Sissy
Something is very wrong with me. I’m flushed and heavy in places I’ve never experienced an increase in weight. My breasts, my sex. They feel swollen and that sensation makes me restless. So restless as I follow Locke up the stairs to his second-floor apartment. The sun is rising in Vegas and it’s already a hundred degrees, my dress beginning to cling to my body everywhere, dew popping up in the valley of my cleavage.
Or maybe it’s not the weather causing me to sweat. Maybe it’s the purposeful manner in which Locke moves, back muscles shifting in patterns, his hefty frame standing between me and the world. So sturdy and solid. Determined to take care of me.
Daddy.
He’s called himself that name twice.
I liked it both times, even if I was confused by the way hearing that title seems to crank up my need to tempt him. In the past, when I fantasized, it was about Prince Charming arriving on his horse to take me away from the farm. The prince in my dreams had golden hair and a blindingly white smile. A sword at his hip.
Locke is not Prince Charming.
He’s something I didn’t know enough to need. There is something about him that reaches deep inside of me and tickles desire to life. Icky sticky desire that makes me want to be a little…mischievous. Even naughty. I want to hear him call himself Daddy again so I can feel that twist low in my tummy. I want to call him that. When his big body was wedged between my thighs in the parking garage, I swear I’ve never felt more like…myself.
A self I didn’t know existed.
She’s clawing her way to the surface now, though. Eclipsing the farm girl.
Locke turns to look at me as he twists the key to open the door and I bite my lip, struggling to keep my breathing under control. If he won’t give me my first kiss, maybe I have to find a way to take it.
That initiative is intoxicating. I’ve lived my life without freedom, but it’s rushing in now and spreading to every corner of my body, making me feel loose. Unrestricted. And when he gestures for me to enter the apartment in front of him, I look the man straight in the eye and let him see the wildness unfurling inside of me. His Adam’s apple lifts and falls in response, that wide chest shuddering up and down. Without looking, I know that rod is still protruding from his lap and I want to rub it with the palm of my hand. I want him to hold me down and hump me like he did just fifteen minutes ago in the parking garage.
But I’m distracted by the scent that wafts out from his apartment.
It’s incense and musk. It’s him.
All over. Everywhere.
I drift inside and let the essence of Locke wrap around me, my pulse accelerating when his body heat warms me from behind. Touch me. “Living room is here on the left. Kitchen is straight ahead.” His voice is like sandpaper. “Down that hallway to the right is where you’ll sleep. Door on the left. Right across from…mine.”
Am I imagining the increase of heat at my back? The sound of him inhaling near my neck? “Is there somewhere I can shower?”
He must be close because I hear his heavy swallow. “Yes. Last door at the end of the hallway. Towels are in the cabinet. Use whatever you need.”
Why do those four words turn my mouth dry?
I don’t know, but I turn and find him an inch away, hands clenched at his sides, a thick ridge behind his zipper. Sweat beads on his hairline. His eyes are almost glassy and they’re riveted on my mouth.
“Use whatever you need,” I echo back to him, being more daring than I’ve ever been in my life. Leaning in and pressing my open mouth to the center of his broad chest, dragging my parted lips to the right and letting them coast over his nipple. “Use me, Daddy.”
“Stop,” he says through clenched teeth.
“I can’t,” I say, voice hitching, my tongue emerging to lick across to his left nipple, laving it through his white dress shirt. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”
“Then I’ll stop for us both,” he grinds out, taking me by the shoulders and twisting me around to face the hallway. “Bathroom. Now. March, young lady.”
If he thinks speaking to me like a father figure is going to turn me off, he’s sorely mistaken. If anything, I sink deeper into this unrepentant need as he walks me, hands on shoulders toward the bathroom. Halfway there, he curses vilely, his hands drifting down to my hips and squeezing, gathering the back of my dress a little in his hands, his breath scraping in and out.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, guiding me over the threshold of the bathroom door and smacking the light on. “Shower now. I’ll leave you a T-shirt outside the door and we’ll worry about real clothes after you get something to eat. Not to mention, we both need sleep. You can’t get the kind of rest you need in the back of a car.”
