Page 15 of Daddy's Little Liar
Chapter Four
“Being able to pay your student loans is going to feel great,” Daddy said, watching from across the table as she picked at the last bite of her lasagna.
Dinner was over. Technically, it had been over for a good forty minutes. His plate was empty, she couldn’t eat another bite, and the last one remaining on her plate was now thoroughly ‘forked’ over. It was so much easier to pick at it than to actually look at him while he asked her questions—nothing terrible. The lecturing part of the evening seemed to be over. Instead of nitpicking her lack of preparation for the trip, he’d switched topics to her interview. He’d asked about her degree and what the year since she’d graduated had been like. She’d been honest. It had been hell, made up mostly of worrying how she was going to pay off her loans as the grace period between graduation and that first hefty payment slowly began its tick-down.
She hadn’t realized how much stress she had put on herself or how poorly she was dealing with it until she had to talk about it. Waitressing wasn’t what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Every day she had been stuck in that position, especially once she’d graduated—that shining moment of adulthood she and her parents and all of society had built up in her mind as the magical be-all, end-all, which would supposedly transform her into a productive, financially responsible person—had been as demoralizing to her self-esteem as, say, going to prison.
Every holiday, every vacation, every time she had to look an interviewer in the eye and say, “Yes, I graduated all those months ago. Yes, I do waitress for a living right now,” killed her just a bit more. It was as if people thought it was her fault she hadn’t been hired ‘for real’ yet. It had felt as though she might never be hired, and all the time and money she’d spent had been wasted since she wasn’t worth anything better than ‘Do you want fries with that.’
She’d never told anyone how she felt, but she told Daddy. She could hardly stand to look at him when she let those secret fears escape her. These last few months, she could hardly stand to look at herself.
“It’s going to feel great to have benefits,” she corrected, a corner of her mouth lifting in a rueful smile. “It’s going to feel great moving into my own place, without a roommate who hogs the bathroom sink and can’t pick up after herself, no matter how often I ask. It’s going to feel awesome to have only one set of dishes to wash and know when I clean something, it’ll still be that way the next time I walk in the room.” Georgia closed her mouth, not wanting to sound ungrateful. Yeah, her roommate was a pain sometimes, but she was also the one who had picked up the slack without a single complaint the last two times Georgia had been late coming up with the money for her part of the bills. “It’s going to feel great being able to have breathing room. Money in the bank. Parents who are proud of me.”
Her voice broke a little at that. She glanced at him, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but he was watching her, silent and waiting. His eyes said nothing was going unnoticed.
“I bet they’re plenty proud of you right now,” he countered.
If she’d ever said such a thing in front of her mother or father, they’d have rushed to assure her how wrong she was. Such assurances would have carried more weight, though, if only she’d done something for them to be proud of. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single thing, except being the first in her family to graduate from college.
And now she was working at Red Robin.
Georgia dropped her gaze. “Yeah, I’m sure,” she lied. “At least they don’t know I propositioned a stranger for auto repairs. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be too proud about that.”
“Do you suppose that’s because they might think you’re worth more than that?”
So much for the lecture portion of the evening being over.
She scowled. It was an uncomfortable question, definitely not one she wanted to think about, much less answer. She lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug and hoped he’d drop it. He did—sort of.
Leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees, he took the bag of now mostly thawed peas off her ankle, once more propped up on a pillow between them. It looked awful—swollen, slight bruising, definitely twisted. So long as she didn’t move it, though, it didn’t hurt too badly. It had even stopped throbbing, for the most part.
“Do you think you can stand up?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” She had to be. She only had the one pair of shoes, and she still had the interview to get through. Nothing was going to stop her from walking into that Human Resources office long enough to land that job. Nothing.
She just had to get there.
Getting up, he walked into the kitchen long enough to place the peas in the fridge. Whatever he had for dinner tomorrow would probably include them—just another incremental amount of money she cost him. She felt badly—until he looked at her.
Subtly, the atmosphere between them seemed to change, growing heavy. So did the silence as he turned to the sink and deliberately washed, then dried his hands. Not that he was different when he came back to her. He was still the same guy, the same nice, handsome, quiet, calm person she’d been having dinner with, but it was weird how the air had become between them. He seemed more purposeful in every line of his lean body. He felt almost… predatory—all lean hips, strong hands, and sinewy forearm muscles, with those prominent, masculine veins that showed off his strength as he pulled his chair around to her side of the table.
Dinner was definitely over. If he sat down, his back would be to the table. The only thing he could have reached for—the only thing he reached for—was her.
“Let’s get you up.” He offered his waiting hand. It had to be a trick of her imagination that made it seem bigger and much harder than before. “Be careful how you move. I don’t want you hurting yourself any more than you already have.”
The air charged even more. Energy crackled in the tiny hairs that prickled to stand on the back of her neck as she ignored his waiting hand. She couldn’t bring herself to take it, so she pretended not to see it. She dropped her gaze to her lap and accidentally, her napkin to the floor. Removing her foot from its little pillow, a slow throb started up her leg the instant she lowered her heel to the floor. He pushed the extra chair aside, so it wouldn’t be a tripping hazard. Grabbing the back of her own seat and the edge of the table for balance, she rose. With all her weight balanced on one leg, refusing to take his hand, she shifted until she faced him. She looked down, but all she could see was the waiting expanse of his very capable lap stretched out before her.
“Come here,” he gently coaxed.
It was the gentleness that undid her. This was so strange, not at all how she would have thought a spanking ought to go. Not that she’d spent much time wondering about spankings, but shouldn’t it have been angry and violent? By its very nature, shouldn’t it be dreadful and unpleasant?
It didn’t feel that way. Daddy was anything but angry. His face was calm, welcoming, even. His hand, still stretched out to hers, was steady.
She had all the choices in the world, yet none at all. Maybe it was simply the choice she didn’t want to make. Maybe it was the choice she deserved. Either way, she finally accepted it and let herself be drawn facedown across that waiting lap into a position as old as misbehaving young ladies and the people who deigned to correct them.
His thighs beneath her belly were hard and sturdy. As he hooked her waist, his arm was strong as banded steel, adjusting her up and over, then dropping her nose to within inches of the floor. She knew his hold would be just as once it was wrapped around her. That came just seconds later, much sooner than she was braced for.
Georgia locked her lips to keep back a mewl of uncertainty—why was she letting this happen—but he had her pinned. His arm locked her into place, his free hand resting on top of her skirted backside while her feet dangled off the floor just behind her. She could see them, the tips of her feet waving in empty air through the rungs of the dining room chair he sat on. It was awkward, unbalanced, uncomfortable, and about to get a whole lot worse. One little phrase could stop it all—her safeword—but she wouldn’t say it, not only because she couldn’t pay for her own stupid car repair. In the end, she would pay him for it, anyway. Every single penny, plus some for his time and labor, just as soon as she could, she would pay him back for everything.
