Rugged Daddy (Dark Daddy Doms Book 2)

by Ava Sinclair

  When Zane comes back in, he fixes dinner and we once again eat in silence. As the temperature drops outside, I wait for the man across the table to thaw, but he doesn’t. He seems lost in his own thoughts.

  After dinner, he drags the tub in from outside. It’s bath night for him, and he silently fills the tub with water. I’m sitting on the sofa, and he undresses as if I’m not there. I consider leaving the room but decide it won’t matter. To paraphrase him, I’ve already seen everything. Only when he rises from the water and wraps a towel around his narrow hips do I lose patience with his silent treatment.

  “Is this how it’s going to be then?” I ask angrily. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

  “No,” he says. “But I’m not going to play games, either. If you want to know something, why don’t you ask?”

  Once again, he has thrown me for a loop. I was expecting him to tell me. It never occurred to me that he was waiting for me to ask.

  “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid?” He shakes his head. “You weren’t afraid to go through my things, but you’re afraid to ask about what you found?”

  “I thought you were mad at me.”

  He walks over to the sofa. “No. I’m not mad.” He stares down at the floor for a moment before continuing. “When you live alone long enough, you forget what it’s like to connect to another person, to answer to them. And for someone like me…” His voice trails off. “Even before this I wasn’t used to answering to anybody else. I’m a dominant man. I take the reins. I teach the lessons. It’s hard to admit failure.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Especially to a pretty young lady you want looking up to you.”

  “There was a time when I had to put my trust in you,” I gently prompt. “You can put yours in me, too. So please, Zane. Tell me.”

  He smiles and sighs. “Five years ago, I had an active social life in New England along with a well-paying job writing and teaching biology at a private university. Then my stepfather died. He left me and my stepbrother an inheritance. Mine wasn’t much—just a little over ten grand in cash. I wasn’t mad, though. He wasn’t my natural father. He never really took a liking to me, so my stepbrother got the rest—which was a substantial amount that included a sixty-acre tract of land that happened to be habitat for a threatened species of bog turtle. A colleague and I were on the verge of publishing a paper urging state protection status of the species. My stepbrother got wind of it and asked me to rescind the data. When I refused, he claimed I was being spiteful because he got the land, but I didn’t care. I felt like Ray—that was my stepdad—should have given it to him. I had no personal interest in stopping his development. Ray had told me several times he didn’t want it developed, and I assumed he’d put it in trust. Apparently, he didn’t.”

  I listen as Zane continues the rest of the story, telling me how the state eventually forbad development of the land, of how his stepbrother blamed him. The following year, two students lodged complaints against him. Both claimed Zane was verbally abusive. A third later came forward to report that he’d come to class drunk. Zane said he was sure his stepbrother was behind not just the charges, but also in league with several members of the university board, one who’d later join his sibling in funding a business project.

  “Here’s where you come in to my story,” he says.

  “Me?”

  “That business was an outfitting business—Workman Outfitters. My stepbrother is the man you robbed.” He pauses. “He’s a bitter man, Eva. And he’s dangerous. I took the liberty of downloading that information on your flash drive. I’m afraid the names and figures wouldn’t mean anything to law enforcement without more information, but I don’t doubt what you’ve told me. I didn’t want to believe Ken would do the things you said he did. We both grew up as outdoorsmen, but our appreciation was a lot different. Ken hunted animals with guns. I used a camera. He used to call me a pussy because I didn’t like big game hunting, but I think his hunting was his way of compensating for being a small man, both physically and mentally.”

  I smile at this. I can’t disagree.

  “I saw your expression when I mentioned putting you on a plane. Am I to assume I hurt your feelings when I suggested that?”

  “I may not have been hurt if we hadn’t slept together. I felt like you’d had your fun and were just looking to get rid of me.”

  He reaches for me. “I should spank your ass for even suggesting that.” He pulls me onto his lap.

  “That’s not an option now that you said we were equal again.”

