Take Me, Daddy: A Contemporary Romance 5-Book Box Set

by Nicole Casey

  But when I looked up, he was there. He was staring down at me with an amused grin on his too-handsome face. My cheeks flamed, remembering the scene in my dream and wondering what clues my sleeping body had given him about what had been going on in my head. Had I moaned? Begged? Touched myself?

  “Hello, Pet. Sweet dreams?” he queried with an expression that said he knew too much. “Kneel,” he said and I struggled up onto my knees, hoping he’d abandon the subject and feed me. I’d gladly crawl all around the room if he’d just leave the topic alone.

  Instead though, he crouched down in front of me and he slipped his hand between my thighs.

  I tried to back up, but my corner gave me nowhere to go.

  He didn’t run his fingers along me this time, but shoved a finger inside me. Oh god. Sensation. Too damn much sensation. On top of the dream that still clung to my body, his touch was too much.

  “Hmm, very sweet dreams it seems,” he said as he removed his finger and raised it to his lips.

  My wetness glistened on his finger and I squeezed my eyes shut as he slipped it into his mouth. And then I felt him pressing his finger against my lips, trying to force it inside. I kept them closed until a low growl rumbled up from his chest in warning. Reluctantly, I let him in, and I tasted myself on the invading digit. It wasn’t crepes, or either of the other meals he fed me. It was something different. New. Earthy, with a soft sweetness like honey. The new sensation fed my depraved brain.

  “Tell me about your dream,” he persisted.

  “I-I don’t want to,” I said, finding it difficult to concoct some mundane dream with the man who’d starred in it in front of me and my body taut with unwelcome arousal.

  “You know what you want is irrelevant,” He told me. “You can tell me, or you can fight me on it and I’ll strap you to the bed and whip you until you do.”

  Something told me he wasn’t bluffing. “You,” I blurted out. “…you were inside me,” I confessed miserably.

  He looked surprised—I’d actually surprised him—but it was short-lived. “If you wanted me to fuck you, Pet, why didn’t you just say so?” he asked, but he was just taunting me. Even if I did want it—which I didn’t—if I had asked him for it, he would have denied me just to torment me more.

  “I-I don’t.”

  “I don’t think your body agrees with you,” He said as he slipped his finger back inside me. I tried to squirm away. I really did try. Or at least, I wanted to. But it felt so good; like a thousand sensations all at once. Besides, it would make no difference. If I shot to my feet and tried to get away, he’d just stop me and punish me for it. Maybe if I stayed still, he’d tire of me.

  But he kept it up, plunging in shallowly again and again, making my body clench around him innately, trying to draw him in deeper. And then he did. He thrust in deeper, and his finger glided against too many sensitive nerve endings for me to stop the quiet moan that escaped my lips. But then he froze, right there inside me.

  I wanted to run, and I wanted to make him move inside me, both wants warring against each other and keeping me just as frozen in place.

  “You’re a virgin?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement then a question. However, the surprise in his eyes was unmistakeable.

  “Y-yes,” I sobbed, knowing that if there’d been any hope of him leaving that part of me alone, it had just vanished.

  “You’re nearly twenty years old. And you look like this,” he said, motioning to my body with the hand that hadn’t stilled inside me. “How’s that possible.”

  I didn’t want to like what he was saying. I didn’t want to take it as a compliment, that he thought I was attractive. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. And yet, a small, despicable thrill traveled through me, realizing it was true.

  But he wanted to know how it was possible I was still virgin? Maybe because I’d spent every day of my life since becoming a teenager trying in vain to prove I wasn’t a whore, that I would never be a whore. Not like my mother. Every day I spent trying to show my father I wasn’t like her.

  But it turned out…I was just like her. There was no denying it now, now when all I wanted to focus on was the finger inside me, the finger that I desperately wanted to start moving again, preferably back to my clit like he’d been doing before, rubbing until the fire inside me culminated into something exquisite.

  He didn’t though. He moved around inside me, as if just enough to make sure I didn’t forget that he was there—as if I could. And then, all of a sudden, he withdrew completely and stood up. I didn’t watch where he went—it was too humiliating to look up, and I didn’t want to see what he was doing. I kept my eyes glues to a speck of fluff on the floor by my feet.

  He returned a moment later, and I wished I’d paid better attention—not that it would have made any difference on the outcome. He hauled me to my feet and shackled my wrists in the restraints that must have been the ones attached to the bed. I tried to pull away, but of course, it was useless.

  He pulled me over to the bed and hooked the restraints high up on one of the post, which pressed hard against my face and the valley between my breasts. Had I made him angry? Why was he doing this?

  But when I turned my head to look at him, he didn’t look angry. “What are you doing?” I whispered frantically.

  “You’ve been full of surprises, Pet, and I think I’d like some answers,” he explained. “This is how it works. I’m going to ask you a question. When you tell me the truth, I will reward you with pleasure. For every time I believe you have lied to me, you will get the belt. Do you understand?”

  No! Of course I didn’t understand any of it. But I kept my mouth shut and nodded once. What difference did it make? He’d do what he wanted regardless of whether I understood.

