I roll onto my side and try to fall back to sleep, but my formerly tranquil mind won’t stop spinning. Part of me feels like I should be out there searching for Kenzie. But part of me also knows that Cal’s right. I can’t help my friend if I’m too exhausted to think. Plus, that terrifying driver might still be looking for me.
I hold my kitten close and plunder my brain for anything useful Kenzie might’ve said about Steph when I was distracted. Nothing new jumps out. I shift onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Eventually, my mind wanders back to the party. How anxious I felt, and how easily Cal was able to comfort me.
What’s strange is that, even though we were at a sex party, sitting on Cal’s lap didn’t feel overtly sexual. At the time, it felt sweet and comforting.
But looking back, I can’t help picturing how things might’ve gone differently if I’d guided his hand between my legs.
Tension pools in the cradle of my pelvis. I press a hand to my mound through my underwear.
Cal says he doesn’t want anything from me in exchange for letting me stay here. I wish he did want something. I wish he wanted everything.
I whimper as I rub myself. I shouldn’t be doing this. Cal might hear me. But my body’s wound so tightly, I won’t be able to sleep unless I release the tension. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. Usually, I have to settle for doing it in the shower because it feels too awkward to do it with Kenzie in the next bed.
If I hurry, I can squeeze in an orgasm before Cal comes back, just to help me relax enough to pass out again.
Eyes closed, I imagine Cal’s hands where mine are now, cupping my breasts through my shirt. My nipples push at the fabric, begging to be played with. I comply, gathering my shirt high to bare them.
It’s been a long time since I had the freedom to just lie back and feel myself up. My own touch is almost too much at first, my skin too sensitive. Knowing I’m touching myself in Cal’s bed gives the moment a special kind of thrill. Like I’m breaking a rule.
I slide my hand beneath the waistband of my panties and find myself soaked. My tenderest parts pebble-hard and slippery. I exhale softly, careful not to moan.
There’s no point in trying to imagine anyone other than Cal in bed with me. I’ve never had sex, but I’m not ignorant. I want Cal to touch me. I want him to crawl into bed behind me, his front body pressed to my back.
I imagine his lips at my neck and his hand between my thighs, cupping me. I can almost hear his voice in my head whispering, it’s time to let someone else take care of you for a change.
Someone like him... Someone like...Daddy.
A gush of pleasure rolls through me—the same illicit thrill I get whenever Kenzie says the word, times a thousand. Yes, that’s exactly what I need. A Daddy to hold me, to kiss me, to put me to bed and then climb in beside me. To sing me country and folk songs as he works his fingers in and out of my body.
“Take care of me, Daddy,” I whisper as the pleasure builds. “Oh God, Daddy, I want you...”
The door creaks as it swings open. My hand freezes.
Squinting, I can trace the edges of Cal’s form against the slightly lighter darkness of the hallway. How long has he been standing outside the door? Could he hear me breathing, or worse?
He makes his way toward the bed. I hear fabric rustling, the clinking of metal on metal, the swoosh of a belt sliding through pant loops. I don’t hear him take his pants off before he eases onto the mattress beside me, staying above the covers.
I count the seconds as they pass, acutely aware of Cal’s body so close to mine. The need to come is as real and desperate as the need to breathe. I listen for signs that he’s drifting off. Light snoring, breath slowing.
But he’s as still and silent as I am. It’s impossible to tell if he’s awake or asleep.
My clit pulses against my fingers with every heartbeat. I press down on that tender spot, sending a burst of tingles through my bloodstream.
Maybe he won’t hear me if I just move my fingers.
I fight to keep my breathing steady as I work my fingers in delicate circles. It takes all of my energy and control to stop my hips from rocking. I just need to finish what I started. Then I can go to sleep.
My mind picks up where the fantasy left off, with Cal’s lips at my neck and his fingers inside me. The things he says to me in my mind are beyond dirty. Phrases like, come for Daddy, and Daddy wants to hear you moan his name.
I spread my legs slightly, and my foot comes into contact with part of his body. Even with the blankets between us, the awareness that a part of me is resting up against a part of him sends a flood of desire through me. I work my fingers in tight circles, convinced he can hear my heart pounding. In my fantasy, he’s got me on all fours with his fingers on my clit and his cock poised to enter me.
My inner muscles tighten. I come, gasping softly. But in the quiet, even the softest exhale sounds like waves crashing. I clamp my lips together, listening. The room holds its breath, and it’s not the only one.
Cal sits upright. From the sound of his movements and the way the mattress dips, I’m pretty sure he’s planted his feet on the floor.
Panic seizes my limbs. I was so fucking stupid to think he wouldn’t hear me. Now everything is ruined because I couldn’t resist finishing what I started.
Cal told me himself that he didn’t want anything from me, and here I am fantasizing about him like he’s my sugar daddy, twisting his kindness into something sick and perverted.
“Cal,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t respond.
Tears trail into my hairline. I gasp as the bedside lamp switches on. It’s a low-wattage bulb, so the light doesn’t blind me. The first thing I notice is Cal’s bare back, well muscled and tan. I was right about him not having taken his pants off.
He turns to look at me, and I suddenly feel like a deer caught in a hunter’s scope. My heart pounds. He moves in slow motion, reaching toward me, drawing back the covers.
He takes in my bare breasts and belly, my arm wrapped around my stuffie, and my hand still tucked into the waistband of my panties.
“Tell me to leave you alone,” he says. “Tell me to get the fuck out of this room, and to never look at you or think about touching you again.”
Has he thought about touching me? Ever since I arrived here, he’s been so stand-offish. But there’s no denying the hunger on his face as his gaze pours over me.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I say.
He trails his fingers down my arm, all the way to my wrist. Gently, he guides my hand out of my panties. My fingers shine in the lamplight.
My cheeks burn as he studies the clear, wet evidence of my desire. Before I even realize what’s taken place, he’s sucked my fingers into his mouth.
He growls; it’s the only word to describe the primal noise that rumbles from his chest. The sound triggers a cascade of internal responses within me. I hump the air.
Cal runs the backs of his knuckles along the crotch of my panties.
“Who’s your Daddy, Holly?” he asks. “Who do you cry for in the night to come take care of this juicy pussy?”
My eyes go wide. He must’ve heard what I said before he came into the room, which means he knew that I was masturbating before he opened the door.
He climbed into bed knowing I was touching myself.
And he wasn’t turned off by my use of the D-word.
I bled and struggled in darkness to place King Anson on the throne, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him there. I’ve never asked for anything in return. I don’t want recognition. I don’t need thanks.
