Dear Daddy, Please Spank Me - Chara Croft Page 0,65

Not ever. But...

“That dinner you made is going to get cold,” I said, dragging my eyelids open and twisting around to look at him, even though just lying here and feeling him touch me like this and not thinking at all for the rest of my life sounded pretty much perfect. It wasn’t just my eyelids that felt heavy, it was my thoughts and whole fucking body and brain and everything... but in a good way. A satisfied way. Almost like we’d already fucked and I was high off it, even though we hadn’t gotten that far yet.

Getting to his bedroom from the kitchen had felt like a dreamy blur, and having him strip me down and lay me out on his bed—roll me onto my stomach and kiss and lick and suck his way down my spine, all the way to my ass, like he was in some kind of cult of lip worship that I’d gladly sacrifice a few million virgins to if it meant he’d keep using his mouth on me like that—that had been a whole different kind of dream. One I hadn’t wanted to wake up from, all floaty and high-feeling like I’d been. But then, after he’d finally gotten himself naked, too—and started rubbing something that smelled good and felt even better into my aching ass until I wanted to moan and beg and promise him obscenely dirty things if he’d just keep doing that—then I’d remembered the dinner thing.

Was I hungry? For his cock, fuck yes. But for chicken? Not so much. But did it make me feel stupidly… uh, cared about, to know that he’d gone and made dinner for me? Yeah, it really fucking did. Like, kind of a ridiculous amount.

Pretty sure someone cooking for me like that had never happened before, and as horny and floaty and fucking perfect as I felt right now, I also didn’t want to disrespect his effort… plus, I still needed to a chance to make amends for the embarrassing fork thing.

Well, sort of embarrassing.

Okay, honestly? He’d pretty much spanked the embarrassment right out of me, and the little bit that was left almost felt… uh, hot?

Was that weird?

It turned me on for some reason, thinking of how fucking ridiculous I’d been and how Daddy had just let me freak the fuck out on him and throw a humiliating tantrum and say a bunch of stupid shit… and it turned me on even more that he’d dealt with it. That he still fucking wanted me—maybe wanted me even more, if I was reading him right—now that he’d seen me lose it, done something about it, and shown me that he really meant it about being in charge.

Fuck, I really was fucked up, wasn’t I? But if that meant I got this, then it was kind of hard to give a shit about at the moment.

“We’ll reheat dinner,” Andy said, pressing another kiss to the base of my spine that made my whole body quiver. “This comes first. Taking care of you is always going to come first for me, Jordan.”

Oh… shit. He was going to legit wreck me if he kept saying stuff like that.

I never wanted him to stop.

He spread more of that good-smelling lotion on me, rubbing it in with torturously slow passes of his hands, firm and possessive, covering every inch of skin that he’d spanked. Pretty sure he’d gone over the whole area a few times already, but even if it was a kind of erotic torture that had my cock weeping onto his stupidly silky bedspread, I didn’t hate the attention. More importantly? It wasn’t up to me. He was going to do what he wanted, because he was in charge… and fuck if I didn’t like it that way.

The dinner thing, though...

“But you cooked,” I reminded him, still kind of floored that he’d gone out of his way like that for me.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he said, his smooth, low voice washing over me like warm syrup. “I’m going to be cooking for you a lot from now on.”

He was?

Why?

My pulse was suddenly racing for no good reason at all, burning away some of that floaty post-spanking haze, and I twisted around to look back over my shoulder at him, knowing it would be dumb to hope he actually meant what that had sounded like but wanting to see his face anyway. But then… fuck. The way he was looking at me? It made hope seem like it might not