“Oh, Papa. I love you, too. This day has been most wondrous and magical. I feel as if I’m floating in the clouds, I am so very happy.”
He wiped away her tears with his thumbs and kissed her forehead, and the floral scent of her shampoo tickled his nose. Lord Caldwell was wrong, he realized. Even if love was a disease, it certainly wasn’t loathsome. It was just as Cynny said. It was wondrous and magical.
He kissed her again.
Chapter 11
Cynny stretched under the soft sheets of her papa’s huge bed, luxuriating in the warmth of the morning sun spreading over the covers. She opened one eye and glanced to her left, but Papa was nowhere to be seen. After five days of marriage, she was starting to become accustomed to his schedule. He was an early riser, and while she sometimes wished he was still in bed when she awoke, she was at least grateful he allowed her to sleep in. At Talcott House, all the girls rose at the same early hour each morning, and anyone who attempted to laze around in bed, even for a few extra minutes, had to face Garland. But Cynny wasn’t at Talcott House anymore, and the only person she had to worry about pleasing was her husband.
She turned on her side and snuggled into her pillow, sighing with contentment as she recalled the last few days. Lord Grayson was a good papa, she thought, and best of all—he loved her. Her heart fluttered at the memory of the first time he’d told her so, after they shared their first intimacies as husband and wife.
A delicious ache bloomed between her thighs as she replayed all the times he’d put his mouth to her kitty, as well all the times he’d claimed her with his cock. Though he’d been mostly gentle with her during their first time joining together as husband and wife, the following times he’d been rougher, pounding into her so fast and deep she thought she might faint from the sheer pleasure of it.
She sat up against the pillows and squirmed on the mattress, her legs pressed tight together as the pulsing in her kitty became more insistent, and her ninnies commenced tingling as heated waves of desire stole through her. Pushing the covers off herself, she lifted her nightdress up and spread her legs, peering at her smooth shaven privates.
Papa had shaved her yesterday morning during her bath time, telling her that he planned to keep her kitty smooth at all times. Tentatively, she parted the petals of her quim to discover immense moisture gathering within her core, glimmering on the pinkness of her privates.
She flushed, wondering how to best proceed. Papa said when her quim tingled and ached and became wet it meant she was aroused. It signaled her yearning for his touch. But he wasn’t here right now. She wasn’t permitted to dress herself—her papa delighted in selecting her clothing and dressing her each morning—so she couldn’t get dressed quickly and then go in search of him to ask for assistance with the urgent situation between her thighs. She had to either wait patiently for his return, or attempt to take care of matters herself.
At Talcott House, Miss Wickersham had forbidden all her young ladies from touching themselves in the manner in which Cynny was tempted, however now that she was a married woman and her new papa hadn’t mentioned whether or not stroking her own clitty was permitted, she supposed it would be acceptable to caress her own flower. Cammie’s letter had mentioned her papa punished her for touching herself without permission, but maybe not all papas cared if their little girls touched themselves. Surely if this was important, Cynny’s papa would have already forbidden her from doing so.
She sighed as temptation, along with the aching in her privates, grew and grew, until she couldn’t cease squirming on the mattress.
She didn’t yet know if she would be able to make herself feel as good down there as her papa made her feel each and every night, but she wouldn’t know unless she tried.
Parting her folds wider, she gathered some of her wetness and rubbed it over her swollen nubbin. A blast of sensation immediately affected her, and she smiled, entranced that she was apparently able to bring herself pleasure if she so wished. She glanced at the door, nervous over the prospect of being caught, but she didn’t hear any footsteps in the hallway and decided to continue on, rubbing more and more moisture over her clitty and pressing down upon it harder with each precise stroke.
When she thought of the intimacies she’d shared with her papa, the tingling and aching increased, and she rocked her center against her swirling digits as a wave of ecstasy rolled over her. She closed her eyes and gasped, riding the blissful sensations of her secret release.
But when the last wave finished surging through her and she opened her eyes, she cried out at the sight before her. Papa was standing at the end of his bed, his arms folded over his chest, and his visage stern.
Oh no. Her tummy flipped. Papa looked mad.
She hurriedly rearranged her nightdress around her legs and reached for the covers, as if to pretend she hadn’t just been touching her own kitty, but Papa came around the side of the bed and grabbed the covers away from her. He sat down next to her, forced her legs apart, and flipped up her nightdress to reveal her privates to his gaze.
“Cynny, were you just pleasuring yourself?”
Tears filled her eyes, because he looked awfully disappointed, and the last thing she wanted was to fall out of his favor. Her heart skittered and nerves abounded within her. Maybe Cammie’s letter had been right. Maybe all little girls weren’t supposed to touch their kitties, even after they finally got papas.
“I’m sorry, Papa.” She buried her face in her hands. “Please don’t spank me.”
She remained still as he inspected her kitty, pulling her folds wide apart and trailing his fingers through her lingering wetness.
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Cynny, look at me.”
She spread her fingers just wide enough to peer at him from behind her hands. “If it makes you mad, I’ll never do it again, Papa.”
“I had never thought I might catch you in the act of such naughtiness, Cynny, otherwise I would have told you that touching your kitty without your papa’s permission is expressly forbidden.” He lifted his hand from her quim and delivered one firm spank across her sensitized folds. She gasped at the sting and fought the urge to close her thighs, lest he smack her kitty again. “You are never to touch what belongs to your papa again, unless you have permission. Do you understand, little girl?”
“Yes, Papa. I understand.” She uncovered her face entirely. “Um, Papa?”
“Yes, Cynny?”
“Am I getting a spanking now?” She blinked hard against the rapid swell of tears, and she swallowed against the burning lump in her throat.
“Since I hadn’t yet told you this was against my rules, I suppose I cannot punish you for it.” He reached for her hands and gave them a squeeze. “But know that next time I discover you’ve been up to such shameful naughtiness, I will give you a firm spanking on your kitty.”
She gasped and shook her head. “You won’t have to do that, Papa, because I promise to never touch myself again.” Guilt and embarrassment surged through her, and she found herself confessing, “At Talcott House we weren’t allowed to touch ourselves because Miss Wickersham said we must save our special treasures for our papas. I wasn’t certain how you would feel about me touching myself, but my kitty was aching so much that I decided to try to make it feel better on my own, even though I wasn’t completely certain you would approve.” A quiver raced across her bottom cheeks. Would he decide to punish her now because of her little confession?