It’s later when we’re at home that things get a lot more interesting. I’m still reeling from the Richard and Amber show, which Richard carried on playing even after I vomited everywhere in the toilet. Whilst he was comforting his poor, disappointed daughter, his other daughter was sick because of him. Sick because he forced a baby inside of me. A baby he now needs to take care of.
“You seem agitated,” he observes as we drive back home.
“I’m fine,” I answer through gritted teeth.
“When a woman says ‘fine,’ she actually means, ‘I want to rip your intestines out.’”
I turn my head to him and find him smiling. “We’re unusually happy all of a sudden. It’s not like you to crack jokes.”
He momentarily takes his eyes away from the road to look at me. “Why shouldn’t I be happy? You’re carrying my baby, remember?” He suddenly frowns. “It is my baby, isn’t it?”
I start laughing. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
Bashing the steering wheel with the base of his hand, he roars, “Don’t fuck with me, Scarlet.”
“The baby is yours. Are you happy now?”
His lips form a murderous, hard line. “That baby had better be.” He then looks at me. “Or you’re in big fucking trouble.”
I shrug. “I know I have nothing to worry about.”
And I’m pretty sure I don’t. Richard’s been the only one I’ve fucked without using protection.
I watch his reaction to me, and I can tell he’s conflicted. He wants to be ecstatic, but he’s too scared to be—just in case he’s not the father after all. It really is unnecessary, but to be honest, I’m enjoying his turmoil. It’s about time he had some of it in his life for a change.
He doesn’t say anything else as he drives. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the road. I know he’s slightly intoxicated and shouldn’t be driving, but for some reason, he insists on driving us home instead of allowing me.
Once at home, Richard pours himself another bourbon before sitting down on the sofa. His legs spread out as he rests his drink on the cushion of the settee. He’s deliberately avoiding eye contact with me for some reason. It bothers me. Even the fact that it bothers me bothers me. A part of me thinks this is just one big game to him. He always did like playing with my emotions.
Despite all this, a part of me craves his attention after so long without it. So, I go to him. Kneeling in front of him, I place myself forward across his lap before lifting up my dress above my hips and then dangling my arms over his legs.
“I’ve been a naughty girl today,” I say, already breathless from the need to have his hand on my body—in whatever form he can give me. I grab at his hand and push it towards my bare bottom. “I need to be spanked.”
I look up, fixing my come-fuck-me eyes with his. I see the moment he swallows hard before downing his drink in one go. He leans forward, momentarily crushing me into his knees as he places his empty glass on the coffee table.
“Spank me, Daddy,” I urge as he settles himself back onto the sofa.
I’m not prepared when the smack does come. It’s so quick and surprising that I jolt up, screeching out a high-pitched squeal.
“You can’t fucking help yourself, can you, Scarlet?” he asks, spanking me again. Hard. I know he wants to inflict pain, but what he doesn’t realise is that I’ve learnt to deal with pain over the years. It’s now my pleasure.
So, I must surprise him when I moan. For that, I receive an even harder spank. “You still want to play games with me, don’t you? Dangerous games. Don’t you realise what I could do to you?”
My pussy clenches at the thought. He’s trying to scare me, but it has the opposite effect. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I answer—not sorry at all. “I’ll try and be a better daughter. Can you please fuck me now?”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
I groan at the pain as the pleasure shoots through me.
“After what you did, you don’t deserve my cock.”
“But I want it!” I cry, loving it when he smacks me again. If he keeps on, I’ll go into my happy place. The place Reid used to take me to whenever he tortured me in his basement.
I know he can feel how much I’m enjoying this, so he smacks me again and again until I hear him becoming breathless. He’s trying so hard to make this hurt, but I love it.
Every. Damn. Torturous. Second. Of. It.
Finally realising he’s not getting the reaction he’s after, he stops and pushes me off his knee, panting from the exertion.
“What the fuck’s happened to you?” he asks between heavy breaths.
I lie on the floor. My breathing is heavy, and my eyelids are drooping with lust, euphoria, and exhaustion. “You, Daddy. You happened.”
As quick as a flash, he gets up, and I think he’s going to hit me, but instead, he picks his glass up and throws it against the fireplace before storming out of the room. He’s pissed, and I don’t know why he’s pissed. Is it because he knows I’m not afraid of him anymore?
As I watch him storm out of the house, car keys in tow, the euphoria I once had starts to dissipate. I would normally be on a high for hours after being spanked as violently as this, but I’m also used to Reid holding me afterwards and cradling me in his arms.
With my dad now gone, all I’m left with is this emptiness. An emptiness which makes me feel hollow, alone, and afraid. I may have been the victor of that round in my dad’s eyes, but from my perspective, it feels like he won—not I.
