Claiming her innocence: A daddy’s obsession

The Master’s Mark

The blueprints for the New Shoreham library crinkled and tore beneath Elara’s weight as Dominic hoisted her onto the desk. The cold wood against her thighs was a sharp contrast to the furnace-like heat radiating from his body. He stood between her legs, a dark silhouette against the moonlight, his presence so large it seemed to swallow the very air she breathed.

"You look so much better like this, Elara," he murmured, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Stripped of your titles. Stripped of your pride. Just a girl on her knees for the man who owns her."

He didn't rush. Dominic Sterling was a man of calculated moves, and he savored her anticipation like a fine vintage. He reached out, his large hands gripping her waist, his fingers digging into her soft skin just enough to leave a faint, bruising reminder of his strength. He pulled her to the very edge of the desk, forcing her legs wide.

"Please," she whimpered, her hands clutching his shoulders, her nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. "Daddy, please."

"Patience," he commanded, his eyes flashing with a stern, cold fire. "A good girl waits for her reward. And you haven't been entirely good, have you? You still have Julian’s phone number in your contacts. You still look him in the eye when you should be looking at the floor."

He leaned down, his mouth catching hers in a kiss that wasn't a request—it was a conquest. It tasted of whiskey and dominance, his tongue demanding entry, his teeth grazing her lower lip until she cried out into his mouth. While he occupied her mind with the kiss, his hand slid down, his fingers finding her again. He was ruthless, his touch firm and unrelenting, driving her toward a peak that felt like a falling star.

Just as she began to crest, her back arching and her breath hitching in a series of broken sobs, the silence of the room was shattered.

Brring. Brring.

The phone on the desk—her phone—vibrated violently against the wood, inches from her hip. The caller ID flashed in the dim light: JULIAN.

Elara froze, the pleasure curdling into a sharp, icy fear. Dominic pulled back just enough to look at the screen. A dark, twisted smile touched his lips. He didn't stop his hand; in fact, he pressed deeper, his thumb circling her with a sudden, agonizingly slow rhythm.

"Answer it," he whispered against her ear.

"What? No... Daddy, please, I can't—"

"I said, answer it." His voice was a whip, leaving no room for argument. He picked up the phone and swiped the green icon, holding it to her ear while his other hand continued its devastating work below.

"Elara?" Julian’s voice sounded tinny and frustrated through the speaker. "Where the hell are you? I’m at that bar we usually frequent, and some of your firm’s interns said you left hours ago. We need to talk about the structural edits for tomorrow’s meeting."

Elara’s eyes went wide, pleading with Dominic to stop, but he only watched her with a cold, challenging intensity. He leaned in, biting down on the sensitive cord of her neck, his hand moving faster, more rhythmic.

"I... I’m busy, Julian," she gasped out, her voice trembling so hard it was barely recognizable.

"Busy? You sound out of breath. Are you at the gym?" Julian asked, his tone shifting to suspicion. "Wait, what’s that noise? Is someone there with you?"

Dominic chose that exact moment to drive two fingers deep inside her, his thumb hitting her center with a force that sent a white-hot jolt through her entire body. Elara let out a strangled, high-pitched moan, her head falling back as her vision blurred.

"Elara? What was that? Elara!"

Dominic reached over and ended the call, tossing the phone across the room where it clattered into the shadows. He didn't give her a second to recover. He moved her with a sudden, violent grace, spinning her around so she was draped over the desk, her face pressed against the cold mahogany, her rear bared to the room.

"You almost made a sound, little bird," he growled, the stern "Daddy" replaced by something far more primal. "Now, you're going to learn what happens when you let another man's voice into our sanctuary."

He reached for the leather belt he’d discarded on the chair, the sound of the leather snapping taut echoing like a crack of thunder in the quiet night.