I nod, because he’s right.
I like him taking care of me. Making the plans.
Tomorrow I’ll go back to making my own, but today I’m tired. I’ve been running for days, uncertain of my future. It’s nice to have the next little while in someone else’s hands.
“Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary,” he says gruffly, backing out of the bathroom.
With his hand on the knob, he hesitates to close the door. I can almost hear his thoughts, his brain commanding him to shut it and leave, but his eyes are on my body and he can’t seem to go. Moving on pure instinct-the new one he’s instilled in me-I grip the hem of my dress and strip it off slowly over my head, letting him see my bare breasts, my naked body, covered by nothing except a threadbare pair of white panties.
“God in heaven,” he growls, the knob rattling in his hands. “Give me strength.”
He closes the door firmly, but I can hear him breathing outside for several tense moments before his footsteps creak back down the hallway. While I’m showering, the hot water soothing the soreness from being cramped in the back of my car, I hear Locke outside of the bathroom again, presumably leaving the shirt we spoke about. I hold my breath, hoping he’ll coming inside and touch me, even just look at me some more, but his presence recedes once again.
A few minutes later, I’m out of the shower. I’ve used his comb on the sink to brush through my wet hair. I’ve even used his deodorant and dabbed a little bit of his cologne on my wrists, just wanting to smell like him. Have him touching me in any way possible. I open the door partway and retrieve a black T-shirt, pulling it on over my head, the hem falling well below my knees, the neckline drooping off one shoulder.
I’m starved for the sight of Locke by now.
My fingers are curled into my palms and every inch of me is sensitized. The heat from the shower did nothing to calm the ache he has created. A throb that has his name on it. I stop in my bedroom to leave my dirty clothes on the bed, then I move on jelly legs to the front of the apartment where I find Locke heating soup on the stove, a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches at his elbow. And I’m nearly overcome by the sense of homecoming. Being home.
More at home than I ever felt on the farm.
His back muscles tense by way of welcome and he sets the sandwiches down on the table. Then he seems to realize something, drawing his hand back slowly. “I only have one chair,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t get visitors often. Ever, really.” He nods at the piece of furniture. “Come on. You take it.”
“Can’t we share?” I ask hopefully.
A long slide of muscle in his throat. “No, Sissy.”
The only way I’m going to get his hands on me is to keep pushing, so I have no choice. Because I’m going to die unless he touches me. I’m sure of it. “Then I’ll stand.”
Locke curses and begins to slam cabinets and drawers, taking out bowls and spoons. He ladles the soup into bowls and puts them on the table, standing with hands on his hips as if he doesn’t know how to proceed from there. “The only way you’ll sit is…on my lap?”
I bite my lip and nod, excitement curling my toes.
“Dammit.” He jerks the chair back and sits down, swiping sweat off of his upper lip. “Come on, then. If I don’t get you fed, I’m going to go insane.”
Unable to subdue my smile, I skip toward Locke, settling my butt on his strong thigh, before he changes his mind. Slowly, he wraps his right arm around my waist and I lean back against his shoulder, both of us letting out a rocky exhale.
“I’ll pick up a second chair tomorrow,” he mutters thickly, sliding the plate of sandwiches in front of me. I’m so distracted by the task of soaking up his heat that I don’t immediately pick up one of the amazing-looking sandwiches. So he does it for me, scooping up half of one of the toasted bread and melted cheese goodness and holding it to my mouth, grunting for me to take a bite. And ohhhhh…
It’s so incredible after a day without food that I moan, my head falling back onto his shoulder. “That’s delicious.”
When he doesn’t respond, I lift my head to find him looking down the front of my borrowed shirt, nostrils flared, eyes glazed. The bottom of the garment has ridden up to the very tops of my thighs. So high that some of my bare privates are peeking out. With red cheeks, I tug it back into place. As much as I enjoy tempting Locke, even I know that certain things are not appropriate at the table.