And he stops his blissful circling and brings his hand down again on my burning ass in a vicious slap.
My eyes snap open and I try to squirm away from him but he presses me tightly between his knees once more, trapping me. “No, no, no—ow!”
“Stop wriggling,” he commands, and then starts working me over again, raining smacks down on my already heated flesh. Within a few minutes my eyes have stopped watering and I’m outright crying. I hold onto his ankles and press my face against his pants leg, trying to muffle my sobs.
Finally he stops, resting his hands on my ass and listening to me hiccup and sniffle. Then he eases the fabric of my underwear back into place and I’m lifted up and into his arms. “Good girl. It’s all right.”
He lies down with me, and he kisses the tear tracks on my cheeks and smooths my hair back from my sweaty face. I’m still crying, shuddering against him, my fists holding tightly to his shirt. I can’t seem to stop. It doesn’t hurt anymore, what he did to me, but the emotions keep welling up: anger and shame and uncertainty. All the things I’ve tried not to feel for weeks. All the things that I thought I’d boxed so carefully away just an hour earlier.
Dieter doesn’t seem surprised or confused. He just holds me and plants soft kisses on my face. “That’s it, little one, just let it all out.”
“I don’t want to feel like this any-m-more,” I manage between sobs.
“How, babygirl?” he murmurs. He’s rubbing slow circles on my back, his lips pressed against my hair.
“So angry all the time. I th-think that’s why my mother drinks. Because she’s so angry with the way her life has turned out. I don’t want to be like that.”
“I don’t want you to be like that either, sweetheart.”
I look up at him, blinking through my tears. He doesn’t seem unsettled by the fact that I’m bawling in his arms. In fact, he seems thoroughly unsurprised. “Did you know this was going to happen? Me crying, I mean?”
“I hoped it might,” he murmured.
“You wanted me to cry?”
“I want you to admit you’re unhappy and disappointed so we can work on how to change it.”
But haven’t
we talked about that? I think back to the conversation we had yesterday about not wanting everyone to think I’m a terrible person. I suppose that’s not the same thing as what I think about me. “It’s frightening when someone sees that you’re not as okay as you pretend to be,” I whisper.
His arms tighten around me and he fixes me with a look of such gravity. “Listen to me, Adrienne. I want you to always feel you can tell me exactly what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling. You will never make me angry or dislike you for telling the truth.”
I bury my face in his chest, feeling myself tear up again.
“All right?” he asks again, giving me a little shake.
“All right.”
“Good girl.” And he plants a kiss on the top of my head.
I nestle closer in his arms. “Why does it feel so good, what you just did to me?”
There’s a smile in his voice as he says, “So you did like it?”
I think about this. “I was so mad at you at first, and so mad at myself for being turned on. But then this feeling came over me...Release. I think that’s the only way to describe it.”
“And a lovely way, too.”
I gaze up at him. Fully clothed, he’s sexy as hell. Naked, he’s magnificent. I want to see him naked again. I only got a glimpse of him when I snuck into his room. “Dieter...” I say, trailing a finger down his chest.
“Yes?”
“You made me so wet, you know.”
His voice is flat, ironic. “Did I.”
I pout up at him, sensing that he has no intention of getting his fingers inside my underwear again tonight. “Oh, please, daddy,” I say, giving him my most imploring eyes.