  “No, little girl. I didn’t say that. You said that.” He grins wickedly. “So far as I’m concerned, nothing has changed.” He grows serious then. “I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t going to make you stay if you don’t want to. If you do, you need to understand there’s a chance that Ken or his goons might come sniffing around. If he’s doing something illegal, he may not go to the authorities, but he may well come after you personally.”

  I want to, but is it fair to him? When I work up the nerve to ask him, he pauses for a moment before replying. “After I lost my job, I wanted to get away from people. I stayed in touch with a few other scientists. I do my studies and I write. I didn’t think I cared if I had another soul in my life until I found you in that cave. Now? Well, you woke something inside of me. And not just my libido. I want to take care of you, Eva.” He kisses me gently. “If you’d like to stick around…”

  He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I return his kiss, feeling the bulge of his cock under the towel at his waist. He picks me up and takes me into his room.

  “So you’re gonna stay with me? Be my little girl?”

  I stand on my tippy toes to kiss him, heady with excitement.

  “Your little girl? Sure,” I breathe against his mouth. Just hearing him say it has made my pussy wet. “Does this mean I can build a fort with blankets and pillows? It’s too cold to play outside.”

  “That depends,” he says. “Are you going to fight me if I drag you into that pillow fort and fuck you?”

  “I don’t think I could stop you,” I say as he slips the dress over my shoulders. “I don’t think I’d want to.”

  He’s still a stranger to you, my sane voice cautions. But even as my brain urges caution, my body recognizes him as master. His towel has fallen. His huge cock nudges my belly.

  “Are you going to make me wait to come tonight?” I ask.

  Zane seems to consider this. “No,” he says. “In fact, I’m going to make you come. I’m going to make you come until you scream. That’s one of the benefits of living in the wilderness.” He slides a finger into my pussy and begins thrusting it in time with my rapid breathing.

  “You’re mine,” he says. “That’s what it means if you stay. You understand?”

  My heart quickens. Once again the rational voice that tells me not to enter such bargains is drowned out by nerve endings screaming in pleasure. I lean my head back, biting my lip as I moan.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Good girl.”

  He lifts me and puts me on bed, face down. “I made something for you,” he says.

  “You did? What?” I look back.

  “A toy.”

  He’s holding a smooth, carved phallus. It’s about a third the size of his cock, with a flange on the end. He pushes it into my pussy. The wood is cool and while it feels good to have anything inside me, I long for the feel of him, his hard warmth. But when he withdraws it, I realize his true intent. Zane pushes the rounded tip of the phallus, lubricated now with my own juices, against the tight pucker of my anus. He plays with my clit as he presses the wood against my resisting orifice.

  “Have you ever played like this before?”

  “I have, but I didn’t like it.” I can hear the nervousness in my own voice as I recall my lone, unsatisfying experience with anal sex courtesy of a drunken boyfriend who promised me I�
�d never forget it. He was right.

  “You’ll like it with me, little girl,” Zane says.

  “No,” I say. “I don’t want to.” My voice sounds high and petulant, and I realize his paternal demeanor brings out my childish side. This seems to delight Zane, who laughs low and deep.

  “Well, now.” The tip of the thick carved dildo is still pressing against the crinkle of my anus as below he teases the soaked slit of my pussy. “You can’t have this…” he rubs the head against my clit… “without this,” as he nudges my bottom with the wood.

  I know now what he wants. And I know he knows he’ll get what he wants, because I don’t just want his cock inside me—I need it. He’s not pushing forward. The only way I’ll get Zane to fill my pussy is to push back. And if I push back, the dildo will enter me as well.

  “Come on, little girl. Don’t keep Daddy waiting. He’s got double wood for you.”

  Wicked, wicked man. For only our second time together, he’s getting very creative very fast. I whimper, my nails digging into the mattress. A strong woman would just get off the bed. I’m not a strong woman. Not at this moment. I’m a weak, horny woman. I push back. The thick tip of his cock head moves just past my inner labia, and I feel a sting as the dildo breaches my sphincter.

  “Damn, that looks so hot,” he says. “My cock going into your pussy as you accept my little toy in your pretty ass.”

