"Yes," I admitted, past shame, past anything but need. "Please—"
"Please what?" His finger followed the edge of elastic down, between my thighs but not where I needed. Just tracing that border between fabric and skin, making me shake with how much I wanted him to push past it.
"I don't know." The honesty broke from me in a rush. "I just—I need—"
"I know what you need." His hand lifted from my skin, and I actually whined at the loss. "But we're not done yet, little bird. Not even close."
The promise in those words—dark and certain—made my whole body clench. I was already so worked up that each breath felt like it might tip me over some invisible edge. How much more could there be? How much more could I take?
"Color?" he asked, and the check-in grounded me slightly.
"Green," I managed. "Still green."
"Good." His hand smoothed over my heated skin once more, reacquainting itself with the warmth he'd created. "Because now we're going to see how much you can really take."
The words should have frightened me. Instead, they made me wetter, made me arch my back slightly to present myself better, made me forget everything except the need coursing through my veins like electricity.
His hand lifted again, and I held my breath.
This time, when it came down, it was harder. Not painful exactly—or rather, it was painful, but the pain immediately transformed into something else, something that made my nerve endings sing and my core clench and my breath come in desperate gasps.
"Eleven," I sobbed. "Thank you, Daddy."
"Good girl," he murmured, and those two words almost undid me completely. "Keep counting. Show me how good you can be."
The praise washed over me like warm water, made me want to be good, be perfect, be everything he needed me to be. When his hand came down again, I welcomed it.
"Twelve—thank you, Daddy."
The rhythm resumed, faster now, building toward something I couldn't quite name. Each strike sent sparks through my nervous system. Each impact made the ache between my thighs worse and better simultaneously. I was grinding against his thigh now without meaning to, seeking pressure, seeking release, seeking something to ease the desperation that had taken over every cell in my body.
And underneath my hip, I could feel him—hard and thick beneath his pants, his arousal as evident as mine. The knowledge that this was affecting him too, that he wanted me as desperately as I wanted him, made me bold.
I gasped, deliberately rolling my hips so I pressed against his erection. "I like that, Daddy."
His hand stilled for a moment, and I heard his breath catch. When he spoke, his voice had gone rough, control fraying at the edges.
"Careful, little bird. You're playing with fire."
"Maybe I want to burn," I whispered.
The sound he made—half growl, half laugh—sent shivers through me. His hand came down harder, making me cry out.
I was climbing toward something, building toward a peak I couldn't quite see but could feel approaching like a storm. Every strike pushed me higher. Every impact sent me spiraling further out of control.
"That's it," he said, voice thick with want. "Let go. Stop fighting it."
As if I could fight anything anymore. As if I was anything but sensation and need and the desperate hope that he'd never stop.
The strikes came harder now, faster, building a rhythm that my body started to anticipate, started to crave like oxygen. Fifteen landed on my right cheek with enough force to jolt me forward, and the friction of my clit against his thigh made me see stars.
Sixteen came before I'd finished speaking, making my words break into a moan. The pain had transformed completely now—still sharp, still stinging, but immediately converting into pleasure that spread through my body like liquid fire.
"Sixteen—oh god—thank you—Daddy—"
Seventeen made me cry out, the sound raw and desperate, torn from somewhere deep in my chest. I was grinding against his thigh openly now, shameless in my need, chasing something that felt impossible but inevitable.
My count was becoming ragged, words tumbling together, broken by gasps and whimpers I couldn't control. Every impact sent shockwaves through my core. Every strike pushed me higher, further from any semblance of control or dignity.
