the inevitable temptations to come.
Chapter Nine
Standing in front of the mirror, Olivia craned her neck to see how fat her ass looked in the jeans she’d just changed into. “Definitely starting that diet tomorrow,” she muttered to herself.
Resigned to looking like a cow next to her svelte bestie, she packed up her work clothes and left the bathroom to walk down the hall to James’s office.
He looked up from his computer when she walked in, and her heart fluttered at the predatory grin that spread across his handsome face. “There’s my sexy girl. Come here.”
She walked around the desk and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, then danced away when he reached for her. “None of that, Mr. Monroe. This is my place of business.”
“Fair point. But I make no promises when you g
et home.”
“I’ll hold you to that. You sure you don’t mind taking my bags and stuff home?”
“Of course not. You go enjoy yourself, baby. And don’t forget what we talked about.”
Right. The one drink limit and ten o’clock curfew. The arguments burned on her tongue, but she swallowed them like the bitter pills they were. They’d discussed and she’d agreed to the rules. There was nothing left for her to argue. “I remember.”
He studied her, his head tilted ever so slightly, and she knew he saw through her. He always could. And so, when he held a hand out to her, she knew it wasn’t simply for another kiss goodbye. Reluctantly, she took the offered hand and let him pull her to his side.
“I know you think I’m being a hard ass. But I love you too much to let anything happen to you. Are you going to be a good girl tonight?”
Thank God the rest of the staff had left. Even though they were alone, her cheeks burned at his question. “I’ll try.”
He tapped the top drawer of his desk. “Maybe you’ll try extra hard with a plug in your bottom all night.”
“No, Daddy. I’ll follow the rules. But I still don’t like it,” she added under her breath.
“I know.” He rose and pulled her in for a long, simmering kiss. “Thank you for obeying anyway.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Liv! You ready? Where the—well, hey there, Mr. Sexy.” Shannon stopped in the doorway of James’s office, all sex and confidence in her skinny jeans and revealing top.
“Hi, Shannon. How are you?”
Olivia wondered if he caught the flash of grief on Shannon’s face before she winked and tossed her long blonde curls over her shoulder. “Hot, successful, and brilliant. How about you?”
“Same.”
Shannon blinked and then threw her head back and laughed. “Well played, Mr. Sexy. Well played. Ready to paint the town red, Liv?”
“Yeah.” James squeezed her hand and she had to fight not to roll her eyes as she added, “I have a client meeting in the morning though, so I need to be home early.”
