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"Daddy."

"If daycare sends me a poor report, this pretty little thing will be waiting considerably longer for its next orgasm."

His free hand landed on my backside with one sharp swat. I yelped and pushed instinctively into the hand between my legs.

"Remember that when you feel like arguing with your teachers."

Another swat. Not punishment, exactly. A reminder.

"Yes, Daddy."

He stroked me slowly through the fabric, giving me just enough to make the threat meaningful. Heat gathered fast after everything we'd already done that morning, and he knew it. He always knew it.

"So responsive," he murmured. My hips followed his hand. He made me hold still for several seconds while his palm stayed wrapped around me through the fabric. The pressure was maddening precisely because it did not move.

"You can survive wanting something," he said.

"I don't want to survive it. I want to come."

That got the smallest curve from his mouth.

His thumb moved once, slowly, over the shape of me through my pants.

I bit back a moan.

"And what earns that tonight?"

"Good daycare report."

"More specifically?"

"Listening. Eating what they give me. Not fighting with Carlos."

"Excellent."

He gave me three deliberate strokes, enough to make my knees weaken.

I grabbed his shirt.

"Daddy—"

Then, just as my breathing changed, he stopped. I stared at him.

"No." He simply said. Evil.

"But—"

"You'll earn the rest tonight."

The whine that came out of me was humiliating. O'li looked entirely unmoved. "Go get dressed. We leave in ten minutes."

I shuffled toward my dressing area with my body aching and my earlier arguments about daycare suddenly buried beneath a much more immediate problem. Behind me, O'li resumed gathering his work materials as if he hadn't just ruined my life on purpose.

"Five minutes, pup."

"Cruel."

"Four."