Page 185 of Wanting What's Wrong

I wake with him latched on, I sleep through his fucking me slow and easy, feeling him leaking out of me when I wake. He even took me in the barn, latched to the crossties, on all fours making me moo for him.

I thought it would be humiliating but something down inmy core wants to be what he needs. And forgive me, but pretending to be his cow while he mounted me from behind like a bull, hands squeezing my tits like udders, had me calling for God and praying for forgiveness.

He left me with Granny for a few hours last night. Her home is in town, close to the shop. A nice Victorian house filled with pictures of Cal and her husband. A little sort of shrine to her daughter, Cal’s mother and his father.

There were faded, worn Playgirls on the coffee table. A stocked liquor cabinet and a pantry full of edibles and Little Debbie snacks.

She says it’s medicinal. For her glaucoma.

Whatever, Granny.

I don’t care. She ordered pizza delivered and we ate and talked. She apologized for calling my mom a name, but I also told her I understood. I love my mom, but she’s not done me right. Knowing I’m not going back there, a sense of future possibilities has started blooming inside me.

Something I never allowed myself before.

To dream.

When Cal came to pick me up, he looked different. His shirt was pulled, a button popped, and his knuckles were scuffed.

When I asked, he just kissed the fading bruise under my eye and said, “Just taking care of Daddy things, baby. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Now, he’s standing in what is now our bedroom, his hair damp from a shower, looming over me.

“You got two jobs today,” Cal says, dragging me out of bed by my ankles. “Keep my cock warm. And don’t let those tits go dry.”

I should blush. I should protest. But after two days of Cal making me feel like the most important person in the world, I’m taking his demands in my stride.

I stretch like a cat, aching and needy, pretending I’m notlistening, but his hand around my throat quickly advises me against that as he scoops me up like I weigh nothing and carries me down the stairs.

His beard scratches my bare shoulder as he mutters, “Gonna unload inside all your holes today. We’re going to consummate every fucking surface in this house, baby girl.”

He carries me first to the kitchen. The light is warm and golden, pouring in through the wide windows. The scent of coffee mingles with the faint memory of sex, and the hardwood is cool under my bare feet when he sets me down, then lands a stinging slap on my ass once and growls, “You stay put, baby girl. Gotta oil my saddle.”

“That what you’re callin’ it?” I tease.

“Fucking smart mouth,” he grumbles as he disappears into the mudroom, and I’m left standing there, naked and flushed, thighs pressed together, wondering what the hell just happened.

My nipples ache. My whole-body aches.

I try to behave. Really, I do, but oil his saddle?

Now?

Forget this nonsense. The second he’s gone, I climb onto the dining table, stretch out like a feast, and let my legs fall open. I cup my breasts, roll my nipples between my fingers, and groan low in my throat, sliding my hand down between my legs.

If he’s not going to take care of me, I will.

The sound of boots stops me. Then a low disappointed Daddy sort of snorting sound.

“I told you to stay put,” Cal says, stepping back in with a leather strap in one hand and a glass of sweet tea in the other.

I glance at him from beneath my lashes. “You left me. Said you had to oil your saddle. With me standing there, ready and waiting.”

“You think you just do what you want still?”

“I thought you were hungry, Daddy. Then you just left.”

His jaw tightens. “I am hungry. But you need to do as you’re told.”

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