My pulse is loud as my restraint begins to fray. Her lips part under mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to this single, perfect point of contact. The kiss is slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the frantic energy that crackled between us just moments ago. It’s a conversation without words. I pour every ounce of restraint I have into it, savoring the taste of her, the warmth of her breath, and the way her hands come to rest on my chest, settling over my racing heart. Tension coils in my own body, a desperate, primal urge to let go, to take her, but I hold it back. This moment is too important. I pull back enough to look at her, dragging my thumb in a slow, steady path along her cheekbone.
“Tell Daddy you want this.” My voice is a low, rough whisper. It’s not a demand, but a plea. A final check of consent before handing over the last shred of my control. My eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt, but I find only that same unwavering certainty and a fire that burns just for me. I need to hear the words, though. I need her to seal this choice with her own voice, completely and without reservation. “Tell me.”
Lying on the bed with Jagger hovering over me, the world condenses until there is nothing but this suspended moment. Just the two of us on this bed. I breathe in the masculine, woodsy scent of him as his palm cradles my cheek.
This is the point of no return. Not the kiss, not the invitation to take me to bed, butthis. The stillness before the storm, the last chance to retreat into the safe, sterile walls I’ve so carefully built around myself. I know I shouldn’t. Every instinct honed by years of self-preservation screams at me to pull back, to make a joke, and to create distance. But I don’t want to. For the first time in a long time, the desire to feel outweighs the fear of getting hurt.
His breath is warm and steady, a stark contrast to the frantic hummingbird beat of my own heart. “Yes,” I pant, needing his lips back on mine. After lifting my hands from his shoulders, my fingers trace the line of his collarbones before I link them behind his neck. I pull him down, closing thelast inch of space between us, as I whisper against his lips, “I want this, Daddy.”
Jagger’s weight shifts as he moves. He settles between my thighs, braced on his elbows to keep from crushing me, and the delicious friction of his body against mine sends a shiver through me. The kiss that follows is nothing like the others. His mouth claims mine with a possessive certainty that makes my toes curl. There is no hesitation, only a deep, thorough exploration, leaving me breathless and clinging to him. His tongue slides against mine in a slow, deliberate dance. It stokes a fire low in my belly, turning it from a flicker into a roaring blaze. I arch into him, silently pleading for more. He answers with a low groan that vibrates through his chest and into mine.
My hands roam the broad expanse of his back, feeling the shift of muscles beneath his shirt. I want it off so I can feel his skin against mine. My fingers fumble to gather the fabric, tugging it upward. He gets the message instantly, breaking our kiss just long enough to grab the shirt at the nape of his neck, rip it over his head, and toss it to the floor.
The sight of him steals the air from my lungs—all lean muscle and solid strength. His torso is etched with scars, a faint silver line cuts beneath his collarbone, and another marks the hard plane of his stomach. They are covered and surrounded by the same colorful ink that bleeds up and down his toned forearms. My hands are back on him before I can think, tracing the lines of his abdomen and enjoying the heat radiating from his skin. He shudders under my touch, his eyes fluttering for a second. When they open again, they’re not just dark. They aredeep, like I could fall into them and never find my way out.
“Yourturn,” he teases, his voice rough. Jagger sits back on his heels as his hands find the hem of my shirt. He doesn’t just pull it off. He watches my face as his knuckles brush against my sides, dragging the fabric slowly up my torso. His gaze is adoring, almost worshipful, and it makes me feel beautiful in a way I haven’t in years. I arch my back and lift my arms, letting him pull the shirt over my head. He throws it haphazardly to the floor, and it lands beside his.
The cool air from the air conditioner hits my skin, and my nipples pebble instantly through the thin lace of my bra. His gaze drops, darkening further. He reaches out and brushes his thumb over one through the sheer fabric. The jolt of pleasure is sharp and immediate, and I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
“Sensitive,” he notes, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He does it again, with a little more pressure, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. Jagger leans down, replacing his thumb with his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue through the lace is exquisite torture. He laps at me slowly, teasing, before his teeth close gently around the tender nub. A choked sound escapes my throat, my hands flying to his hair, holding him to me. He spends an eternity toying with my right nipple, then gives the same meticulous, agonizing attention to the other. By the time he’s done, I’m writhing beneath him, a mess of need and desperation.
After snaking his hand around my back, a well-practiced flick of his fingers releases the clasp of my bra. He slides the straps down my arms, baring me to his gaze of pure, unadulterated hunger. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he croons, his voice thick with emotion, before he places hismouth against mine again. Skin to skin, the sensation is overwhelming as he sucks, licks, and nips at my breasts and neck.
His hand slides between us and down my stomach, popping the button on my jeans. I lift my hips, helping him, needing him to keep going. He peels the denim and my underwear down my legs in tandem until I’m completely naked beneath him. Sitting back, his eyes sweep from my flushed face to my trembling thighs. The intensity of his focus should make me self-conscious, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel powerful. Desired.Seen.