Feeling sore, I scoot up from the floor carefully and make my way upstairs to run a bath. As I walk, I wipe my face, and I’m surprised when I feel something wet on my cheeks. It takes me a moment to realise I’m crying. When I left the hospital after my abortion, I made a vow to myself that very day: I’d not shed a single tear for that man ever again. Yet, here I am all these years later—still crying over something I feel I have lost.
Why is it so damn fucking important to me that I gain his acceptance?
Why do I let him into my life again and again—only to have him crush me over and over again? I’m like the proverbial moth to a flame. I go to it and get burnt. Unlike the moth which never has the opportunity to learn from its mistake, however, I do. Even so, I still can’t seem to help myself. I return to it repeatedly. At this point, I’m actually attracted to the burn. It’s what I live on now.
My emotions are still running high after my bath, but at least I feel a little calmer. I start to think about the baby, but when I do, I automatically try to push it to the back of my mind. My attempt fails as my mind circles around the concept of motherhood anyway. I’m no mother. I shouldn’t be pregnant. There is no justice in the world. My sister is the epitome of mother material, and yet, I am the one who’s pregnant instead. So, rather than being born to someone like Amber, he or she is getting a mother who doesn’t even want a baby—someone who knows she won’t be a good mother.
With that thought scaring me shitless, I ruthlessly push it to the back of my mind where I feel it take hold for now before sliding into Richard’s bed. I’m naked, and since my bum’s still sore, I lie on my side with the cover carefully draped over my front half. Now that the heightened pleasure of being spanked has worn off, it’s starting to sting like a motherfucker.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying there for as the pounding sting dulls to a thrumming ache, nor do I know how long Richard’s been away before I feel the bed dip under his weight as he slides in. I didn’t hear him come in, but I know it’s him without needing to turn and look. I can always feel the electricity between us before I intellectually know he’s there. It vibrates through me so violently that no matter how many times it happens, it never fails to shock me.
He’s behind me, but he doesn’t move or say anything. I stay still as I don’t quite know what he’s going to do next. My body heats and my heart pounds at the uncertainty of what’s going to happen next. The room’s deadly silent for a few more seconds. It’s so silent that it’s deafening.
And then I feel it. His hand gently rubs my bottom, but because it’s still hurting, I wince.
“It’s sore,” he says. I’m not sure whether it’s a question or a statement, but I nod nonetheless.
“Yes.”
He gets up, making me frown. I wonder where he’s going, but then I see him walking into the bathroom. Within a few seconds, he’s back with a tub of cream in his hands. Surely he’s not going to rub that stuff into my arse?
“Don’t move from that position,” he commands as he walks back to his position on the bed. As he does, I notice he isn’t making eye contact. His sole attention is on my bum. I can see his face, though. It shocks me to see what looks like … regret?
At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, preparing to get the cream ready. When I feel the initial contact, I wince again, and this time, a deep hiss leaves my lips.
“I don’t enjoy hurting you,” he finally says. “I never did.”
You could have fooled me.
“I know what you’re thinking. I guess, at first I did enjoy that power I had over you, but I never enjoyed hurting you. I don’t know what it is about you that makes me want to hurt you as badly as I do.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
I hear his deep sigh as he carries on rubbing in the cream. “I don’t fucking know.”
I’m surprised by his candidness. Aside from his brief displays regarding the baby, I’ve never seen a hint of vulnerability in him. Now, though, I hear the vulnerability in his voice. I realise that—somehow—he’s feeling this way because of me. It’s not about the baby right now. It’s as if he actually cares what I think and how I feel about him. That is most certainly a vulnerability I never thought I would sense from him in a million years.
I hear him place the lid back on the tub of cream, so I know he’s finished. I turn then, and I watch him as he places it on the bedside and rubs the rest of the cream into his hands.
Watching him still, I rise and scoot up to him before wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I feel when he places his hand on my arm. That one small offer of affection is what I was after. I close my eyes, relishing the little bit that he’s giving me. I know I’m sick to crave the attention from him. I know I’m possibly in need of some major therapy, but I admit that I’m crazy. Do truly crazy people admit that?
Once I know I have him where I want him, I manoeuvre around him until I’m straddling his lap. I lay kisses on his neck and shudder when I feel his hands on my naked flesh. Leaning down to his ear, I whisper, “I have your baby growing inside of me.”
His breathing picks up, and I take that opportunity to lean down towards his lips, placing mine gently on them. I feel the heat of his mouth on mine as I slide my tongue seductively into his mouth. Taking his hand, I place it on my stomach as I kiss him hungrily.
“Your. Baby,” I say, emphasising the words, so that they’ll sink in.
Moaning into my mouth, Richard affectionately brushes his hand over my stomach before grabbing the back of my head and kissing me like he’s never kissed me before. I feel all of his emotions in that kiss. He is desperate, needy, passionate, and sorrowful all at the same time. I can feel it all as he pulls me closer to him, so that our bodies are meshed together. I feel his hardness dig into me, and the thought makes me moan aloud. I need him inside of me.