  “Good. Let’s get started then,” he said as he reached around from behind me and palmed my breasts. I tried to wriggle out of his hands, but stretched taut, I couldn’t move more than an inch. And even if I had been able to get away, would I have? The fire between my thighs was anything but extinguished and what he was doing was feeding it. Would I have stopped him, even if I’d been able to? Not so long ago, I would have said yes, with absolute certainty. But it was harder to believe that now when I could feel my chest straining against the post between my breasts, trying to press harder into his hands.

  “Have you ever let a man do this, Pet?” he asked as he toyed with my nipples, sending rivulets of desire to my sex.

  “N-no,” I answered honestly.

  “Really? And what about this?” he persisted as his hands grazed down to my backside and cupped my cheeks.

  “No…” I answered as the pulsating between my legs intensified.

  “What about this?” One hand circled around in front. “Have you ever let a man play with your hot, little pussy?” His fingers pressed against my clit and started to rub.

  “No…never,” I whispered, certain I was red with embarrassment from head to toe.

  “You have a beautiful body, and you’ve kept it to yourself your entire life—why?”

  I didn’t want to answer. It wasn’t just my body or my pride he was after, but my secrets, the things that made up who I was. But what would be a feasible reason? Why did a normal girl abstain from sex?

  “I just…I’m not good with people. I’m awkward, that’s all.” Yes, it made sense. A socially awkward girl would have a hard time getting a date.

  “I didn’t ask why you don’t have a boyfriend. I want to know why you don’t fuck.”

  “It’s the same thing!” I yelled, and then tried to rein it in. “I mean…I couldn’t just go up to some guy on the street and…you know…”

  He chuckled. “Actually yes, Pet, you really could.”

  He meant it. He really thought I was attractive enough that I could do that. I hated how much I liked hearing that. He rubbed faster, making my body jerk against him.

  “But you lied to me, didn’t you?” His tone had grown serious.

 
How could he know that? He couldn’t possibly know the reason I’d done my best to be a good girl, to be anything but what he was turning me into.

  He stopped rubbing, and I heard the quiet slide of his belt as he slipped it off his pants. “No, please. Don’t,” I cried.

  The belt landed with a thwack across my backside, and it jolted my whole body, pressing my clit hard against the post directly in front of me, and making my body respond with a fiery ache. Oh god, no. Not this, too.

  Another lash, criss-crossing the first. It stung, making me cry out, but it made the fire in me blaze hotter, too.

  Two more, and then he dropped the belt on the bed in front of me. “Let’s try this again. Why?” he asked as he ran his fingers lightly over where he’d struck me.

  “Because of my father,” I sobbed. “Because he always said I’d be a whore.” Now was he satisfied? He’d wrenched that private piece from me.

  He didn’t move for a moment, as if he was taking time to process what I’d said. I thought he was done—he’d gotten his answers. I needed him to leave. I needed to be alone, and as much as I hated to admit it, I desperately needed to quench the fire he’d created that was making it near-impossible to think about anything else.

  But then he reached around me and his fingers made contact with my too-sensitive flesh. I moaned—I couldn’t stop it. And something inside me snapped.

  I’d confessed. I’d admitted out loud what had dictated my life for so long. But with the admission came the acceptance that I’d failed. The way my body was burning, the years of dark and twisted dreams, and the thoughts running through my head right now of just what I wanted this man—my captor—to do to my body.

  Whatever he’d done to me had vanquished a lifetime of keeping my body and thoughts in check. And what I hated most, what made me wish I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him to death, was that it felt so damn good. To thrust harder against his fingers and feel him rubbing faster. And faster. To feel him driving me higher.

  There was no sense in denying it. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He knew what I was, how my body responded in ways it shouldn’t. He knew I was the whore I’d tried to deny being for too long.

  And I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to stop.

  “Oh god, yes,” I cried when I was nearly there. I didn’t want to bite back the words, or the moans. And I didn’t want to stop my body from writhing against him. I’d kept it locked up all my life, and my only reward for it was this hell, this devil.

  God damn it, I just wanted to come. If he was going to make my life a living hell, then I was going to take what pleasure from it I could.

  And when I was there, when I’d reached the brink, I didn’t try to stop it. I threw myself over the edge as wave upon wave of depraved pleasure pulsed through me.

  “Very good, Pet,” he whispered next to my ear as I came back down.

  The intensity of my arousal now past, what I’d done, how I’d spurred it on was like a thousand drops of humiliation all raining down on me in the aftermath.

  “Unfortunately, why you’ve kept your pussy to yourself is not the only lie you told, is it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sobbed. I really didn’t.

  “You said you’ve never let a man play with your pussy. But you let me, didn’t you?” he whispered slyly as he reached for the belt.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but remembering the way I’d welcomed his touch, not just now but the last time as well when he’d spanked me, I slammed it closed. But I yanked hard on the restraints at the same time, trying futilely to escape.

  He couldn’t do this. He was the one who’d made my body respond like that. I hadn’t wanted it. It wasn’t my fault. And my fault or not, with my body’s arousal sated and my backside still stinging from his belt, this was only going to hurt. Badly.