He climbs from the bed and sheds his own jeans and boxers in one quick movement. My breath catches at the sight. He is magnificent. Hard and ready, his erection juts out from a thatch of trimmed, dark hair. It is thick and long, causing a primal need to shoot through me.I want him… every inch of him.He reaches out, his thumb brushing over my lower lip, both tender and possessive. “Tell me something,” he insists in a low rumble that vibrates through me. “Do you have toys?”
The question catches me completely off guard. My first instinct is to lie, but the way he’s looking at me—so unashamedly curious—makes me want to be honest. “I… Yes,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “In the nightstand.”
“Do you need them?” he asks, and a familiar wave of self-consciousness washes over me. Most men see them as a challenge to their fragile ego, a sign they aren’t enough. But Jagger doesn’t look threatened or insulted. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips, as though he can read my insecurity. “Doc, I am more than confident Ican make you come. But I wantyouto be equally as assured.”
Before I can even form a response, he pads silently to the bedside table. His eyes don’t leave mine as he pulls open the top drawer. He rummages for a second, his expression thoughtful as he selects the pink silicone wand from the selection of options. “Show me,” he commands softly, placing it into my hand as he climbs onto the bed with a grace that contradicts his size. “Show me how you like it.”
He leans down and kisses me again. A deep kiss that steals my ability to process what he’s asking. His hand trails down my body and between my thighs before sliding through my wet pussy. He groans against my mouth as he slips a finger inside me with ease. Adding another, he curls them to the perfect spot that leaves me moaning into his chest.
“Jagger,” I gasp, my hips bucking against his hand.
“Show me,” he commands again, peppering the words across my skin while wrapping his free hand around mine on the wand. I press the button to switch it on, cycling it to the deep, thudding vibration I prefer. A low, steady hum fills the room, and he takes it from me. He drags it over my breasts and down my stomach while my whole body clenches in anticipation.
With his fingers still working inside me, he presses the vibrating wand to my clit. The curl of his fingers and the intensity on my clit quickly coil tight in my belly. He drags the head along my clit, and the vibrations shoot through me like lightning. My back bows off the bed, and a scream tears from my throat as I come. He thrusts harder while working the wand in maddening circles, causing wave after wave ofecstasy to crash over me. It’s overwhelming, and just when I think I can’t take anymore he removes the wand and slowly slides his fingers from inside me.
As I come down from my high, he positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against me. Still teasingly working the vibrator against my clit again, he tortures me with shallow, incomplete thrusts that drive me insane. “Please,” I beg, not even sure what I’m begging for.More? Less? For it to stop? For it to never end?
“Look at me,” he instructs. I force my eyes open, meeting his tender blue ones. “I want to see you when I make you mine.” He pushes forward, sinking into me in one slow thrust. He’s big, and the stretch is otherworldly. A sweet ache that mixes perfectly with the relentless vibrations at my clit. He fills me completely before pausing for a moment. When he moves, his strokes are slow and deep, building a rhythm that mirrors the hum of the vibrator. The dual sensations—the deep, full-body pleasure of him inside me and the sharp, focused stimulation on my clit—are almost too much to process. It’s a perfect, devastating storm.
He picks up his pace, each thrust becoming harder and more demanding. The bed creaks beneath us, mingling with the sounds of our bodies meeting, the buzz of the vibrator, my ragged breaths, and his low grunts of exertion.It’s a symphony of ecstasy.
His rhythm changes again, becoming more deliberate and forceful. He drives into me, each thrust hitting a place so deep inside me it feels like he’s imprinting himself on my soul. I come again and again, unfettered cries of pleasure flying over my lips until I am a sweaty, spent mess.
“Fuck, Doc,” he groans, strained and rough. “You feel so good. So fucking tight.” He punctuates the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes me cry out. “Your sweet little pussy is squeezing me so viciously, practically begging me to fill you.”
His words—filthy and raw—catch me completely off guard. No man has ever spoken to me like that. A flicker of surprise, maybe even shock, momentarily cuts through the haze of pleasure. But it is instantly replaced by a surge of heat. A dark, thrilling current that makes my inner walls clench around him again.I like it.I like his possessiveness and the crude, primal edge of his desire. I like the thought of him wanting to claim me, to mark me as his.
He notices the shift in my expression and the way my body eagerly responds to his dirty talk. It causes a slow, dangerous smile to spread across his face. He leans down, his lips brushing my ear as he wickedly whispers, “You like that? Do you want to be filled?” He thrusts hard again, and I can only moan in response. “Then come for me again. Come until you can’t deny that you’re mine. Come until you force me to make your pussy a fucking mess.”
His command shatters the last thread of my control. The orgasm that tears through me is violent. It’s not just a wave; it’s a fucking tsunami. “Oh, God,” I scream, a raw, broken sound as my body convulses, my muscles clamping down on him like a vise. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain. The white-hot explosion behind my eyes leaves me numb to everything but the feeling of him and the relentless hum of the toy torturously buzzing on my over-sensitive clit. He switches off the vibrator—granting me a much-needed reprieve—and tosses itaside.
“Not God, Doc,” he grits out as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. “If you’re going to scream someone’s name when you come, it better be mine or Daddy.”
