"Please," I wailed. Not even words anymore. Just sounds. Desperate broken sounds. "Please, please, please—"
He moved up my body. Left my aching core completely. His weight settled over me. Pressed me into the sofa. His hips between my spread thighs. His chest against mine. His face above mine.
I could smell myself on him. Could see my arousal wet on his chin. The evidence of what he'd been doing. What he'd been denying me.
He was still fully dressed. The realization hit me through the haze of desperate need. Still wearing his charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled up. Still in his dark jeans. The only concession to this moment was the way his jeans were opened. The zipper down. His cock freed.
The contrast made me feel more vulnerable. More exposed. I was completely bare. Trembling and crying and desperate. And he was composed. Controlled. Dressed. The power dynamic was written in fabric and skin.
"Please," I sobbed again. "Daddy, please. I need—I can't—"
His lips brushed my ear. "What do you need, devotchka?" His voice was rough but still controlled. Still in command. "Tell Daddy what you need."
"You." The word came out as a wail. "Inside me. Please. I need you inside me. I need to come. I need—I'll die if you don't let me come. Please, Daddy. Please."
I was begging shamelessly now. No pride left. No dignity. I would have promised him anything. Done anything. Agreed to any terms if he'd just end this torture.
His hand cupped my face. Thumb wiping at my tears. "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured. "Desperate and needy and completely mine."
"Yes," I sobbed. "Yours. Completely yours. Just please—"
He kissed me. Hard. Fierce. His mouth crashed against mine and swallowed my desperate pleas. I could taste myself on his tongue. Could feel his barely-controlled need in the way his body pressed against mine. In the way his cock pressed against my thigh. Hard. Thick. So close.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His grey eyes were almost black. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.
"You want Daddy's cock?" he asked. His voice was crude. Raw. Nothing like his usual controlled speech.
The explicit words made my core clench. Made fresh wetness leak from me. Made me nod frantically.
"Yes," I gasped. "Yes, please. I want it. I want you. Please, Daddy. Please fuck me. Please—"
He shifted. His hand reached between us. I felt him grip himself. Position himself. The head of his cock pressed against my entrance.
Right there. Right at my opening. Where I needed him so desperately I could barely breathe.
But he didn't push in. Just held there. Let me feel how close he was. How easy it would be. One small movement and he'd be inside me. Filling me. Giving me what I needed.
But he stayed still. Torturing me with possibility. With proximity. With the knowledge that he could end this right now and was choosing not to.
"And you'll wait for permission before you come?" he asked. His voice was strained. Like this was costing him too. Like holding back was taking every ounce of his control. "Even when it feels so good you think you'll die from it?"
I nodded frantically. Tried to move my hips. Tried to take him inside myself. But his weight held me pinned. Held me helpless.
"Words, devotchka."
"Yes, Daddy. I'll wait. I promise. I'll wait for permission." The words tumbled out. Fast. Desperate. "I won't come without asking. I'll be good. I'll be so good. Just please—please—"
"Even if I make you wait?" he pressed. "Even if I bring you to the edge over and over and don't let you fall?"
"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes. Anything. I'll do anything. Just please be inside me. Please, Daddy. I need you. I need you so much."
The desperation in my voice must have satisfied him. Must have given him what he needed to hear. Because finally—finally—he started to push inside.
The stretch was immediate. Intense. My body had to adjust to accommodate him. Had to open. Had to take what he was giving me.
He went slowly. Inch by torturous inch. Watching my face. Making sure I was okay with every bit of progress. Giving me time to adjust. To breathe. To accept him.
"Breathe, devotchka," he murmured. "Relax. Let me in."
