Page 62 of Daddy's Lesson
“I am beautiful inside and out,” I managed a little louder, forcing my eyes open.
“Good girl,” he praised as he slowly slid inside me. We moaned in unison as he pushed himself all the way inside. Once seated, he ground against me. “Say it again.”
I did, and he rewarded me with another thrust. Over and over he made me repeat the line as he made love to me. The words became easier to say. They rolled off my tongue so many times they almost lost all meaning, which I did not share with him, as I didn’t think he would like that very much. So I kept the fleeting thought to myself and kept on going until I was screaming it with my release.
CHAPTER 16
Zoe
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” Lennon paused at the door as he shrugged into his jacket.
I shook my head. “I told you, it's not really my scene.”
“I know. And I told you that I really want you to come anyway one of these days. You don’t even have to play. You can just hang out and watch. That’s all I'm going to be doing.”
“I know.” I nodded and forced myself to meet his gaze. “And I will. Someday. But not tonight.” I took a step closer and straightened his collar as I spoke. “You go, and have a good time. I’ll be fine. I could use the alone time, honestly.” It was true. Lennon and I had been together practically nonstop for over a week now. Even in my marriage I hadn’t spent that much time alone with somebody.
“Okay.” He leaned forward to brush a kiss across my cheek. “Have fun. Don’t wait up. You still need to be in bed at a decent hour if I’m not here. And don’t forget, you still need to paint today.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The thought of making art still caused my chest to squeeze with anxiety, but it was getting easier to do it once I started.
He gave me one more kiss, this time on the lips, and then he was gone. When the door closed behind him, I leaned against it with a deep sigh, savoring the silence and solitude. It was funny; in my marriage I’d been so lonely, but constant company and always having someone else in my space with their wants and needs to consider was just as overwhelming as the loneliness had been.
The truth was, I was curious about the club. Lennon had spent all week opening up a world to me I’d never known was possible. Well, not for me, anyway. I’d thought I was too old a dog to learn new tricks. He’d shown me that definitely wasn’t the case. So yes, I’d go with him eventually. Just not tonight. I wasn’t ready, and my need for quiet greatly outweighed my curiosity.
Stepping into my empty living room, I twirled around, taking in the subtle changes Lennon had helped me make to claim the space as my own. An antique Persian rug sprawled across the center of the living room floor. Bright throw pillows adorned the couches and chairs. I had random knick-knacks that served no other purpose than to make me smile. A vase of brightly colored flowers sat in the middle of the dining table. My ex would have hated all of it, but I finally felt like I could breathe.
That was what Lennon did for me. He made me feel like I could breathe again.
I stopped spinning when I started to feel lightheaded and skipped to the kitchen. A night alone sounded heavenly, and all I wanted to do was brew a pot of tea and eat my fancy chocolate in my jammies while reading a good book, but the reminder of his punishing paddle on my bottom the week prior still weighed heavy on my brain. I could have a perfect quiet evening by myself. I just had to paint first.
With my steps no longer light, I walked into the dining room. It was no longer a stuffy room used for near-silent dinners or entertaining people I didn’t really care for. Lennon and I rarely ate in here. This was where we painted; him on the mural he was creating on my wall, and me on the most recent paint-by-number canvas I’d dedicated myself to because actually creating still felt hard.
Donning the smock I used more out of habit than necessity, I sat in the oversized dining chair with my feet curled up under me and stared at the second piece of the week. It was almost finished. There wasn’t even thirty minutes left of work to do on it, no matter how slowly I painted. But I dutifully picked up my paintbrush, anyway, squirted some paint on my palette, and dipped my brush in the purple. The flowers were tiny and hard to paint. They barely looked like flowers.
Before I’d stopped, flowers had been one of my favorite things to paint. They were just so bright and fun. Erotic and full of passion. Flowers could be sad or happy or mellow or chaotic. They could be anything. Painting them to form, smushed together on a canvas as a space filler, did not suit me.
Annoyed, I looked over at the wall where Lennon had spent the week working on his painting, usually for far longer than I worked on mine. Suddenly I hated my little paint-by-number creation.
His painting, two abstract forms locked in a passionate embrace, then again, in a sensually compromising position, had annoyed me when he’d first started. But now, I could see it with new eyes. It was… sexy. It was passionate. It was… inspiring. It was calling to me. As if my feet had a mind of their own, I stood and made my way across the room, paintbrush still in hand.
The forms, the couple I knew was supposed to represent us, lay across a lush green field, their bodies stacked on top of each other, and they made love under a huge willow tree. The painting style was unique, not at all like anything I’d ever done. It was a mix of abstract and realism, with black and white figures set against a colorful and luscious backdrop. There were trees, and clouds, and a sparkling lake, and even a frolicking horse he’d said was a symbol that reminded him of me. The whole thing had a very sensual ‘Garden of Eden’ feel to it. There were birds in the sky and woodland creatures off in the distance, but no flowers.
Looking at it, the lack felt like a travesty, like an actual crime. And I was helpless to stop what happened next.
I walked straight over to the couple showing their passion for each other out in the open under the shade of the tree as if they were the only two people in the world, and I covered them with a bright purple flower. Instantly, I felt guilty for ruining Lennon’s piece, but when I stepped back to look at it, I heard his voice telling me I needed to create. And it was like I knew, I just knew, that he hadn’t added flowers on purpose, as if he’d been saving those for me. I added more around them, and in the corners of the mural. The next thing I knew the entire bottom had been framed in a sprawling border of colorful and erotic flowers, their blooms open and full as if approving of the couples’ activities.
At first it was just the outlines of flowers, then I added color to the petals, because why not? And soon every piece of every flower was done in exquisite detail, and far more than an hour had passed.
It was like I’d come out of a trance. Standing and stepping back, I assessed my work and drew in a deep fortifying breath, taking stock of my emotions. There was none of the self-hatred and dread I’d felt—or assumed I’d feel—when I finally picked up a paintbrush again. Instead, I felt… liberated. I felt… inspired. I felt like I could do just about goddamn anything.
I no longer longed for a peaceful, quiet night at home sipping tea and reading. I wanted to keep this feeling going for as long as I could.
An idea forming, I quickly pulled my phone from my pocket and snapped a few pictures so I’d have something to show him. Then I hurried off to the bedroom to get ready.
Lennon