“Like that, sweetheart,” he murmured.
I kept at it, slow at first, then bolder, wrapping my lips around the head and swirling my tongue the way I remembered him doing to me. The taste was earthy, salty, and not delicious, but I loved the taste because it was his.
“That’s it. Wet it all the way down and move your hands up and down where your mouth can’t reach. I’m not opposed to your gently touching my balls.”
I smiled against his hardness at his instructions. His deep groans made my pussy clench when my fingers made their way across his tightening balls. His head was back, and his beautiful face was lost in a look of pure bliss. I relaxed my throat as much as I could and took him deeper until the head of his cock hit my throat. My tongue moved in a sucking motion as I tried to swallow him down, letting my hands pump the base, and was rewarded by the low, helpless groan he let out.
“Fuuuck, you’re a quick study,” he said, voice strained.
I couldn’t help but smile around him. I looked up, searching for his eyes, and found them glassy and dark, fixed on my face like I was the only thing in the universe.
He let me keep going for a long, glorious minute, but then he squeezed my shoulder and gently pulled me up.
“Come here,” he said, voice gone gravel. He sat up, grabbed my hips, and hauled me onto his lap like I weighed nothing at all. I straddled him, knees on either side of his waist, and the feel of his cock hard against my slick, aching center almost made me come right then and there.
He pushed my t-shirt up and over my head, baring my breasts, and bent to take one in his mouth, sucking until I moaned. His hands were everywhere—up my back, down to cup my ass, then in my hair, tilting my head so he could kiss me, open and deep.
I ground down against him, desperate, and he lined himself up and slid inside, slow and careful, like he was savoring every inch. The stretch was intense, but there was no pain this time, just a delicious fullness that made my toes curl.
He held still, buried balls deep, and stroked my spine with his palm. “You good?”
“So good,” I whispered, rocking my hips.
He thrust up, slow and controlled, letting me set the pace. I rode him, leaning back to brace my hands on his knees, and watched his eyes as I took him deeper, harder. He bit his lip, jaw clenched, but his hands were gentle on my hips, guiding, holding, never taking.
“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he said, voice thick.
I felt the orgasm building; the pressure coiling in my belly, and I chased it, moving faster, grinding down on him until the world blurred at the edges. He knew, he always knew, and reached between us, rubbing his thumb over my clit in tight, perfect circles.
I broke apart with a cry, body clenching around him, and he followed, pulling me down so hard I thought we might fuse together. He came with a grunt, arms wrapped tight around me, and for a long, endless moment, neither of us moved.
After, he held me close, rocking me gently in his lap, his breath in my hair. “That was a hell of a way to wake up, Sunshine.”
I laughed, giddy and a little dazed. “Best morning ever.”
He cupped my chin, kissed me again, softer now, lingering like he didn’t want to let go. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he said, lips brushing my cheek.
“That’s me Aspen Waters, dangerous newly curious sex machine,” I giggled.
He pulled me into his chest, and we lay back together, arms and legs tangled, hearts pounding in the hush before sunrise.
There was no hurry now. No shame. No doubt.
Just the heat of his skin, the promise of the day ahead, and the bright, impossible hope that maybe I’d finally found the place where I belonged.
The next time I surfaced, the sun was a pale, smudgy smear behind the frosted glass above the shower. I could hear the pipes ticking as they came alive, and then the hiss of water hitting tile. I blinked sleep out of my eyes and realized Papa was already up, his side of the bed still warm, the sheets rucked halfway to the floor. I stretched, luxuriating in the ache between my legs and the floaty, sated feeling that made every nerve in my body tingle.
The bathroom was attached to the bedroom—a big, open space with stone floors and a bench built right into the wall. When I padded in, he was standing under the spray, head tilted back, water streaming down over his shoulders and chest. Steam curled in the air and beaded on every mirror. The sight of him naked, all muscle and strength, but completely at ease, made my knees a little wobbly.
He caught me staring in the mirror and grinned, then reached out a hand. “C’mere, Sunshine.”
I hesitated, a little shy again, but the air was so warm and he looked so inviting that I stepped right in, letting the heat and the closeness wash over me. He pulled me gently into the spray, turning me until my back pressed against his chest. His hands went straight to my hair, gathering it up and wringing out the tangles with more patience than I would’ve believed possible.
He twisted my hair into a messy bun and secured it with a black elastic he’d produced from somewhere—I didn’t even ask—and then set about soaping me down, shoulders to toes, nevermissing a spot. He washed himself too, but fast, like he didn’t want to waste a second that could be spent on me.
When he was satisfied we were both clean, he shut off the water and reached for a towel—thick, soft, and the color of fresh cream. He wrapped it around me and lifted me out of the shower as if I weighed nothing, holding me tight to his chest.
“I could get used to this,” he said, shoulders dry. “Having you here.”
