Page 18 of Daddy's Little Mafia Princess
“Have you ever been kissed, Princess?” he asks.
Watching him carefully, I’m not sure why I can’t read anger or danger in his expression. Why had he stopped if he wasn’t angry? How can he seem so calm if he’s angry? I steel myself, knowing I was about to get slapped out of nowhere.
“Of course, I have.” Only just once when I was fourteen, and that ended badly, but it still ought to count, right?
“By a boy?” he challenged. “Or by a man? Did you want it to happen?”
He cups my chin, and I honestly don’t know if the tingle in the pit of my belly is a twitch of fear or something worse. The burning in my ass takes on a terrible new kind of heat, the kind that delves deeper than the membranes hugging the awful root, sinking straight to my pussy, making it burn. I don’t know how he does it, turning the pain and discomfort into something more. It doesn’t just make me ache, it makes me want him to do more.
This is wrong.
I blame the burning. I don’t want this, but my body doesn’t know what to do with the feeling, so it’s turning it into something nicer. There is no other reason for the twitch in my sex when he caresses the pad of his thumb across my trembling lips. I can smell the ginger on his hand. I smell myself, proof of my undeniable wickedness, glistening on his skin, especially around the thumbnail.
“If you think, Daddy,”—I remember his honorific this time—“I’ll marry you for a kiss, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Not for the kiss,” he agrees. “But what about for freedom? The freedom to leave the house whenever you want. To have an allowance, money of your own, the ability to go shopping whenever and wherever you desire. You can make friends, meet them for lunch whenever you want.”
“I don’t have friends.” I can’t even imagine what he’s offering.
“You’ll have your own car,” he continues as if he hadn’t heard me. The backs of his fingers caress my cheek, sending a wayward shiver running to my nipples.
“I don’t drive.”
“Marriage to me means nothing and no one will ever stop you from learning. So long as you submit to me, you’ll never have to submit to anyone else. Does that appeal to you?”
Who wouldn’t it appeal to? Sadly, I’m not stupid enough to believe he’d actually give me any of that. Mafia daughters aren’t the only ones constantly kept under watchful guard. My mother was just as closely guarded and as sorely disciplined whenever my father’s jealousy or temper were pricked. My mother managed her escape when I was twelve, in the form of a month’s worth of antidepressants and a lot of alcohol.
She got out. I was left behind. I’ve tried hard not to blame her over the years, but I only cried at her funeral because I was angry.
“You want to leave,” he coaxes, caressing my cheek, brushing my hair back from my face, making love to me with all the gentleness of normal people, while my asshole burns like fire and my clit throbs to be next. “I can give you all the freedom you’ve never had, with none of the worry and fears that come with it.”
No, kept by a different prisoner, I’d have a whole new set of worries and fears.
“Would I still have to call you Daddy?”
“Every time I tell you to, and especially when I fuck you in my bed. But as I’ve already promised, it’ll never be rape. You’ll want it, just like you want it right now. Even when I punish you first.”
My pussy twitched.
“PerhapsbecauseI punish you.” His smile was pure sin, and God, what it did to me. “You’ll cry for me, make no mistake, but every time I tell you, you’ll bend over and be a good girl forDaddy. You might not like everything I do, but you’ll never come for anyone the way I’ll train you to come.”
The fluttering shiver moves through me like an orgasm.
Did his promises tempt me? Sure, they did, but could I trust them? Not a bit.
“Can I tell you no whenever I want to?”
“You can. I’m not promising I won’t whip your ass for it, and I absolutely guarantee if you say something in public that should have been saved for private, I will make you regret it.”
I didn’t doubt that for a second.
“Can I choose to say or not say it with clothes on?”
He smiles, obviously thinking he’s won. He hasn’t. Not even close, but he’s just made me a lot of promises he’ll have to prove. I’m far more likely to escape him if I pretend to go along than I am while chained over the foot of this bed with a plug up my ass.
“Would you like to get dressed?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
