The Submissive Wives Estate

31. Tennis Lessons

DANIEL 

Whitney looked like a sleeping little brown bear in her new bed. She was tucked in the center, her hair covering her eyes as she clutched onto a throw pillow.

"Good morning," I said while standing in the door frame.

The poor thing was dead to the world. I took a few steps closer and spoke again, "Whitney?"

Nothing.

I reached for her phone on the bedside table and shut off the god-awful acoustic strum ringtone she had set as her "wake up" noise. The bedding crunched as she stirred slightly, unveiling her little face.

I spoke under my breath, hoping she wouldn't hear me, "Wake up, princess. Let me see those brown eyes."

Or you'll be in trouble, young lady.

Begrudgingly, I sat at the edge of the bed and smoothed her umber locks away from her face. I did what I did best and acted on impulse, grazing a gentle, fluttery kiss on her forehead hoping she'd wake up.

Nothing. She only let out a small breath through her plush, dusky rose lips. Her eyebrows creased further and she mumbled, "Richard."

Richard?

Right. Her stepfather.

"Okay, little brown bear," I said to myself a little louder. "If I can't kiss you awake, I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

I untangled her arms from her, revealing she was in a pair of thermal pajamas with tiny red hearts all over them. She looked like a Valentine's card. I chuckled at the sight as I lifted her limp body from the bed and locked her against my chest. I didn't know what it was, but there was something about her that had me yearning to carry her. For no apparent reason.

I paced the room and kept speaking in a melodic tone, "Come on, princess, wake up. You're safe."

All of a sudden, Whitney let out a strained cough and she bundled my dress shirt into her hand.

"No," I said firmly as I released my pressed linen from her fist. "The staff just ironed that, sweetheart."

Whitney's chocolate eyes blinked up at me, startled by my sternness. But it was evident she couldn't understand what I said. Either way, she could see the forbidding look in my eyes and was afraid of me.

Fuck, I messed up again.

I carefully set her on the floor, straightening her bunched-up pajama shirt for her and ruffling her hair back to its neater state.

"I have an alarm clock, Daniel, I don't need you to carry me out of bed every morning. In fact, you don't need to carry me at all."

I let out my signature admonishing chuckle, "Oh, trust me. I know all about your alarm clock, Whitney. It seems we need something else to rattle you out of bed."

I considered telling her that next time, I could bring the paddle to give her some motivation, but I held my tongue.

"What time is it?" she rubbed her eyes.

"You snoozed a half hour past your wake-up time, little miss. And I won't keep Marchesi waiting so I suggest you hurry."

Whitney scoffed, "Get out then."

"You should thank me for waking you."

"I said, get out," she chucked the throw pillow she'd been cuddling with.