The Institute, Daddy Issues(87)

“What do you—oh,” I whispered be­cause he was tra­cing the flat end of the plug care­fully with one fin­ger and look­ing at me ques­tion­ingly.

“Do you wish to take it out?” he asked me. “Or leave it in since you will be re­quired to put it back in later?”

“I really want to take it out, but…” I bit my lip.

“But what, mishka? Say what you need to,” he urged gently.

“But, well…” I took a deep breath. “What if I can’t…can’t get it back in by my­self?”

“Then I will help you,” Salt said gravely.

“Help me like you did when you put it in?” I asked, my heart pound­ing. He was still kneel­ing be­fore me, look­ing up, al­though the dif­fer­ence in our height was so ex­treme he didn’t have to look very far.

“If you like,” he said quietly. “I thought that giv­ing you pleas­ure would help you to bear the pain. Was I right?”

“You know you were,” I whispered. “You saw me…saw how I re­acted.”

“I saw you come, just for me.” Salt put his hands around my waist, en­circ­ling it with his long fin­gers pos­sess­ively. “I saw you open­ing your­self for your Papa and it was beau­ti­ful, mishka. Al­ways so beau­ti­ful to me.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and leaned into him, tak­ing com­fort from his big body against mine. He felt so warm and solid and good—his large, clothed form against my own small, na­ked one. I was vul­ner­able in his arms—vul­ner­able but not afraid.

Salt made a deep rum­bling sound in his chest and pulled me close, press­ing his cheek to my chest, his stubble scratchy against the tender skin of my breasts. Then we just stayed there for a long mo­ment—me stand­ing and him kneel­ing, both of us pressed to­gether, as close as we could get.

Some­where in the back of my head I heard a little voice re­mind­ing me that only that morn­ing I had been telling my­self I should avoid this at all costs. That I should trust no one with my heart—not even my part­ner. I knew I should point out that we were only play­ing roles—roles which both of us seemed to be get­ting into much too deeply. Un­less Salt was still just act­ing and none of this meant any­thing to him. But the way he held me so ten­derly, the feel­ing of his big, warm hands run­ning slowly over my back and legs and bot­tom made me feel like that couldn’t be true. Surely he wouldn’t do this—wouldn’t act this way with me—if he didn’t at least feel it on some level. Right?

That was what I told my­self, any­way, as I re­laxed in my part­ner’s strong arms. Or should I say, in my Papa’s strong arms. I told my­self that I was safe—that Salt would never hurt me and that everything was go­ing to be okay.

How could I be so wrong?





Chapter Four­teen

“Well, now that you’re com­ply­ing with the rules of the In­sti­tute, I feel it would be good to ex­tend an in­vit­a­tion to the Dad­dies' Lounge after sup­per.” Berkley nod­ded at Salt and me ap­prov­ingly.

“This sounds good. Most in­triguing.” Salt nod­ded stiffly and I glanced up briefly and then back down at my din­ner plate, which had some kind of chicken I had barely touched.

I was wear­ing a dif­fer­ent out­fit to­night, an­other little girl dress since I wanted noth­ing more to do with the naughty school­girl out­fit. Not after what had happened to me while I was wear­ing it earlier. I didn’t much care for the frilly pink thing, which Salt had picked out, but it was bet­ter than the al­tern­at­ive.

Of course, I was also wear­ing the black plug deep in­side me. I had taken it out while Salt and I had re­laxed in the room. And then I had spent all of lunch time and most of the time be­fore din­ner just be­ing com­for­ted by my part­ner. It sounds ri­dicu­lous but I felt so fra­gile and un­sure—so vul­ner­able after what I had just been through. And Salt seemed to un­der­stand. We lay on the bed to­gether and he read me fairy tales in Rus­sian while I snuggled against his broad chest and let his deep voice roll over me, push­ing away the troubles and anxi­ety that wanted to take over my mind.

Just be­fore din­ner, Salt had helped me re­in­sert the damn plug, though not quite in the same way he had the first time. He’d had me stand at the side of the bed and bend over it with my ass stick­ing out. Then, very gently and with the use of a lot of lube, he’d eased it back in­side me. I had been too tight at first—too anxious to let the plug get past my rose­bud un­til Salt had mur­mured in my ear, “Mishka, do you need some help?”