Taking care of me apparently meant pulling me down over his knee, arse up and wig down, which finally—finally—made my brain and my sense of self-preservation both kick back in.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spluttered as one of his big hands came to rest on my back, steady and warm and not impeding me at all as I started to struggle. “Let mego, Roman. Let me go right now, or I’ll… I’ll…”
Damn it.
I’d what?
If the man would just hold me down a little harder, my thrashing wouldn’t have felt so humiliating. As it was, though, he just kept me from falling. Kept me steady. But we both knew he wasn’t holding me firmly enough that I couldn’t have gotten right back up if I wanted to.
So what the hell was wrong with me?
I wanted him.
There.
I admitted it, if only to myself. I wanted him to keep me, too. I wanted him to mean it when he said he had me. I didn’t want him to only be Isaac’s Daddy, I wanted him for my own, too.
I didn’t want him to go back to America, and I… I wanted whatever punishment he was about to give me, too.
I probably even deserved it for the way I’d treated Isaac last night, and for how I’d made such an arse out of myself downstairs.
No one ever called me on my outrageous behavior. Tittered about it behind their hands. Posted it on twitter with too many hashtags. Judged me and shunned me and sometimes admired me for it. But no one… no one dared get too close, and no one cared enough to stick it out when I threw everything I had at them.
But I was tired of being strong.
Tired of everyone expecting me to always be the head bitch in charge of everything.
Not that I wanted to give upallof my control. I hadn’t completely lost all my good sense, honey. But I wouldn’t have minded a little break, if there was someone around to make sure it was safe to take one. Like… a Daddy.
“Are you okay, Diva?” Isaac asked softly, kneeling down on the plush carpet right next to me and resting a hand on my shoulder. “Do you… are you… do you need… um, are you okay with this?”
I closed my eyes, turning my head away from him.
I loved Isaac, I did. With all the love that existed inside my cold, shriveled, prickly, bruised heart. But I didn’t want to answer that.
It would just be easier if I didn’t actually have to say it out loud.
“Shush, little lamb,” Daddy Roman said, making me feel absurdly grateful that he’d stepped in so I didn’t have to deal with it. “Daddy will take care of our Diva. If she needs to stop, she can say ‘red.’”
“Stop what?” Isaac asked, his voice trembling.
We both knew, though, and a shudder went through me, one last knee-jerk protest rising to my lips.
Before it could burst free, Daddy’s hand—still on my back, warm and steady—pressed into me more firmly, his other one sweeping slowly up my spine.
Then back down.
Over my arse.
Down my thighs.
Over and over in a hypnotic rhythm that had me taking slower and slower breaths to match his strokes. Calming down despite myself. Even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Even though there was still plenty of rage and hurt and fear clogging up my sinuses and making my stomach feel like it was about to turn itself inside out.
“I’m going to spank her,” Daddy Roman finally answered Isaac, his voice as slow and soothing as his touch. “Because she needs a safe outlet for all those big emotions. And she needs to know I’ve got her. That she can’t scare me off. That I can handle it. And most of all—”
I squeezed my eyes closed. God, he was an arshole. It was like he was stripping me naked and shoving me out into traffic.
“—mostof all, Jules needs to know that I’ll still be here, that we both will, Isaac, once we’ve seen the worst.”
