Chapter Eight
Afainting couch wouldn’t have been out of place in the foyer of Arthur’s big house, and Saoirse was suddenly piqued there wasn’t one. She wanted to swoon and she didn’t want to end up on the floor.
Lucky for her, Arthur circled his fingers around her wrist and with that unexpected strength, towed her up the stairs to the second floor and led her down the hall to her room.
“Get ready for bed,” he instructed, letting go of her wrist.
She was sad to lose the feeling of being owned and taken over that she so loved, but she wasn’t going to disappoint him in such a simple task.
No, she’d leave that for later when no doubt she’d be unable to do something he’d asked of her. Except that now that he’d told her he would be in control of her, that he wished for her to submit to him, she was having trouble taking action of any sort on her own.
Aside from the worry that she’d let him down and he’d change his mind, it was such a relief. She was his responsibility now. Whether he realized the extent of the hot mess he was offering to take on wasn’t her problem.
Perhaps sensing she was lost, he looked at her, not unkindly. “Do you need help?”
“Yes,” she whispered, feeling as though all of her will and competence had deserted her now that there was someone who was willing to take these things from her and substitute his own.
And Arthur, to his credit, didn’t sneer or roll his eyes or in any way make her feel like shit. No, he just walked toward her dresser, opened the bottom drawer and fished out a set of pajamas.
Mostly she wore cotton shorts and a tee or a sweatshirt, but she hadn’t been able to resist this fricking adorable pink satin set with cherries printed on it. Apparently neither could Arthur.
Then he opened a top drawer and chose a pair of her panties. Not one of the silk or lace things she had in there, but a pair of soft pink cotton briefs with lemons and rainbows. Was he trying to make her into a fruit salad? The idea made her smirk and shake her head.
“Come along,” he said, offering her his hand that wasn’t full of her clothes.
She gave it to him without thinking and followed him into her en suite without arguing.
Once they were in the bathroom, Arthur proceeded to strip her. Unbutton the shirt she’d worn out. Unhook and unzip her skirt and pushed it down to her feet.
It should’ve felt weird, but mostly she liked it. He certainly hadn’t done anything of the sort when he’d been her stepdad—she’d been afforded the utmost privacy—and that made her feel better.
It did get weirder when he took off her bra and panties and she was standing there naked. She tried to cover herself, but Arthur shook his head.
“No, princess. Let me see you. How am I supposed to take care of you if I don’t know everything?”
She froze, guilt and embarrassment for not having told him about why she’d really fucked up law school. He reached out a hand, put it on her shoulder and ran his thumb across her collarbone, giving her a gentle smile.
“Not this very second, pretty girl. It’s too late at night for you to tell me everything and you need to get some sleep. But I promise we’ll get there.”
Saoirse let her shoulders drop and sucked in a breath as Arthur circled her, always with a physical connection to her body, even if it was only a fingertip.
“There you go. That’s not so bad, is it?”
She shook her head, because aside from the slow beat of blood pooling in her pelvis and her breasts feeling tight and heavy at being inspected like this, it wasn’t bad at all.
“I’ll give you a bath tomorrow. We’ll just give you a quick wipe down and wash your face for now.”
Arthur was going to bathe her? Saoirse didn’t know why that should surprise her but it did. Though it shouldn’t, given that he was holding his hand under a running tap and waiting until the water got warm to soak a washcloth and then wring it out.
He proceeded to do as he’d said he would and used it to wipe her down. Neck and shoulders, arms and back before directing her “arms up, princess,” and then he trailed the terrycloth over her breasts and ribcage and her underarms.
It was confusing. She was a smart girl and the way she felt about this was confused. His gentle but methodical treatment made her feel like she was in a trance.
Maybe she was. Not that Arthur was manipulating her into doing something she didn’t want to do, but more so that he’d created conditions under which it was possible for her to accept things she’d always wanted but would’ve never asked for.
He rubbed the cloth in circles over her backside and then bent to get her legs, all the way down to her toes, and moved to crouch in front of her.
Saoirse’s breath had gone shallow, knowing he’d get to the apex of her thighs sooner or later. What was he going to do? Act like she was a Barbie doll? Should she hope for that or not?