Page 10

"Can I..." I start, then stop, my cheeks burning. The fire in my belly burns for more of whatever this is.

"Can you what?"

"Can I touch you?" The words come out in a rush. "I've never... I mean, I don't know what I'm doing, but I want to learn. I want to see you."

Something dark and hungry flashes across his face. The shimmer of those silver hairs at his temples reminds me of the many differences between us but something in me wants this nurturing, older man to teach me all the things I’ve missed. "You want to see me?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Then see me." He sits back and starts unbuttoning his flannel shirt with deliberate slowness. "But you follow my instructions. You do exactly what I tell you to do. Daddy’s in charge always."

"Okay, Daddy," I say, the word unfamiliar on my tongue. Unfamiliar but perfect. It sends a shiver through me, just like it did when he used it before, except now it’s my choice.

“That’s my girl.” He nods and pride fills my chest.

He shrugs out of the shirt, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

I've seen him shirtless this morning, but somehow in the intimate glow of the firelight, he looks even more impressive.

Broad shoulders, defined chest, abs that belong in magazines I'm not supposed to read.

"Take your boots off and follow me," he says, rising and crossing to the bed, sliding upward against the pillows, legs wide, muscles flexing under tan skin. He nods, then pats the space directly in front of him.

I fumble with my laces, slipping the clunky boots off my feet and stand, legs feeling like a newborn foal shuffling over the wood floor, tentatively perching on the bed next to him.

“I said, come here ,” he growls, pointing between his legs.

I climb over his legs, scooting closer, until I’m kneeling between his knees.

"Put your hands on my chest."

I place my palms flat against his skin, marveling at how warm he is, how solid. "You're so...big."

"And you're so small." His hands cover mine, guiding them slowly across his chest. "Feel that? That's what a man feels like, Marley. That's what you do to me."

Under my palm, his heart is beating fast and hard. The knowledge that I'm affecting him the same way he's affecting me sends a thrill through me that's equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

"Lower," he says quietly.

He guides my hands down over his ribs, trailing my fingers in the indents of muscles that almost look like feathers, then across his stomach, letting me explore the terrain of his body while he watches my face with an intensity that makes me feel like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

"How does it feel?" he asks.

"Amazing. Overwhelming." I look up at him, trying to find words for sensations I've never experienced before. "I didn't know touching someone could feel like this."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm learning a new language. Like every nerve ending in my body is suddenly awake. I’ve always winced at being touched and would never have wanted to touch someone else. But, with you, it’s like breathing. Natural, necessary."

"Good." His hands move to my waist, thumbs tracing small circles through my shirt. "Now I want you to touch me somewhere else."

Heat pools between my legs, unsure but at the same time, hopeful about where this is going. "Where?"

Instead of answering, he takes one of my hands and guides it down to rest over the hard bulge under his jeans. Even through the denim, it’s intimate and impressive.

"Holy cow," I breathe.

"You did this to me," he says, his voice rough. "Just by being here, by trusting me, by letting me take care of you."

I press my palm more firmly against him, fascinated by the way his breathing changes, the way his hips move almost involuntarily into my touch.

“I thought men needed lingerie and make up and all the...” I make this weird sort of jazz hands gesture. “You know, sexy stuff.”

He mimics my twisting hand gesture then grabs my wrists, his rough grip stealing my breath.

“With you, baby, it’s all sexy. I’ve not touched a woman in ten years. Didn’t know my secret kink was little girls with big brains.”

I snort as I inspect the lines on his face, letting myself really look at him. Older, yes. But I don’t register the age. I see the man in the blue of his eyes. In the way his forehead comes together when he’s waiting for me to speak.

“Nerd kink.” I finally say, “It’s a thing, I read about—”

He flattens my hand over my mouth, his fingers tight around my wrist. “I’m all for reading. You might not guess it, but I’m on book 88 of the hundred books to read in your lifetime. But it’s a balance, baby. Reading and living. Right now, it’s about living. Feeling. Experiencing.”

I nod, and he releases my hands, the blood warming to my fingertips.

"I want to see," I say, surprising myself with my boldness.

"You want to see my cock?"

The crude word should shock me. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through my body. "Yes, Daddy, I want to see your cock."

He unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down just enough to free himself, and I have to fight the urge to pull my hand away. He's big and hard and completely foreign to anything in my limited experience.

"Touch me," he says.

I wrap my fingers around him tentatively, amazed by the contrast of soft skin over steel-hard muscle. He groans when I touch him, and the sound makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced before.

"Like this?" I ask, moving my hand the way I think he might like.

"Jesus, yes." His head falls back, and I watch his face as I learn what makes him react, what makes his breathing hitch, what makes his hips thrust into my touch.

"You're so responsive," I say with a smirk.

"Smart ass. Only with you." He looks down at me, his eyes dark with want. "Only for you, little girl."

I continue touching, exploring, learning, until his hand covers mine and stills my movements.

"Stop," he says, his voice strained.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you did everything right. Too right." He tucks himself back into his jeans and pulls me into his lap. "But I think it's time to collect my second payment."

"Second payment?"

"You paid your deposit this morning. But you still owe me for services rendered today." His hands are already working at the button of my pants. "And I think I'll take this one between your legs too."

Before I can respond, he has me on my back on the narrow bed, my pants and underwear gone, his mouth on me with the same focused intensity he brings to everything else.

This time is different from the hurried encounter in his shop.

This time he takes his time, mapping every sensitive spot, learning exactly what makes me gasp and arch and forget my own name.

He uses his tongue and his fingers and his teeth, building me up until I'm shaking with need, then backing off until I whimper with frustration.

"Please," I finally gasp. "Please, I need..."

"What do you need, little girl?"

"I need you. I need you inside me. Please."

But instead of giving me what I'm begging for, he sits back and looks down at me with satisfaction and something that might be tenderness.

"Not today."

"What?" I struggle to sit up, confused and frustrated and aching with unfulfilled need. "But I thought...I want you to..."

"I know what you want." He helps me get my clothes back on with gentle efficiency. "But you're not ready."

"I am ready. I want this. I want you."

"Wanting isn't the same as being ready." He pulls me against his chest, and despite my frustration, I find myself melting into his warmth. "You've been good tonight. You've learned. And I like you needy."

"That's not fair."

"Fair's got nothing to do with it." His hand strokes through my hair. "Daddy decides when you're ready, little girl. And you're not ready yet."

The certainty in his voice is both maddening and oddly comforting.

Part of me wants to argue, to insist that I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions about my body and my readiness.

But a larger part—the part that felt so peaceful when he fed me, the part that melted under his authority—trusts that he knows something I don't.

"When will I be ready?" I ask quietly.

"When you stop asking when you'll be ready." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "When you trust me completely instead of just trusting me with parts of yourself."

The rest of the day is my first introduction to some sort of wilderness survival.

Cade shows me how to build up the fire, how to recognize the tracks of game animals and get my bearings from the way moss grows on the trees.

It’s all too much of a blur for me to remember any of it, but he says it’s about experience, and repetition, and trusting him to keep me safe.

I’m still thinking about his words, about trusting not only that he knows what’s best but that he can handle the real me, as he gets the sleeping bag ready for the night. He banks the fire, then tucks us both into the narrow space that will keep us warm until morning.

"Cade?" I say into the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For taking care of me."

"Thank you for letting me." His arm tightens around me. "Now sleep, little girl. Tomorrow we really start your education."

As I drift off in his arms, warm and safe and more satisfied than I've ever been despite not getting everything I wanted, I find myself looking forward to whatever lessons he has planned.

I'm finally starting to understand that maybe the most important things can't be learned from books.