  My pussy clenches. His dirty talk is arousing me as much as his touch. I find myself pushing back more, and as I do, I groan at the stretch, the sensation of fullness from my first dual penetration. And now I’m turned on completely, because this is a first. I’m giving Zane something special by submitting to this new experience, and as I continue to push back in incremental degrees, he tells me in the most lurid terms what he’s seeing, how my ass is taking the dildo, how hot and wet my pussy is on his cock, how tight, how very fucking tight. He groans, and this makes me groan. And then I’m whimpering as I feel myself filled to capacity. His cock is locked and loaded. I can feel him already starting to throb and surge. He’s trying to control himself, and I surprise him by beginning to move. The little girl is gone now, and it’s a wanton woman’s throaty laugh I utter as I look back at him.

  “You gonna last?” I ask, and he responds by slapping my ass so hard tears come to my eyes. I’d be hurt if it weren’t for his next words that rekindle the fire in my pussy.

  “Remember who’s in charge here, little girl,” but his voice is strained. Here and now, we’re equal. Here and now we’re a man and a woman making one another feel good, and even if we haven’t known each other that long, our bodies seem familiar with one another. I’ve never felt this natural or at ease with any other man. Zane is working my body, his one hand on my hip as he guides me back and forth, working the dildo with his other hand as he fucks my pussy. The room is filled with the wet sounds and smells of sex and sweat. Outside a gentle wind buffets the cabin, the calm outside juxtaposed with the storm of passion within.

  He said I could scream, and I do when my orgasm starts to build. I’m so filled there seems to be barely any room for the mounting wave. It cascades through me, and I come so hard I unman him, my quivering, flexing pussy drawing the cum from his cock in rhythmic surges. He cries out, too, and when it’s over, he lays me down gently—oh so gently—and spoons me in the protective circle of his body.

  Chapter Seven

  I’m determined to make friends with Kali. I’m enchanted by the marten, even if she hates me as much as I adore her. Zane cautions me to mind my fingers as I slip strips of venison into her cage. She snuffles and growls from her hollow log, with just the tip of her black nose showing. She wants the food I’m offering, but not enough to sacrifice her pride.

  “What she wants is live food, something she can chase, like a mouse.” Zane kneels to inspect the live traps under his workbench, looking for deer mice. I’m relieved when he doesn’t find any.

  “That seems cruel,” I say. “They just come in here to get warm.” I incline my head toward the little potbelly stove that keeps the building nearly as toasty as the cabin.

  “Nature can sometimes be cruel, at least it seems that way to humans.” He walks over and takes the strip of venison the marten rejected. When she sees that he’s the one offering it, Kali zips over and takes it, shooting me a ‘fuck you’ look before darting back into her log.

  Zane returns to his bench, which doubles as a desk. He’s entering data from some martens he trapped, weighed, and tagged with my help. If Kali is grumpy, the wild ones are downright savage by comparison. But I enjoyed the work and was genuinely flattered when Zane told me I’d make a good research assistant.

  “Time for you to get back inside, little girl,” he says. He’s going off today, and had invited me along but I declined. After nearly a month with Zane I’ve eaten enough venison to appreciate it, but not so much that I can stomach seeing him do what it takes to put it on the table.

  I sigh heavily. We’ve become a little more relaxed, having not seen or heard from a soul since I arrived. Zane even used the satellite phone to call down to Black Rock where one of his colleagues is staying. Usually if there was any gossip, he’d be the one in the know. But nothing was mentioned about a theft or a missing employee from Workman Outfitters.

  I told Zane that maybe I overreacted by being so scared, that his stepbrother had me pegged for a bimbo, and doesn’t consider me enough of a threat to come looking for me.

  “Maybe,” he’d said, but there was a worried edge to his voice, and he still insists I stay inside on days like today, when he goes hunting.

  Despite Zane’s wanting to pamper me, I’ve told him I’ll go stir crazy without something to do. I want to help. When he told me he kept the cabin up just fine before I arrived, I reminded him that two people meant twice the work.

