Page 70 of Bartholomew
And waited.
And plucked at the chemise again, nervously.
Then I heard his footsteps in the hallway.
It was time.
Deep breath.
The door to our room opened. I made sure, once more, that I was in the proper position. Feet shoulder width apart. Hands at my sides. Eyes lowered.
I could see his feet as he walked into the room in complete silence. Not a word. I resisted the urge to fidget and pluck at the chemise again.
“Fucking hell, you are stunning, firefly.” His voice rumbled with desire.
“Thank you,” I murmured, working to keep my hands at my side and my eyes lowered. It was unnerving, standing still beneath his gaze.
“Thank you, what?” he goaded. My thoughts raced, trying to discern his meaning. Then I realized. I could feel my face flush with excited embarrassment. Cursed blush.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I murmured.
“Louder. I want to hear you confident and proud in your submission,” he corrected.
“Thank you, Daddy.” This time I spoke firmly, focusing on that submission within me. I wasn’t doing this just because I was told to. I was doing this because I wanted to; because it fueled me to obey him in this way. It made my core tighten and made me wet with anticipation.
“That’s my girl,” he praised. His fingertips ran down the thin strap of the negligee, down to the swell of my breast. I shivered at his touch. “Stay right there for me, firefly, while I get everything situated for our scene this evening.”
I stood still as a statue, constantly telling myself to not pick and pluck at my clothing. It was a habit formed in my youth, trying to constantly cover myself and hide my flaws. But Ollie wanted my flaws; he wanted me, exactly as I was. I used this knowledge, letting it soothe my fears and quiet the voices in my head.
I heard him puttering around in the closet, likely pulling out these toys he had spoken of. I wondered he would choose the wand tonight. Donatello. I giggled at the name we had given it; a silly inside joke to us both.
“Is something funny, firefly?” he chided me playfully. My giggles ceased immediately at his gentle chastisement.
“No, Daddy,” I answered dutifully.
“Mmm, I could get used to hearing that name fall from your lips,” he groaned.
“I could get used to saying it,” I spouted back.
“Never lose that little bit of sass. So fucking sexy,” he called from the closet. There was a clattering as he set whatever he had retrieved onto the bed, I assumed. “Christ, you look exquisite standing there so perfectly.”
He came back around, standing before me. His feet and his legs were now bare, save for a pair of boxer briefs.
“Eyes.” That one command had my panties nearly drenched with arousal. My eyes lifted to his, feeling that arousal burn through me at the look he gave. There was hunger in his gaze. A hunger for me. My mouth went dry. “I want you to tell me how this makes you feel.” He touched the lace edging of the bodice as he spoke.
“It makes me feel feminine, Daddy,” I spoke, finding that inner confidence he gave me.
“What else?” he urged, his fingers tracing the line of the bodice over one breast and then the other.
“It makes me feel exposed,” I murmured, his touch nearly stealing my breath already.
“I like you exposed, firefly. Keep going,” he urged, his own voice deeper, darker.
“It makes me feel sexy,” I barely whispered, my breath hitching as his thumb brushed over my nipple. It pebbled under his touch.
“Try again,” his voice nearly growled out. His fingers grasped that same nipple, plucking at it and making me gasp.
“It makes me feel sexy,” I spoke loudly, nearly whimpering under his touch.
