Instead of backing down, I sneak my hand between us, reach for the buttons on his shirt, and pop a few open. His breath is a harsh symphony as I press my palm to warm, hard skin before drifting it down toward his rock-hard abdomen.
When I look up, his gray eyes are molten. He likes that I touch him like he’s mine. “Does that mean you’re going to glove up, Daddy?”
“No.”
The word falls between us like a grenade.
His grey eyes blaze, daring me to say no, daring me to defy him.
“I don’t want anything between me and your wet, gripping cunt.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I say, satisfaction blazing through me. If Nathan Grayson doesn’t care about the risk of pregnancy, who am I to worry about it? When I admitted that I was a slut for him, I meant it. “So this isn’t over yet?” I say before I can think better of it.
He leans in, caging me. “Do you want it to be over, little bird?”
Eyes wide, I shake my head and mumble no into his palm.
“Good. You better not ignore me ever again, yeah? Not in front of Sophie or anybody.”
When I nod, he frowns. “I understand you might not want her to know, but if you ignore me again, I will fuck you in front of everyone. So they know this pussy is mine.”
To emphasize it, he cups me, one long finger delving beneath my folds, the flimsy thong pushed to the side.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you, Daddy—for misunderstanding,” I whisper, shifting his palm from my mouth. I’m so turned on by that outrageous declaration that wetness gushes from me. My thong is soaked. “Now, may I go to my knees and get a taste of you? That way, you won’t hurt me and I still get to please you.” I know I’m pushing my luck, but I don’t want him to leave. I don’t care Sophie’s across the corridor, that she might hear. I don’t care how desperate I sound. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse while I suck you off.”
“No,” he says, hustling me back toward the bed.
“Why not?” I whine.
“Because you’re still new to this and I don’t trust myself.” His curse lands harder for how softly muttered it is. “Get in the bed and keep quiet. Unless you’re ready to tell your best friend about deepthroating her dad.”
The arrogance in his tone, the crudeness of his words, sends shivers down my spine. Doesn’t he care if Sophie finds out?What if she hates me for crossing so many lines in my madness for him?
My thoughts spiral so badly it’s only when I’m on the bed, looking up at his tight face, that I realize he’s thrown me onto it. With my head hanging at the edge.
The air crackles. I love that he has expectations of me now. That he isn’t letting me hide.
He leans down, mouth at my pulse, teeth grazing before he drags at my neckline so roughly it tears, baring me. My breath catches, equal parts shock and anticipation.
He pushes the hem of my dress upward, exposing me to his devouring gaze. His voice is a dark promise. “You can have a taste, but only if you keep quiet.”
I nod, heart hammering. His hand loosens from my mouth. He makes short work of his zipper and pushes his trousers and boxers down. “Open up.”
I do. He taps the head against my lips first, then eases inside. Careful but commanding, giving me just enough to reel from his thickness. The taste is all him—salt, skin, male heat—overwhelming my senses.
He praises me in a hushed rasp, tells me I’m doing well, how proud he is that I’m holding it together with his daughter and my best friend down the hall. The words make my stomach twist, my pulse skitter.
Then he bends closer, one hand tracing over my core in slow, merciless circles. A moan escapes. His palm is instantly back over my mouth even as he stuffs his cock inside. “Much harder to keep quiet now, isn’t it, little bird?”
My thighs tremble as he keeps at me, relentless, every stroke calculated to unravel me. I dig my nails into his stomach, half protest, half plea. He only grins, adjusts my head over the edge so I can take more of him, deeper. My throat protests once, agag rising—and he pulls back just enough, his other hand never ceasing its rhythm below.
The double assault leaves me undone, the coil of pleasure winding too tight. I pull back to gasp for air, to warn him, but he’s already watching me with that molten stare. “Do you want my cum, baby girl, painting your skin?” he asks, fingers still working me into frenzy.
“Yes, Daddy,” I manage, hoarse, breaking.
His movements grow sharper, faster, until the world blurs. Release rips through me, and at the same time, he groans low, spraying ropes of white-hot cum against my neck and breasts, marking me.
Before I can breathe, he leans down and kisses me, mouth hot and insistent. Then he pulls at a string of cum and paints my lower lip with it. I lick it off and his eyes blaze. “Next time, you will swallow it all like a good girl.”
