Page 223 of Good Touch, Bad Touch Collection
“It’s hard to find words. But there is something about you. You have the innocence and spirit of a little girl. But I can sense there are deep wounds inside of you. A quiet sadness I want to soothe so badly. There is more to you than meets the eye.”
“Isn’t there more to everyone than meets the eye?”
“Not usually for me. I am very adept at sizing up most people. You have a quality that few possess.”
Suddenly, a terrible wrenching noise comes from my belly.
Daddy laughs. “That’s on me. I fucked you instead of fed you. We got a bit distracted, didn’t we? Even Daddies make mistakes.”
Chapter 8
Larissa
Breakfast is less like a meal and more like a still life prepared by a god.
The center of the table is a tower of fresh fruit. Honey-gold apricots, juicy peaches, figs split open to reveal their ruby hearts. Below it are tiny, perfect wild berries that Daddy explains were fresh-picked this morning. There are pale, champagne-colored raspberries, blueberries, strawberries…
Fresh-squeezed orange juice glistens in a glass pitcher.
Warm pastries filled with pistachio cream. A loaf of dark bread studded with walnuts and more figs. Soft-poached eggs in truffle cream, ribbons of smoked salmon, baby potatoes roasted in rosemary and sea salt. Butter. Jam.
Crystal glasses and warmed serving dishes. Every day with him feels like a celebration.
“Finger yourself.” He orders as he reaches for the fork, cutting into an egg and bringing it to my lips. “Food is pleasure.”
He’s repeated this process in some way at every meal. Last night it was sea bass with roasted root vegetables and crème brûlée for dessert.
I petted and played with myself under the stars as we ate on the terrace. He helped me, of course, with fingers and lips, until I nearly lost consciousness sipping Turkish coffee, spilling it on the back of his neck and leaving a deep red mark.
He didn’t scold me, he just set the coffee down, spread me out on the table, and finished his own feast.
This morning is more of the same, with him feeding me, choosing different flavors and textures, his green eyes lighting up when I moan in pleasure, working my slick little button of pleasure faster and faster as I chew and swallow.
I grab a pastry, tearing into it without one second of thought about calories, carbs, or shame. With the other hand, I pick up my fork and jab a quail egg, chewing and swallowing and chasing it all down with half a glass of orange juice, all while still playing with myself, and when I look up, Sebastian’s face is glowing.
“I’m so proud of you, baby.”
My cheeks burn as I spin my fingers over my clit. “Thank you.” A tiny belch bursts from my lips, and I slap my hand over them, but Daddy just chuckles.
“Good girl.” He reaches out, joining my hand with his between my legs until I’m panting, moaning and gushing.
“Where do all the leftovers go?” I ask after coming down from the orgasm as he sits back, looking smugly satisfied with himself, shoving his slick fingers between my lips for me to suck off the evidence of my climax.
“Suck,” he says first as his digits push over my tongue. “The staff eats what they want, then I have a charity kitchen in town. They take the leftovers there after every meal, and anyone can come and eat what they want. I don’t like waste.”
Satisfied I’ve eaten enough, he takes my hand and leads me from the table, out of the grand French doors, onto the terrace, and down beyond the tiered gardens designed so that each flight of stairs brings new scents and new colors.
Something has changed between us. I sense it, and my heart soars, because he’s no longer treating me like a project, but like the little girl he wants to see thrive. He teaches me the names of plants he loves, and how to tell them apart, and I link my arm in his as we reach the vast lawn that curves around to the orchards.
He’s watched me paint, and I’ve told him all about my dream of going to college. How I want to learn all about the great masters,the secrets of what makes something a masterpiece over just a painting.
The contentment I feel here overwhelms me. I’d have to leave to go to school, but maybe, somehow, we could work something out where I go to school on the mainland. My dreams feel like they are within reach for the first time in my life.
And I’m just about to risk it all by kissing him when a voice from behind catches my attention.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Sebastian stops walking and turns to find the butler I’ve only glanced two or three times coming down the terraced gardens behind us.