“Please,” I beg, coaxing his hand toward my breast as I try to unbutton his trousers. “I need you to fuck me.”
Standing up, Richard picks me up with him, turns around, and then gently lays me back on the bed. I have to smile at that. No matter what, he always wants to be in control. The only time I’ve ever been able to be on top of him was when I had him handcuffed to this very same bed all those weeks ago.
The memory of that comes flooding back, making my need for him grow. As I lie there with my legs practically hanging high in the air at the edge of the bed, Richard pulls away momentarily to take down his trousers. I watch as his cock springs free, and soon after, he has it placed at my entrance. It seems he’s just as desperate for this as I am.
As he sinks himself into me, we both moan out together, relishing the feeling. Of all the partners I’ve slept with over the years—and there have been many—Richard, hands down, is still the best I’ve ever had. I also know he’s the best I will ever have. I don’t know what it is about us, but when we come together, it’s like an explosion every time. I feel it, and I know he feels it too. It’s written all over his face when he’s fucking me.
Once he reaches the tilt, he starts to slowly move in and out of me. He’s normally rough, but this time, he’s taking it slow. I know this is one of those times that merits it, and because I’m not used to this with him, I blissfully accept every agonisingly slow thrust he has to offer.
As he starts a rhythm, he leans forward and captures my mouth with his again. We moan together, and sweat starts to pour off our skin from the heat of the evening as well as the heat between us. There’s a faint glow from the small lamp by the bed, and it outlines our bodies as they come together. His skin glistens against mine, and I watch in wonder as he moves inside of me.
“Look at me, Scarlet,” he demands, making my eyes snap to his. As soon as I’m there, he has me hostage. I can’t seem to look away. He has me hypnotised as he hovers above me, giving me one beautiful thrust after another.
At first, I’m not sure why he demanded that I look at him, but when I stare deep into those eyes of his, I realise what he’s after.
Our connection.
It’s so strong—so palpable—that the undeniable electricity pumping through us has us coming together on a climax so strong that both of us scream more loudly than we’ve ever done in our lives.
As Richard collapses on top of me, both sated and relaxed, I can’t help that deep feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Fear.
I don’t show it in front of him, but he does scare the shit out of me. This connection between us both confuses and scares the fuck out of me. I don’t know if he feels it as strongly as I do, but I know that when it’s there, all I can think about is running. Running as far away from these feelings as possible.
I shouldn’t want the man who abused me. And I certainly shouldn’t be seeking him out like a drug addict needing her fix.
Maybe that’s all he is to me. A drug.
As I lie here with him in my arms, I start to think about how much of a grand master manipulator he really is. He has me constantly questioning my feelings whenever I’m around him.
He doesn’t move for a while. He just lies on top of me as his heavy breathing slows. I don’t know why, but I start to stroke the hair of the man who’s supposed to be my father. I offer him comfort in my arms, and when he doesn’t move away, it somehow warms my heart.
That thought makes me stop.
Richard, sensing something’s wrong, pulls up to gauge my face. “What’s wrong?”
Immediately, I look away. “Nothing.”
I watch in the corner of my eye as his hand comes up to grab my chin. He then forces my head to look at him. “Don’t lie to me, Scarlet. Tell me what’s wrong.”
A deep sigh leaves my lips, and I watch as my breath blows against his hair. “I just realised I was stroking your hair, that’s all. It’s not something I would normally do.”
“Why should you be afraid to show your father affection?”
I frown at that. “I could ask the same of you regarding your daughter.”
A deep, frustrated sigh leaves his lips. As he blows hot air, I smell the whiskey he had been drinking earlier. “I show you plenty of affection, but you never show me any.” I’m about to say something when he cuts me off. “Don’t deny it, Scarlet. I may have turned you into this cold-hearted bitch, but I know deep down that you love me.” My eyes widen at this, causing him to smile. “Don’t fucking deny that either. I know you love me. You’re in love with me. You always have been. You may try and deny it, but I can tell whenever you look at me. Just then—when I made you lock your eyes with mine—I felt it. I felt it come from deep in your soul. I felt it when you exploded around my cock, milking my own climax.” He leans down towards my ear and whispers, “No matter how far you run, I will always be in here.” He taps my head before looking back into my eyes. “Your mother created you for me. That has always been your sole purpose. You can never escape me, Scarlet. And you will never be able to escape the fact that you love me now and will always love me.”
Bending down, he kisses me tenderly on the lips before pulling out of me and picking my shocked frame up and placing me back onto the bed. As he spoons me from behind, wrapping his arms around me, I curse myself for finding the sensation of him close to me anything but revolting.
There is only one feeling I ever have.
Elation.