Jenna goes hysterical, screaming and writhing, but Dad tightens his grip, keeping up the soothing comfort.
“Shh.” He presses several tiny kisses to her head. “This is what happens when you disobey. No words, no hiding. Those are the rules.” He keeps rocking her until she calms down, and I watch in fascination. The combination of cruelty and tenderness is captivating, and I almost want to kiss and cuddle her just to deliver that same effect myself. But that’s crossing my own boundaries, and watching Dad do it is a thrill of its own.
“Are you ready to obey?” he finally asks, straightening her and reaching for the buckle again.
She nods, and when she’s about to drop her head, I warn, “Jenna. No hiding.”
She gulps, then aims her gaze up at me, wide and so damn full of shame and glazed over with submissive desire.
An impulse makes me reach out and stroke her cheek—a reward. Compelled to see what happens, I keep my fingers there, petting her. Her frown softens a little, and when I curve my hand around her cheek, she even leans into it.
“You’re so damn helpless,” I murmur. “You belong on the floor, bound and gagged, eating from a bowl. Don’t you?”
Even after having seen the effect of Dad’s comfort on her, I’m surprised when she draws a deep, shuddery breath of acceptance and nods. Even after more than a month, the sight of her succumbing to me despite what I’ve done always catches me off guard. It makes me want to do things I swore I’d never do with any woman.
It takes me a moment to notice Dad watching me. I’m quick to deliver a small but demonstrative slap to her face and draw back. But Jenna’s gasp is full of desire, and Dad’s soft expression tells me he saw my slip.
Knowing not to linger on it, he turns back to the task at hand and removes the gag.
Jenna opens and closes her mouth, and I suppress the urge to reach out and massage her jaw. “Eat,” I tell her instead and turn to the pot on the table to scoop up a healthy portion for myself.
Dad does the same, leaving her to gather her nerve—or frazzle her nerves even further—while we both start eating.
Jenna, on the other hand, just stares at her food, nervousness growing with each passing second.
“Eat,” Dad tells her, but she just keeps staring.
When her ragged breaths become pervasive, Dad and I share a look.No more stalling.I pick up the cane, and Dad wraps a hand around her shoulder, drawing her startled eyes to him.
“For every ten seconds you don’t eat, you’ll get one strike.”
I hold the cane up for her to see.
“No,” she gasps.
I position the cane on her thigh, preparing to punish her for the slip. She shakes her head, begging quietly. I smile, deliberately taking my time, because Dad has already rolled up his sleeve and started counting on his watch.
“Dad told you what would happen,” I admonish, rubbing the tip of the cane over her skin.
Her lips part, then press together, blocking the words she badly wants to speak.
“Finally catching on?” I mock, staring at those delicious lips. I want to coax them apart, taste them, and bite them. Make her moans slip across them, into my mouth. But a scream from those lips would be just as delicious.
Training my gaze on her, I still the cane. Her brows tighten, revealing she knows this is it.
Thwack.
I snap the cane, striking her thigh. Then I shoot in to grab her jaw, just in time as she bucks forward.
“No hiding,” I scold and snap the cane again.
Her mouth falls open, a choked scream scratching through her throat. Tears brim in her eyes, her shoulders shuddering with the effort of holding herself together as she fights tooth and nail to keep her gaze on me.
“Hmm.” I rub my thumb across her cheek. “You almost deserve a reward. It’s a shame the clock is already ticking.”
I glance at Dad, making her do the same. When she sees him watching his wrist watch, she starts shaking her head frantically.
“Fifteen,” Dad counts out loud.