Page 101 of Merciless Daddy

I sat in the center of the sofa. Enough room on either side. Feet planted wide. She stood between my knees, her breathing visible beneath the cotton top.

I touched the waistband of her pajama trousers but did not pull.

“May I lower these?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Underwear too?”

Color flooded her face.

“Yes. Please, Daddy.”

I hooked my fingers beneath both waistbands and drew them down slowly.

The cotton slid over her hips. Her skin appeared inch by inch. Pale at the waist. Warmer over the round curve of her ass. No lace. Simple black underwear, gone a second later as I lowered both garments to the middle of her thighs.

Her ass was beautiful.

Full. Smooth. Untouched.

A small tattoo rested high on one hip, hidden beneath every dress her father had ever chosen for her. A black falcon no longer than my thumb.

The secret of it tightened something in me.

“Little falcon.”

Her breath caught. She looked over her shoulder. Her expression had changed. The brat remained, but there was naked feeling beneath it.

“Over my knees,” I said.

She hesitated for a moment.

Then she bent and lowered herself across my lap.

Her stomach rested over my right thigh. Her chest and forearms lay on the sofa cushion beside me. Her bare ass rose over my left leg, close enough that her warmth came through my trousers.

The position put her completely in my hands.

That knowledge did not make me feel powerful.

It made me careful.

I adjusted her until her feet remained supported by the floor and nothing pressed painfully into her abdomen. Her trousers stayed around her thighs but did not bind her knees.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Can you breathe freely?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Move your legs.”

She did.

“Tap me three times.”