At first, I didn’t realize what I was hearing. Just soft, rhythmic sounds and a faint creak. Then I heard her.
A gasp. A low moan. A sharp slap against skin. Her voice, low and rough, “Harder.”
I froze.
Something in me—curiosity, maybe, or something more primal—kept me standing there. The door was cracked just enough to see through.
Jack was behind her. Hana was on her hands and knees on the bed, her hair spilling across her face, her body trembling with each thrust. Jack was gripping her hips, his muscled, tattooed arms glistening with sweat. The room was dim, but not enough to hide how rough it was, how good it looked.
And then suddenly, Hana looked up, straight at me.
Our eyes met. She didn’t tell him to stop or to awkwardly try to hide herself. She just held my gaze while Jack kept moving behind her, fucking her like nothing had changed.
I backed away before I could think too hard. My heart raced with adrenaline, with shock…withdesire.
I didn’t know what that look meant. I didn’t know whatanyof it meant.
I closed the door of our room behind me quietly, my heart pounding hard enough I was sure it was audible. The silence in our room was a sharp contrast to what I’d just seen—and what I couldn’t unsee.
The look in Hana’s eyes still clung to me…that steady gaze. Like shewantedme to watch.
Elliott lay on his back, his eyes closed, his hands resting behind his head. The bedside lamp was still on, and I got into bed beside him, barely breathing.
“Hi, Daddy,” I whispered, cuddling up beside him, running my hand through his chest hair.
His eyes opened quickly and he grunted, and before I knew it, his mouth was on mine. His hand moved fast, tugging at my shirt, stripping it away. My pajama shorts followed. He didn’t hesitate—he knew the difference between when I wanted softness and when I needed to be taken apart.
And tonight, I needed the latter.
He flipped me easily onto my stomach, spreading my legs apart roughly.
“You need Daddy, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said with a low moan. “Fuck me.”
He slid into me hard, one hand fisting in my hair, the other gripping my hip. The rhythm was hard, steady, and perfect. He knew how to ride the edge of pain and pleasure until I couldn’t tell the difference.
“Keep your hands where they are,” he growled. “Don’t move unless I say.”
I buried my face into the pillow as he pounded into me. My body responded beneath him, pushed right to the edge and held there.
“Who owns you, baby?” he asked roughly.
“You do, Daddy.”
“Say it again.”
“You.”
“Louder.”
“You,Daddy.”
I cried out as I came. I fisted the sheets, gasping through the pleasure, knowing I was probably loud enough for the entire west coast to hear.
He let out low grunts as he spilled himself inside of me. He slowed, and his hand slid down my back slowly.
He lay down beside me, still breathing hard, holding me close.