  “Think of it as giving your little girl a chore list,” I’d suggested, and he had, and now gives me small rewards for completing household tasks. The latest one is a little carved deer that I add to a growing collection that includes a bear, a fox, and—my favorite—a replica of the fractious Kali.

  The little toys allow me to sink further into the unusual dynamic we enjoy when we’re not in bed. Zane treats me like his little girl, and to my surprise, I like it. He gives me what I missed growing up—a combination of love and limits—and I revel in the security I never enjoyed with the flighty but well-meaning parents I now speak to twice a year.

  I feel safe, loved, and cocooned with Zane. I feel carefree after a life of making my own way and pulling myself up by my own bootstraps. But as I move the little animals around on the table in the too-quiet cabin, my mind asks a sobering question: Will it last?

  I can’t stay out here forever, can I? If nothing else, I need to go settle my worldly affairs, minimal though they may be. I need clothes. Real clothes. I can’t keep wearing dresses that belonged to some girl who’s probably an old lady by now. Will going back to society break the spell of what we have? Will seeing normal couples living normal lives snap me back to reality? I love being Zane’s little girl. But how long can we sustain this lifestyle, if that’s what it is? Zane seems perfectly comfortable shaping a new reality in the wilderness. But will it be enough for me?

  I go back to the trunk and remove the articles that I’ve already read. I look at the photo of the man in the bowtie. Zane told me he missed the transformative process of teaching, of watching his students intellectually awaken. He never dated any of his students or fellow faculty. He had lovers here and there, but ironically suppressed his sexual dominance for fear of backlash should a relationship go bad. He told me I awoke something in him, something primal.

  I cross my legs as I sit on the floor next to the chest, rereading the news accounts documenting the allegations, his being put on professional probation, his dismissal and subsequent failed appeal. One of the board members looks familiar and I’m sure now that I saw him once or twice at Workman’s office. The man, Gregory Wells, has more be
lly and less hair now, but it’s the same guy. I put the clippings away, sympathetic to Zane’s decision to leave. I can only imagine how jaded he must have felt, how betrayed by both the people and institutions he esteemed.

  For the next few hours I busy myself by taking an inventory of everything in the larder. Zane keeps a mental tally of what he needs, but recordkeeping makes me feel useful. I was good at it when I worked for Ken Workman.

  Ken Workman. When I think back on his slight build, pot belly, and weak, watery eyes, it’s easy to suspect that his resentment of Zane ran deeper than just differences over environmental stewardship. I remember coming into work to catch him preening in the mirror. He never seemed to notice my revulsion when he flirted with me. Toward the end, he was getting more and more assertive, hinting that he’d be expecting me to work after hours if I wanted to keep being the highest paid staffer in the office. The words ‘after hours’ were always accompanied by a wink and a leer. It was Ken Workman who suggested I wear skirts to office. “Show a little leg,” he’d say. “The clients like it.”

  His clients. The thought of what they were doing out there under the guise of hiking makes me sick. I’ve always loved nature, but my time with Zane has given me a feeling of appreciation and even kinship with the animals that inhabit the forest. Even Kali, who glares and growls at anyone other than her precious human is endearing.

  I’m disappointed that Zane doesn’t think the information on the flash drive will be of value to law enforcement, and I hope he’s right. As the weeks drag by, he now suspects that his stepbrother fell for my false lead. Still, I know I won’t be able to show my face back in Black Rock, not that it was that great anyway. It was something of a tourist trap. There’s something to be said for the quiet of the wilderness.

  It’s just as I have that ironic thought that I hear it—the definite sound of something moving outside the window. I startle, then laugh. My thoughts had put me on edge, but it’s probably just Zane. But wouldn’t I have heard the snowmobile? The paranoia returns and I pad across the room in my stocking feet, moving to the sink where I stand on tiptoe and look out the window in the direction of the noise. Is it my imagination, or do I see movement in the woods? It’s so hard to tell this time of the day when the shadows start to lengthen. I know from hiking lighting can play tricks on the mind. But then I hear the ravens, their warning croaks unmistakable from where they sit in the tops of the fir trees.