Sadie's Little Christmas - Maren Smith Page 0,29
air.
Everything was so very clean. Neat and tidy was definitely the order of his days. Either that or he had one hell of a maid.
That thought should never have been accompanied by the grim sinking sensation that descended through her core. What he did before he met her was none of her business. What he continued to do even now that he had met her was his own business as well. They weren’t in a relationship. Not a real one, anyway. She was his contracted submissive for the next few days, at the very least. That did not give her the right to dictate how he lived his life.
Yet what came popping out of her mouth but, “D-Do your submissives clean for you?”
He laughed. “No,” he told her, his blue eyes still dancing with mirth. “Neither my Littles nor my submissives clean for me. I have a very nice woman come in once a week to give the place a good dusting, mop, and vacuum. But I’m a big boy and know how to pick up after myself. Don’t for a second think I brought you here to help me keep my house clean.”
“Oh, I didn’t,” she said. That thought actually hadn’t occurred to her. She’d been more worried about whether she was going to have to deal with some other woman traipsing through his house at various times… either cleaning his house or ‘cleaning’ his house, complete in a sexy, barely-there French maid outfit. Bending over to pick up the things she dropped with legs straight and her too-short skirt riding high up on her panty-clad ass. Winning spanking after spanking, until finally Daddy was so fed up, he gave her a thoroughly adult ‘punishment’ because Fifi the French Maid wasn’t just incompetent, she was also a strumpet and loved it.
Sadie had no idea what to do with that green-eyed fantasy. From start to finish, it was utterly ridiculous, but that didn’t make the residual twist of jealousy any easier to swallow.
Still chuckling, he turned back to the living room.
“Come on.”
She caught herself looking at his bed for a heartbeat or two longer than she should have, and when she finally turned away, it was to see him paused halfway down the hallway, watching her. Waiting. She blushed when he glanced over her head, back into his room. She could tell he knew exactly what she’d been staring at by the way his baby blues smoldered and danced.
He held out his hand. Daddy, waiting to lead his reluctant little girl down the hall into whatever he had planned for the rest of their evening. Her stomach was full of butterflies, but she had ants marching through her veins, waking every nerve as she watched her smaller hand engulfed by his.
His palm felt calloused and rough, not at all what she would have expected of the hands of a resort owner. Unless, of course, that owner spent his equal share of time working on his resort. His nails were trimmed short and clean, and his skin was lightly tanned from time spent in the sun. They were very strong, capable hands. Hands that spanked. Hands that were gentle as he led her into his living room.
He made popcorn, lightly sprinkled with M&Ms and malt balls, and they sat down on the couch to watch a movie.
“What would you like to watch?” he asked.
“Aliens,” she tested.
“Nice try,” he said with a smile.
They watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and she enjoyed it. It had been a long time since she’d seen the movie. Better than that, he seemed to enjoy it, too. He was so relaxed, and there was nothing weird about it.
It didn’t even feel weird afterward when he put the empty popcorn bowl away in the kitchen and said, “I’ll run you a bath.”
Her heart and her tummy fluttered. Bath time meant bedtime must be closing in. And wasn’t this whole BDSM thing supposed to revolve around sex? Wasn’t it supposed to make everything better, more fun, more exciting?
The longer she spent in Derek’s company, the more she was looking forward to experiencing what he’d do once the lights went out, and he crawled into bed right next to her. Was he going to want her to call him Daddy then?
Her stomach tightened. So did her nipples, but she told herself that reaction was due to her own mounting insecurities. Derek was not her father. There was no confusing anything he did with the man who had contributed sperm