“Just a minute,” she says, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Just one… little… minute.” She types so fast her fingers fly over the keyboard.
“There!” she says with a flourish and a grin. “Fini! The End!”
“Ah, congratulations, kitten.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Seems like this may be cause for celebration, no?”
She holds up a hand. I chuckle, as if that will stop me.
“Just a minute,” she said. “That was the final revision on the last chapter… I need to send this to my publisher, Sarah, then I can celebrate.” She taps the keyboard, shoots off an email, then grins. “Done!”
She yawns and stretches, then falls back onto the bed and collapses. She covers a huge yawn with her hand. “Yes,” she says. “Must celebrate.” She sighs and closes her eyes. “But first, I must collapse from exhaustion from the words that have been wrenched out of my very being.”
Curling up on her side, she closes her eyes. Is she… asleep? Damn, writing a book must really take it out of a little girl. I have big plans for tonight, but they can wait—my girl needs her rest.
Contacting my assistant, I cancel everything for tonight, rescheduling it for the same time tomorrow evening. I’m a little disappointed my plans have changed, but I figure it gives me another day to look forward to surprising her.
The next morning, we order in pancakes. Drive to the mountains and take a hike, the exercise helps to burn off the nervous energy I feel.
We get back to the penthouse and I think of another form of physical exertion that could be helpful to calm me. She plops down on the bed, and I sit beside her. “Hiking is good for the body, but I have another type of exercise in mind. One that is good for the soul.”
“I’m exhausted. I couldn’t possibly endure any further exertion.” She drops a dramatic hand to brow, and I chuckle.
I grab her ankle and drag her over to me, resting my hand on her upper thigh. “No more energy for anything else, eh?”
Her eyes are closed tight but her lips curve upward. “Nothing. Nada. Zilch.” She flicks a wrist in the air. “Nein.”
I let my fingers travel upward and she bites her lip, her eyes closed tighter. I brush my thumb just at the apex of her thighs, over her yoga pants, and her hips rise to meet my touch. My heart squeezes. She’s so eager for intimacy she’s broken down the walls I’ve constructed so fully, I’d give her anything. Anything.
I tease her over the fabric, massaging between her legs, and she stifles a little moan.
“Maybe a little energy,” she says, opening one eye to squint at me.
“Good girl,” I whisper. “Daddy wants to reward you for a job well done.”
She clasps her hands behind her head. “I suppose I can allow that.”
I spank her thigh even as I chuckle, before I draw down the elastic edge of her yoga pants. “Daddy’s the only one who allows things, kitten.”
“Oh, is that right?” she says, but the next minute she falls silent as I drag down her panties, bend down, and kiss her right between the legs.
“Mmm,” she moans. “Yes, please.”
“Good girls deserve to be spoiled,” I whisper, just before I drag my tongue along her slit. I groan at her taste, and the way her hips rise to meet mine. I pull my mouth off her pussy just long enough to grate out in a husky whisper, “Touch those tits of yours. Grab them. Pinch your nipples, and if you stop, I’ll whip your pretty ass.”
She moans and obeys, and minutes later, she comes on my mouth with my name on her lips. I love it when she comes. I feel like I’ve won a prize. I flip her onto her knees and take her from behind, my fingers trapped in her hair, slamming into her until she comes again and my own release ricochets through me.
We collapse on the bed together, and she curls up next to me. “You sure you want us to go out tonight, big guy?”
No way in hell she’s derailing my plans. I grin at her and kiss her forehead. “Yeah, baby. I’m sure. Daddy has a surprise for you. Now go put on that soft pink dress I picked out for you yesterday.”
She waggles her eyebrows at me. “The one with that plunging neckline?”
I shrug. “Whatever. Pink.” I like my girl wearing her favorite shade of pink.
“Will I have assistance this evening, sir?” she says with mock formality.
“They’ll be here in five.”
“Darius!” she says, abashed. “I have to put clothes on.” She pushes herself out of bed and goes to get ready. Her “assistance” is a team of stylists I’ve hired especially for her. They help her pick out accessories to match the dress, style her hair and makeup, and even though she’s unpretentious and simple, she enjoys the occasional pampering session.