“No, spell it out.” he kissed under my ear.
I groaned, frustrated and wanting. He kept that lazy, torturous rhythm.
“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”
“Faster,” I whispered.
He hummed like he was thinking.
“No,”
My stomach dropped. “Vince?—”
“Try again.”
My pulse tripped over itself. “Deeper.”
“Mm.” Another slow thrust. “Pretty please what?”
Heat hit my cheeks. “Pretty please, Daddy.”
His control snapped. “Fuck—baby?—”
He grabbed my hips, pulled me back hard, and gave me exactly what I’d begged for, deep, punishing strokes that made my breath break on every movement.
“You begged for this pace. Now you take all of it. Every. Single. Inch.” he rasped into my neck.
A cry tore out of me.
“That’s it. Good girl. Daddy’s good girl. Ruining me.”
His rhythm broke into something feral. He pulled me up, body folding against his, and shifted his stance, lifting my hips higher to angle me exactly how he wanted.
“Baby—”
I already felt myself slipping. Head going light. Ears ringing. That warm sliding sensation pulling me inward and downward all at once.
Subspace. He felt it happen, the way my arms went soft, my hips trembled.
“Slow. Ease into it. Daddy’s right here.”
But I shook my head. “Don’t—stop?—”
His jaw clenched, and his grip tightened. “Baby, if I give you that pace now, you’re gone.”
“I want to be gone,” I breathed. “With you.”
He braced one foot on the ground, lifted my hips, and drove into me deeper than before, slow at first, then exactly the rhythm I’d begged for.
Fast. Deep. Devastating. I sobbed out a sound I didn’t recognise.
“Fuck—baby?—”
He held nothing back. My body shook around him. The couch creaked under us. His hands were everywhere, hips, waist, ribs, covering, guiding, claiming.
“Baby—fuck—Daddy’s—close?—”
His hand slid to the back of my thigh, hauling me into him one last time. He finished with a low, broken sound, heat flooding inside me again.
