The Institute, Daddy Issues(66)

“Why should it be ‘weird’ to let me take care of you?” he mur­mured, strok­ing my knee.

His big warm hand on my thigh made me shiver. I wanted his touch—there was no deny­ing it. But it felt wrong to let him do this—felt dan­ger­ous.

“It’s just, I’m a grown wo­man, I should do this kind of thing for my­self, Salt. And you’re my part­ner. You were right be­fore—things are go­ing too far. We shouldn’t—”

“You are not grown.” He stroked my cheek gently. “Right now you are Little. My little mishka. Can you not feel it?”

“I…” I bit my lip. “I guess so. I did be­fore—in the bath.”

“And I am not your part­ner,” he con­tin­ued. “I am your Papa—your pro­tector. Your safety in any storm. I will not hurt you, mishka. I will not desert you.” He looked into my eyes and said in a low, em­phatic voice, “You…are…mine.”

I felt my heart swell at his words and at that mo­ment, all I wanted was to be his, com­pletely and ut­terly. I knew it was wrong—knew it was un­real­istic. I had spent years telling my­self I couldn’t trust any man not to leave or hurt me—years con­vinced that I could only rely on me. And yet here and now, I felt some of that res­ist­ance crum­bling as Salt claimed me aloud for the first time.

“Salt,” I whispered. “Papa…”

“Mishka…”

He pulled me close for a mo­ment, hug­ging me to his broad chest, press­ing my cheek down on his shoulder. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, breathed in the scent of his ocean scen­ted af­ter­shave, feel­ing the crisp Egyp­tian cot­ton of his shirt and his warm skin un­der­neath it. He felt so solid and I was so safe when he en­fol­ded me like that. For a long time we sat like that un­til my heart rate slowed and the ten­sion that had been coil­ing in­side me like a nest of snakes fi­nally dis­sip­ated.

When he re­leased me, I was ready to let him in.

“Open for me, mishka,” he mur­mured, strok­ing my thighs.

Without a word of protest, I spread my legs, bar­ing my pussy for him.

“Very good. Such a good girl,” Salt mur­mured. He sprayed a dol­lop of the peach scen­ted shav­ing foam on his fin­gers and dabbed it gently over my mound. Then he picked up the pink razor. “Lean back a little,” he told me. “Let Papa reach you.”

“Yes, Papa,” I mur­mured. I was mes­mer­ized by the sight of his big hand hold­ing that dainty pink razor. I had seen Salt shave his own face once or twice—I’d picked him up for work sev­eral times and had come in dur­ing his morn­ing routine—but I had no idea how he would ap­proach shav­ing me.

The an­swer ap­peared to be very care­fully and very slowly. He took small, gentle strokes with the pink razor, be­ing ex­tremely del­ic­ate around the lips of my sex. Luck­ily, I usu­ally keep that area pretty well trimmed any­way so it didn’t take much for Salt to shave me com­pletely clean.

When he fin­ished, he stroked a very warm, wet wash­cloth over my newly shaven sex to wipe away the last traces of the foam.

“Stand,” he said, mo­tion­ing at me. “Let me make sure I have done good job.”

I might have ar­gued or re­fused if my part­ner had asked me to stand so he could get a bet­ter look at my pussy in any other con­text. But I was still in that strange, half-eu­phoric state of mind where I felt like he owned me—and fur­ther­more felt that I wanted to be owned and pro­tec­ted and cher­ished by him. So I stood without com­ment and even spread my legs for him to give him a bet­ter view.

“Hmmm…” Salt was still on his knees in front of me. He put his big hands on my thighs, his thumbs press­ing lightly against my outer pussy lips and leaned for­ward to ex­am­ine his handi­work thor­oughly. I felt an erotic shiver run through me as his warm breath blew against my freshly shaved flesh.

“Is it all right?” I asked, look­ing at him un­cer­tainly. I’d had no idea how much more sens­it­ive and tender I would feel. It didn’t seem like los­ing my little patch of curls could make such a dif­fer­ence and yet, I’d never felt so na­ked in my life.

“Beau­ti­ful,” he mur­mured, look­ing up at me. “You are beau­ti­ful, mishka. Like a ripe, juicy peach.”