Arabella felt her throat blocked; swallowing was difficult. Her eyes were hazy as she let out a few animal-like whimpers. "Frederick..."

"Wrong name." He found a distinct spot and pressed down with a slightly bent knuckle to punish her for her misspeaking.

This was a magical button; the moment it was pressed, electric currents surged everywhere. Arabella immediately began to cry out in surprise, "Daddy... Daddy, I was wrong, I was wrong. You can't do this... I don't want it!" Tears rolled down; the sudden wave of aching, tingling numbness was indescribable. It felt as if all her strength had been drained; her feet went limp, drifting in the water.

Frederick stroked her cheek with affection. "Good girl. You are so greedy, why do you say you don't want it?" There was no mercy as he continued to apply heavy pressure.

Arabella convulsed, her slender and broken voice scattering into the surrounding mist. Frederick's arms supported her as she fell; he liked the way she went limp in his embrace, he liked her raspy voice, and he liked even more that her eyes were out of focus, reflecting only him.

Kisses fell like snowflakes, traveling from her shoulder to her ear. The man let out a deep, raspy sigh. "If you make your voice hoarse now, what will you do later? My greedy and pitiful little sparrow... you really are... even better than I imagined."

His good girl.

Frederick elegantly withdrew his hand from the water-filled tub, then elegantly placed it in his mouth, licking it several times with his broad tongue. Meanwhile, his dark eyes stared at Arabella without blinking for a second.

He had prepared himself to indulge completely and unrestrainedly in the holy sacrament God had prepared for him.

They moved from the misty bathroom to the bedroom with its beautiful purple velvet curtains, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind. Through a corner of the window screen, Arabella saw the black-blue Elbe River flowing shimmeringly under the bright moonlight. That near-black blue was very much like Frederick's eyes when they were eroded by desire.

It was only then that Arabella realized Frederick was not an entirely gentle Daddy. When he exerted force, his chest and arm muscles would bulge, filling the air with a sense of overwhelming pressure.

When he was fully impassioned, he would instead become cold and expressionless, taking dominant control of everything. The ferocious thrusts left her voice completely hoarse.

However, most of the time, Daddy was very gentle—so gentle she felt she would melt. Between the gentle Frederick and the dominant Frederick, she was tossed back and forth, muddled and dazed. At times, she was so tense she couldn't breathe; at other times, she was overcome with pleasure, her nails digging many marks into his shoulders and back.

This was not as simple as eating a baguette. Only after "swallowing" it did she realize she was about to be stretched to her limit, yet she had to keep eating, bite after bite, as if it would never end.

It wasn't until the fifth time fireworks exploded across her mind that she closed her eyes, letting out a faint breath. "Daddy... I'm tired..."

It was a kind of heavy muscle fatigue where limbs felt filled with lead, much like the exhaustion following a vigorous game of tennis.

Arabella's physical constitution had always been robust. She kept early hours, had a healthy appetite, and could even go parkouring with two dogs and a leopard without ever complaining of being tired. But for even a body as strong as hers to cry out in exhaustion meant she was truly spent.

Frederick certainly knew she was tired; he himself was in no better state. He was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving violently, though his voice remained restrained to avoid sounding too disheveled in his breathing.

Yet the physical fatigue was not prominent; instead, his brain was clear and refreshed, filled with a frantic excitement.

He took deep breath after deep breath, his eyes filled with chaotic desire. "Sleep now, sleep." He patted her back gently, like a mother patting a child who had exhausted themselves from play. "Sorry, baby. I didn't know this would take so long. It won't happen again next time."

Frederick kissed the limp girl and turned his gaze toward the window. Through the narrow slit in the screen, a faint fish-belly white was appearing. To his surprise, dawn had broken.

Using that sliver of weak light, he surveyed his surroundings.

The bedroom was a mess; unknown water stains were everywhere, the sofa was askew, the rug was crumpled, and the tissue box that had been on the low tea table had been emptied and tossed aside.

Frederick exhaled, almost unable to believe he had indulged himself to this extent. Staring at the faint morning light, he suddenly curled his lips into a smile. He didn't know what he was laughing at—perhaps at himself, or at the night of total abandonment.

He held Arabella tighter in his arms, kissing her repeatedly. "Sleep, Aerona. I won't drain all your strength next time. Daddy will restrain."

He still preferred to call her little bird, or Aerona. Bella... that was a name others had given her.

She should belong to him completely, from head to toe.