"One more time, sweetheart," he groans, his rhythm starting to falter. "Come with Daddy."
I detonate in two seconds.
But this orgasm is somehow different from the others—deeper, fuller, flowing through me in unending waves. My inner walls clench around him and he roars into the night like an animal.
“Sloane…” he groans afterward, his whole body shuddering with the force of it, his seed pouring into me.
He continues to casually thrust into me as he sits up a bit, breathing hard, sweaty, and completely destroyed.
He doesn't pull out immediately. Instead, he stays inside me, pressing kisses to every part of my face.
"You okay, baby?" he asks softly. "Was that too much?"
I laugh, the sound breathless and a little giddy. "No, Daddy…you're perfect."
"Far from it." He finally pulls out, and I whimper at the loss of him. He brushes the hair from my face, his touch achingly soft. "Stay right here. Don't move."
He disappears, and I hear him moving around in my kitchen. A drawer opens. The water runs. But I'm still too tired to sit up yet and see what he's doing.
He returns with a glass of water, a warm damp cloth, and ice wrapped in a kitchen towel.
And just like that, he's back to taking care of me.
"Drink," he says, pressing the glass into my hand.
I sit up enough so I can drink, and while I do Ike gently cleans me up with the cloth. The care he takes—the thoroughness, the tenderness—makes my throat tight with emotion.
Then he lifts my leg and places the ice pack on my knee.
"Ike, I'm fine.“
He gives me a look. That look. The one that brooks no argument.
I shut up.
"You were on your feet too much today," he says, adjusting the ice pack. "This needs attention. And since you won't take care of it yourself, I'll do it for you."
I should probably be annoyed at being bossed around. Instead, I feel like I might cry.
He finds the throw blanket draped over the back of my armchair and wraps me up in it, then settles onto the couch and pulls me against his chest. I burrow into him, surrounded by his warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
We lie there in silence for a while. I'm drowsy, warm, and completely content in a way I've never been before.
“I’m going to buy you a new couch,” he says eventually. “We destroyed this one.”
I chuckle. “Maybe.” I kiss his neck. "Stay with me tonight."
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Wasn't planning on leaving, sweetheart. Unless you told me to go."
"I want you here."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Good. Because I've got tomorrow off. I'm planning to sleep in and then spend the whole day spoiling my little girl."
My heart squeezes at the promise in those words. At the future they imply.
Will there ever be another man who makes me feel this way?
I don't think so.
