The cigar smoke is still thick when David drags me up the stairs, my wrist locked in his hand like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. My shorts are somewhere on the den floor. My tank top is gone. I’m naked except for the flush burning across my skin and the ache between my legs that’s been there for months.
He kicks his bedroom door shut, locks it, and finally looks at me.
Really looks.
His chest is rising too fast. His pupils are blown. The bulge in his slacks is obscene.
“Color?” he asks, voice low, rough, like it hurts to speak.
I’m already shaking. “Green,” I breathe. “So f*****g green, Daddy.”
The word rips a growl out of him. A dark, satisfied smile curls his mouth.
He crosses to the nightstand in two strides and pulls out two long midnight-blue silk scarves. The fabri
