“Yes, Daddy.”
He kissed my shoulder. “Such, a good girl for me.”
I exhaled shakily. He cooked like that, body pressed to mine, cock inside me, hips moving in a slow claiming rhythm that never let me forget exactly who I belonged to.
Every time I whimpered, he gave me a few agonizingly gentle thrusts.
Every time my breath hitched, he pressed a kiss to my jaw.
Halfway through searing the steak, my whole body tightened.
“Daddy…” I whispered.
He set the tongs down immediately. “Needy?”
I nodded, breath shaking. I was so turned on it was ridiculous. He gave me one slow thrust. That felt like a hot wave crashing through my stomach.
HIs hand slid down my back, pressing me closer to him.
“Baby…” he murmured against my neck. “Stop rocking.”
It was barely a tilt of my hips. But every tie I did, his jaw tensed. I felt him fighting to stay focused.
“You’ll get another load if you keep doing that. And Daddy’s trying to cook for you.”
The stupidest, softest sound escaped me. I tried to swallow it.
“Don’t hold it. I want your sounds. All of them.”
This time, he rolled his hips and the moan spilled out before I could swallow it. He made a low, possessive noise in my ear.
“Fuck, you sound sweet when you’re full.”
My fingers tightened on the counter edge.
He chuckled softly. “Dinner can wait.”
Thank. God.
Before I could speak, he lifted me, hands under my thighs, body still locked inside mine, and carried me across the room. His breath was steady; his control wasn’t.
The couch caught the back of my legs. He eased me down, and the second my spine touched the cushions, he leaned over me, mouth at my jaw.
“Arms up. Over the back of the couch. Hold on to something, angel.”
I reached back, gripping the top edge. My heart hammered so loud I felt it in my teeth.
“Quick, cause that dinner smells amazing and you cooked it for us and that’s— honestly— the sweetest thing—” I said, slightly breathless as I gripped the edge of the coach.
He laughed. “You’re adorable when you try to be practical,” he adjusted his hips against mine, slow enough to make my breath catch. “But this—” he thrust, deeper, “—is your fault. For being so fucking gorgeous.”
Heat exploded through me.
“Vince, I need?—”
“What do you need?” he asked, feigning innocence, moving just enough to drive me insane. “Tell me what you’re asking Daddy for.”
“You know,” I half-whined, pushing back against him despite how slow he kept it. “You know the pace I need.”
