“You’re sweating,” he said matter-of-factly. “Could be that you’re nervous. Could be that fire you keep trying to pretend you don’t feel when you’re around me. Could be a fever.”
He stepped right in front of me, standing between my knees. Close enough that my breath caught. Close enough to smell his cedarwood cologne. A scent that reminded me of home.
“Or it could be that a certain Little girl hasn’t quite figured out that she already belongs here. With me,” he said cupping my chin, and lifting it upward.
I blinked at him. Speechless. I opened my mouth to protest but shut it again. Because I’d been thinking of this sort of scenario for years. Not that Iwantedit. Who was I kidding? I definitely wanted it.
“I’m being thorough,” he added, lifting the thermometer. “Nothing more.”
My eyes flicked to the desk. He couldn’t mean to do something so intimate out in the open. I swallowed more than once fighting arousal versus holding onto some semblance of control. “Not out here. You can’t be serious!”
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Are you going to listen or do I need to warm your bottom before I check your temperature?”
“Nuh-uh. You’re crazy.” Except he wasn’t. What he was planning would be a firm reminder of his presence in my life. Something I apparently needed.
“No, babygirl. I’m your Daddy,” he whispered. “And I take that job very seriously.”
He straightened, calm as ever. Like he hadn’t just unraveled me with a sentence. Sam crossed to the front door and locked it before returning to my side.
“Now that I’ve limited our interruptions. Be a good girl and bend over.”
And suddenly, this place didn’t smell like responsibility anymore. It smelled like home. Maybe it was just his cologne again. That realization didn’t move me to compliance.
“We are not sticking things in uncomfortable places,” I said firmly. It was a phrase I’d uttered more than once to him since I’d been home.
“It would be terribly reckless of me not to ensure that you’re not running a fever. Do as I’ve said or I promise this will get even more uncomfortable for you.”
But as soon as he said the word ‘or’ his eyes darkened. When I was an out-of-control college student, bratting to brat him as it were, he’d gotten very good at leaving out the word ‘or’ in his threats. Though I knew he was serious, I’d been needing reassurance. Reassurance that our relationship was serious. That we would work it out in the long run. I wasn’t defying him. Not intentionally but I didn’t know how to beg him not to let me go this time.
Sam stepped in close and his presence wrapped around me. Calm, certain, immovable. Two of his fingers rested beneath my chin and tilted my face up so I had to focus on his.
“Where are you, little wildflower?” he asked softly.
I blinked. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” he murmured. “You’re in my care. And you’re not going anywhere.”
Then he moved—slow and deliberate—guiding me by the elbow, turning me around and pressing me down into the wooden coffee table nearby. My heart climbed straight into my throat.
“Sam!”
“Shh, Mickie,” he said gently, already positioning me. “You’re going to be very still for me.”
My palms met the smooth cherry wood surface. Cool to the touch, though my hands were sweaty. The blinds were drawn. The front door locked. Still, the space felt wide open like I was on display.
“This isn’t a punishment,” he said, stepping closer and unbuttoning my jeans. “Think of it as a reminder. Something to ground you when you start overthinking.”
His hand rested between my shoulder blades pushing down just enough to center me.
“You called me Daddy,” he said. “Not just for show. Not because you thought I wanted to hear it. You said it because you meant it.”
I swallowed hard. He read me like an open book. Wasn’t that what I’d always wanted? My palms were sweaty and I was panting as he spoke like I wasn’t about to be moaning.
“You don’t get to second-guess your gut because we had sex,” he went on. “You don’t get to pull away when this starts to feel too real. Not when I’m standing right here.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. I felt his breath at my ear, the subtle flex of his hand at my back. He was one-hundred percent correct. I’d been a tiny bit worried that our time together was a beautiful fling. A great time destined to be nothing else. That when I returned to my apartment in the city it would all be a memory.
“You’re mine, Mickie. I look after you and it means you let me.” He paused, allowing his words to sink into my brain. Long enough for it to matter. “Now I’m going to take your temperature, little wildflower. And you’re going to behave while I do it.”
