She startled when he said, “Spread your legs, pretty girl. I need to clean your princess parts.”
Fuck me.
Saoirse didn’t have time or patience for precious euphemisms. She had a vagina for fuck’s sake. A pussy. Or a cunt. Arthur using silly words like “princess parts” should’ve made her ragey but instead it made her feel all warm inside. Small. Wide-eyed. When she hadn’t had the chance to be innocent or naive for a very, very long time.
If she thought Arthur didn’t know better, she’d punch those glasses of his aristocratic face. But he did, so she’d let him play this game. Letthem.
She moved her feet apart and her knees nearly buckled when Arthur slid the washcloth up her inner thigh. She had to rest a hand on his shoulder to keep from falling over. What the hell was with that? Could she not even trust her body to keep her upright anymore?
“That’s right, princess. You can lean on me. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”
His low, steady voice made her close her eyes and blow a breath out between her lips. Not able to help it, she dug her nails into his ropey muscles as he passed over her swollen, sensitive flesh. Did he realize how he made her feel? And maybe more importantly, did shewanthim to?
Arthur took his time between her legs but didn’t make a meal out of it—unfortunately. Or fortunately? She definitely would’ve needed to lie down if the man pressed his face between her legs and started licking at her, sucking on her clit, pushing his tongue inside her. She might collapse fromimaginingit.
Finally he was finished, and she blinked her eyes open to find him gazing up at her, curiosity stamped on his narrow features.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
She felt defensive, like she wanted to hide, take it all back. He’d cracked her open and she wanted to retreat until she’d had a chance to put herself back together. But she got the feeling Arthur wouldn’t like that and while it was mortifying as hell, she was also grateful.
“I have a question for you, that’s all,” he soothed while rubbing a warm hand along her flank.
From where he knelt, he propped a knee up and patted his thigh. Unthinking, she sat and wrapped her arms around his neck. It should’ve been strange, her naked and Arthur in what passed for casual with him: a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows, and some wool trousers. He hugged her, held her close, and petted her hair.
“What did you want to ask me?” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“I want to tell you something first, make it very clear. You are welcome here for as long as you need and your answer won’t change that. Nor will it change my expectations of you following my rules. But given your reactions, I was wondering if you’d like to call me Daddy. Whether you want to or not, I’ll still treat you like my little princess, but—”
“Yes. Yes, please, Daddy.”
Saoirse could’ve sobbed with relief at how good it felt to say it out loud. Daddy.HerDaddy. And he was going to take care of her.