  “Stop. No. Don’t,” I yelled, but it didn’t faze him.

  He brought the belt down with another resounding thwack, and the pain radiated down to my toes.

  Again, but this time there was something else in the pain, a kindling spark.

  One more, and when the lash of fire jerked my hips forward and pressed my clit against the post, I held myself there, feeling the spark burst into a flame. It was depraved and mortifying, but it was also the only way to turn the pain into something else, something even hotter than the fiery sting of my backside.

  Two more, and I started to rub wantonly against the post. I couldn’t stop what he was doing to me, but I could use it. I could use my body’s sick pleasure to escape the pain.

  He dropped the belt after two more strikes, and when he reached up to the restraints, I thought he was finally finished with me.

  But again, I was wrong.

  He spun me around until I was facing him and hooked the restraints there. I was breathing heavy, but not out of my mind with arousal, still sane enough that I tried to object when he knelt down in front of me and lifted my foot off the ground. When he lowered it onto his shoulder, I tried to yank it away, but he held it firm. And then he leaned in until he was just a hair’s breadth away.

  I could fight him—not that it would amount to anything. I could feel his warm breath on my moist flesh. Did I want to fight him?

  As if my body was answering for itself, my hips jerked forward and his mouth pressed against my clit. I could hear him chuckling, but then his tongue flicked across the sensitive nub, and I didn’t care.

  He flicked back and forth, fast, and my body started to writhe. I felt the oddest need to touch him—to feel his flesh beneath my fingers, to twine them in his hair and hold him close against my sex. But handcuffed, all I could do was stand there and watch as his mouth did wicked things, flicking, suckling and nipping at me until the world narrowed once more to his mouth and the wildfire he was feeding with everything he did.

  When he sent me over the edge this time, I could feel the blissful waves of my orgasm from my fingertips to the tips of my toes.

  He looked up at me, his lips glistening, but it wasn’t his lips that caught my attention. It was his eyes. Vivid, blue eyes. Comforting eyes in a man who was anything but a comfort. Why? And why did they seem so god damned familiar?

  He stood, and I waited for him to mock me, or touch me, or spank me, or whatever else he had in mind. But he just unshackled me and left. He walked out of the room without a word.

  - End of Sneak Peek -

  If you enjoyed the story, check out Her Beast HERE.

  Protecting Maya

  The Viera Triplets Series Book Two

  Book Description

  Someone’s after Maya, and I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

  I don’t know how my life got so twisted. I should have it figured out by now, but all I have is a stressful job and a lonely apartment. Until I meet Maya Viera.

  Her soft lips, beautiful red hair, and luscious curves call my name. Her sweet smile and beautiful green eyes distract me. There’s something about her that makes her irresistible. The only problem? Maya is not a one-man woman. She is much too free a spirit to be tied down to any man.

  While I know nothing is going to happen between us, she’s slowly becoming my reason for living. So when Maya is threatened by a mysterious stalker, I volunteer to keep her safe and sound. I will protect her, and destroy whoever dares to threaten her. Even if it means protecting her from myself.

  Prologue

  MAYA

  Three cakes sat before us, ablaze with candles as my parents began their off-key renditions of the time-honored song.

  “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Vyolet, Maya and Yve! Happy birthday to you!”

  I stifled a snort of amusement as my mom clapped her hands together and waited for us to blow out the flames on our respective cakes.

  She went through the same painstaking trouble every year, making us each our own sweet as if we were still thirteen and fighting for our independence.

&nbs
p; We would not have cared if we shared one big cake now, after all, there would be no mistaking one triplet for another, not anymore.

  But tradition was tradition and mom was nothing if not a conservative traditionalist.

  As usual, Vy was the first to jump in, huffing and puffing to take out the rows of candles as if her wish just couldn’t wait a second longer.

  At least she maintained the childlike innocence which seemed to have melted off Yve and I like baby fat.

  There were so many candles, I had no idea how mom had managed to do it without sinking the perfectly formed pancake.

  I always assumed that Betty Crocker was a descendant down the line somewhere.

  “Come on, girls!” my dad, Oscar urged. “The wax is dripping everywhere!”

  I glanced at Yvette who instinctively gazed at me and we exchanged a private smile.

  In unison, we bowed our heads and made a wish.

  It seemed unfair that I was granted a wish.

  After all, I had everything I could ever want, and I knew it.

  The problem was, I had too much.

  Far too much.

  “What did you wish for?” Vyolet teased, knowing full well that we would never tell. But it was tradition.

  Every year Vyolet would ask and every year Yve and I would give her the same response.

  “Not telling or it won’t come true!” Yvette and I chorused simultaneously, and everyone laughed.

  God, we’re like an episode of Full House, I thought, resisting the desire to roll my emerald eyes heavenward.

  Of course, nothing is ever how it appears on the surface.

  Behind the scenes, we all had our secrets.

  As if reading the dark thought which had inadvertently crept in, my cell phone chimed on the table.

  “No!” my mother, Amelia cried, shaking her head vehemently. “No cells today! You promised.”

  My sisters nodded in agreement, but I didn’t have to look and see who was texting; I already knew who it was.