Page 13 of Daddy, Take Me Away
“Stay here,” he commanded, but he needn't have bothered. Her legs were rooted where she stood.
Tsking, he tucked his keyring back in his pocket, left the broken length of key buried in the lock until he could assemble the right tools to fix the situation, and stepped back out into the rain.
Chapter Seven
Ignoring the front porch, Hamish walked around the house to his bedroom window which had never locked quite right and since he liked fresh air when he slept, he'd never been in much of a hurry to fix it. Something he was grateful for now.
A veritable waterfall poured off the edge of the roof and he had to stand right under it, but he pushed up on the old wooden window sash until it grudgingly gave way, and with a hop, he heaved himself up into the house.
Mrs. Kernie, the kindly widow he’d hired to keep an eye on the place while he was gone, had obviously visited sometime this morning. He’d found a chocolate on his pillow and a card informing him of a ready-to-heat neeps and tatties stew in his fridge. He smiled fondly, then fetched a bag of tools and his spare key from the hook by the door and headed out to rescue Chloe from the weather.
She was waiting where he’d left her, looking positively drenched with her shoulders hunched against the rain, her blonde hair plastered to her head and the bunny-bump of a ponytail dripping water down the back of her neck. She looked miserable, and yet her face brightened when she spotted him walking back across the gravel and mud driveway toward her.
“Stay here,” he called once he was close enough. “I’ll be right back.”
Off into the dismal drip he went, rounding the back of the B&B cabin until he found the kitchen window. It was the easiest to slide and the hardest to lock. Sure enough, when he pushed up the sash, it rose with less resistance than his bedroom window. He gave a hop and in he went, practically sitting in the sink until he could pull his long legs in behind him.
He supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him, but when he opened the front door to let Chloe in, she was still standing exactly as he’d left her, hands worriedly clasped, her head bowed. She looked wilted, worried, maybe even a little afraid. But when he held open the door, after only a slight hesitation, she slipped past him. She didn’t go far and was well-within arm’s reach when she finally stopped and waited.
Closing the door, he switched on the main lights, cutting the dark of the cabin at nighttime and chasing away the shadows. She didn’t look up, not even to glance around. She simply stood silently, nervously wringing at her hands. He was pretty sure she was staring at his shoes. Each breath remained shallow and quick, but she wasn’t protesting. If he took her hand right now and led her to a sturdy chair at the kitchen table, he was almost positive she would follow him without so much as a single complaint. Perhaps a sniffle or two, as she contemplated the embarrassment and hurt that going across his knee would bring, but he’d placed many a naughty lass into punishment positions and right now, her every reaction was that of a Little fully resigned to her fate.
God, he loved that look–the wilt in her shoulders, the tip of her head, eyes downcast but facing him. It had been so long since he’d had a Little, and god knows his last one hadn’t had a recalcitrant bone in her body. Chloe had it in spades, and damn but she wore that look adorably well, just like a Little should when threatened with discipline. Not that Hamish had threatened her. He didn’t like threats and never bothered giving them; he made promises.
And then he kept them.
Hamish held out his hand. She looked at it, heaved a soft sigh, then reached for him. He stopped her before she could lay her tiny fingers upon his much larger ones.
“Only take my hand if you’re giving me consent to discipline you,” he warned, “and only do it knowing I will repeat this lesson any time you give me cause, from now until you take the plane back across the pond and home again. You ken?”
Her little breasts heaved again, then stopped as she held her breath. Her brows furrowed, but her hesitation was barely notable before she reached for his hand again.
Once more, he stopped her. “I asked you a verbal question, and I want a verbal reply.”
Chloe shivered, and he didn’t for a second think it was because of the cold rain still dripping from them both. “I understand,” she whispered.
“Do you agree?” he softly pressed.
For the first time, she raised her gaze as high as his face, then dropped them again. Finally, she gave the sniffle he’d been expecting all this time. Her voice quavered. “Are you mad at me?”
“Do I look mad?” he countered.
She peeked at his face again. “Yes.”
Fair. He had one of those faces, he supposed, and he wasn’t much for trying to school his features into unnatural expressions of patience and understanding.
“I’m not mad,” he informed her. Quite the opposite. In fact, he felt charged, a very real sexual thrill racing through his veins and into his skin. “I promise, I am far from mad.”
She shivered again, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was feeling the same thrill he was.
Nodding, she glanced up, this time holding his gaze long enough to say, “I agree, then.”
“Call me Daddy,” he told her. “It’ll do you good to say it, I think.”
It would do him good, too, though he was trying hard not to acknowledge his own hunger for it. In just under two weeks, she was still going home and long-distance relationships, in his opinion, just didn’t work when there was no chance of laying on hands. Not for pleasure, or punishment. Or comfort, and his little Chloe would definitely need a lot of cuddles afterwards. He’d known it when he’d spanked her on the roadside, and he knew it now. She needed affirmation that at least one Daddy out in the world cared enough to take care of all her needs, even the fragile ones.
She blinked, her eyes growing watery in ways that had nothing to do with the rain still dripping from her bangs. “Y-yes, D-Daddy,” she stammered, then stopped, seeming to savor the way that word tasted on her lips. That delectable pink bow that already had him aching to taste her.
She raised her hand slowly, as if she expected him to stop her again as she reached to lay her fingers in his palm.
