Pride and Prejudice and Daddy by Abby Kace

Author:Abby Kace [Kace, Abby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

IN TWO MORE WEEKS, we will visit London to have my guardianship dissolved, so he will be free to marry me. And then there will be no more hiding, no more secrets.

In the meantime, Daddy fucks me like we are already married.

There are punishments too, for I remain his little girl and must follow his rules. His punishments have become more creative. The sting of Daddy’s riding crop reminds me daily to be a good girl, and so does his hard cock in my bottom.

This morning, he has me bent over the oak table in our library, which faces the front lawns. We face a window that overlooks the manicured grass, but I can hardly enjoy the view when Daddy slams his hips so roughly.

He mounted me half an hour ago.

I’d been reading in the library, where Daddy found me, and his cock became erect at once. He opened his trousers, pointed at the nearest table, and gave a command I knew well. “Present your holes.”

Since he does not allow me to dress properly indoors, it was a simple matter of bending over the table and lowering my thong undergarment. My breasts were already exposed by a low-cut corset.

He’s been fucking me since.

“Tight little cunt,” Daddy says under his breath. His thick length squelches in and out of my sopping heat. “Always so wet. I intend to breed you before we ever set foot in a chapel. My seed will claim your womb before we say our vows.”

Sweat pours off my face from his forceful thrusts. There is no denying Daddy when his blood is up, and I like teasing him in such moments. “Am I to be your whore or your wife?”

“Both, little girl. You will be mine in every way. And I will be yours in every way.”

This is the brute side of him speaking, which I love as much as his gentle core. “Yes,” I gasp.

Then I look up through the window. Two carriages race toward the manor at great speed, throwing up dust in the lane. The leading carriage belongs to Mr. Thorne. The driver of the second carriage wears a soldier’s red tunic.

My chest sinks. “It’s Lord Harcourt,” I shout. Daddy’s uncle, my granduncle, is a field marshal, and one of the few gentlemen whom Daddy respects.

“Damn,” is all he says now.

We ready ourselves in a hurry. In my bedchamber Daddy helps me into a white dress before we rush downstairs to the foyer, where the doorbell’s first ring startles me.

Uncle Harcourt, wearing a scarlet uniform, faces us when Daddy opens the door. The soldier that drove his carriage waits in the lane, along with Mr. Thorne.

“That man is not welcome here,” Daddy says at once.

“Am I?” Harcourt’s voice is dry but sharp.

Daddy reluctantly stands aside.

Harcourt comes in, and Mr. Thorne does not join us. Thankfully. Though he glares at me.

Daddy shuts the door.

We go to the drawing room and take seats. Harcourt declines an offer of tea. He gives me this look that says I should promptly retire and leave the men to speak in private, but Daddy raises his hand.

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