I smother her groan with a kiss, capturing her lips and exploring her like it’s our first time. The kiss turns hungry, needy and before long she's on top of me, riding my cock to another frantic release. And when she collapses against me the second time, I know we’re going to be okay after all.
CHAPTER 17
MIA
Mommy and Daddy are… different. When I first got here, they were polite toward each other, almosttoopolite, like strangers who happened to share the same house. But now they’re talking and laughing andtouching, acting more like newlyweds than strangers.
I should be happy for them. They deserve this, deserve each other.
But watching them move around the kitchen together as they make dinner, I can’t help the jealous monster that claws at my insides. It was foolish, really, imagining that I could have a place with them. I let myself dream, and I really should know better by now.
“Mia, will you set the table, babygirl?” Turning from the stove, where she’s busy whipping up some kind of delicious smelling sauce, Mommy smiles and nods toward a cabinet. “Plates are up there and Daddy can show you where the silverware is.”
Really? She’s giving me chores when it’s clear as fucking day they’re going to be putting me out on the streets the first chance they get?
Sliding down in my chair, I fold my arms over my chest. “No.”
Daddy closes the door to the fridge and frowns at me. “Mia Grace. Didn’t we just have a talk about telling Mommy ‘no’ this morning?”
My heart trips in my chest. If they’re referring to each other as Mommy and Daddy, maybe they aren’t planning to get rid of me.
No. I can’t let myself go down that road. If I give into that bright, painful hope, it might actually kill me to be wrong. “Whatever,” I mumble, sliding further down in the chair.
I’m aware of Daddy moving a split second before his hands grip my arms, hauling me to my feet. With one hand still holding me by the arm, his free hand swats my bottom as he leads me to an empty corner in the kitchen. The swats don’t hurt, not really, thanks to the thick cotton of my diaper, but I still dance and cry with every spank.
“You are going to stand right here until you’re ready to be our good girl again, Mia Grace. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, butourbabygirl does not act like a brat when she’s asked to help out around the house.”
His words reignite that painful hope inside me. Followed by a righteous anger that burns even brighter than my hope did. Howdarethey string me along like this, calling me their babygirl and acting like I’m part of the family when they’re just going to be getting rid of me?
Spinning away from the corner, I glare up at Ethan. “No! I’m not standing in the stupid corner!”
Mouth open, he only stares at me, which confirms what I already knew. Because if Ethan wasreallymy Daddy, he would already have me bare-bottomed over his knee, spanking the attitude right out of me. And it’s that confirmation, that fear that spills out of me now.
Pulling my foot back, I rocket it forward—straight into his shin.
Total silence falls in the kitchen, and for a moment I can only stare up into Ethan’s stunned eyes.
Then shock gives way to fury and I do the only thing I can think to do.
I run.
“Mia Grace!” Ethan bellows. “Stop right where you are, little girl!”
But I don’t stop. I keep running until I reach the playroom, my head whipping around as I search for a place to hide.
The sound of Ethan’s heavy footsteps echo on the stairs, closer and closer, and my heart feels like it might beat right out of my chest. I need somewhere to hide, somewhere they’ll never find me.
There! The closet!
Yanking open the door, I hurry into the large walk-in closet, and realizing with growing dread that it’s barely even half full. Not nearly full enough to hide me from the furious man storming up the stairs behind me.
But I’m out of time, so I yank some of the clothes off their hangers and pile them on top of me. With any luck, they’ll just think they left a pile of clothes on the floor and not look any closer.
Muffled voices come through the closet door. Ethan and Sloane. It sounds like they’re having an argument but about what?
Me, probably. Tears fill my eyes as I try to smother my heavy breathing. They’re probably arguing about whether they should wait or just put me on the street now.
“I’ve got this, Daddy. You go downstairs and finish making dinner, and calm down. We’ll be right behind you.”
