The Institute, Daddy Issues(86)

“Ah, but that’s what the plug will solve for you,” Berkley re­marked. “Once she’s used to hav­ing some­thing in­side her sweet little rose­bud, she’ll be much more ac­com­mod­at­ing when you want to fill her your­self.”

“Enough.” Salt flipped my skirt back down. “You have seen proof that we com­plied with your rules. Now I will take my mishka back up to room and tend to her.”

“Just see that you don’t re­move the plug. Or if you do re­move it, that you re­in­sert it be­fore com­ing out into the pub­lic areas of the In­sti­tute,” Berkley warned. “You’ve been warned, Mr. Saltanov.”

Then he left, his shoes tap­ping on the hard­wood floor as he went back to his of­fice.

I had been stand­ing there feel­ing ex­posed and vul­ner­able and ex­tremely shaky for what felt like forever. Sud­denly, a wave of dizzi­ness hit me and I nearly fell. Only the fact that I was still lean­ing on the pseudo exam table saved me but I couldn’t keep my grip on it and began to slip.

“Mishka!” Salt grabbed me around the waist and lif­ted me quickly into his arms. I wound up with my arms around his neck and my legs wrapped around his waist while he sup­por­ted me with a hand un­der my bare bot­tom. I thought I must look like a tired tod­dler be­ing car­ried by a par­ent and struggled to get down.

“You don’t…don’t have to do this, Salt,” I pro­tested. “I’m fine—I can walk.”

“Like hell you can,” he said roughly. “Don’t struggle. Hold on to me, mishka. I will carry you to room.”

“But I’m too heavy to carry all that way up and down stairs,” I pro­tested, even as he left the med­ical room, still hold­ing me.

Salt gave a deep, rum­bling laugh that seemed to vi­brate my en­tire body.

“Non­sense,” he mur­mured. “You are light as a flower—I could hold you all day.”

“Light as a feather,” I mur­mured against his neck, de­cid­ing to give up the fight and just let him carry me.

“What?” He soun­ded dis­trac­ted as he walked briskly down the stairs for the pun­ish­ment wing and began climb­ing the steps which led to the guest suites.

“A feather. The phrase is ‘light as a feather,’” I cor­rec­ted him.

“But why? Flowers are light too,” Salt pro­tested, sound­ing mildly amused. “And they smell nicer.” He pressed his face to my hair and in­haled deeply. “Is just as ac­cur­ate to say light as a flower.”

“Fine, say whatever you want.” I nuzzled closer to him and wrapped my legs just a little tighter around his waist. Salt re­spon­ded by put­ting his free arm around me and squeez­ing me gently, re­turn­ing my em­brace. I couldn’t re­mem­ber ever feel­ing so safe and loved in someone’s arms—well, not since my father had left me, any­way.

“I will say whatever I wish, mishka,” he mur­mured softly, as he fi­nally came to our room and opened the door. “But first what I wish is to get you cleaned and com­fort­able.”

He took me in­side the suite and drew a warm bubble bath for me, even though it was the middle of the day. He bathed me gently, wash­ing my hair him­self as I leaned against the side of the tub, let­ting him do what he wanted to me. Part of me knew this was an un­ne­ces­sary in­dul­gence. We should be work­ing on the case—now we knew where the secret view­ing room was, a whole new world of pos­sible evid­ence had opened up to us. In­stead, we were tak­ing time for Salt to care for me as though I was a little girl who had got­ten hurt and needed her Daddy to heal and com­fort her.

Yes, I couldn’t make my­self com­plain when he treated me so ten­derly, tak­ing me out of the tub and tow­el­ing me off gently as he knelt be­fore me, blot­ting the wa­ter from my skin. He in­spec­ted my pussy too and I let him, even spread­ing my legs when he wanted to part my outer lips and be cer­tain that the swell­ing from my earlier spank­ing was go­ing down. Who was I to stop my Papa from do­ing what he wanted with me—es­pe­cially when all he wanted was to give me pleas­ure and heal me?

“I think you are go­ing to be fine, my darling,” he mur­mured after pla­cing a soft kiss on the top of my mound. “Your skin is not so red as it was. There is no per­man­ent harm done, I think. Now…” He moved the towel around to pat my bot­tom dry. “What about this?”