“Daddy,” I whisper. Barely.
He crushes me with another kiss. “Good fucking girl,” he groans, his warm breath washes over me. “That’s exactly what Daddy needed to hear. Now, you’d better invite me inside. Because if anybody else sees me touching or kissing you, I’ll have to break their fuckin’ necks.”
He squeezes down on my leg. His touch scorches through my leggings, making me ache all over.
I know this is wrong. But it feels so, so right.
“Radomir,” I murmur. “Would you like to see my room?”
He smirks. His eyes burn with everything he’s holding back.
“Fuck yes,” he snarls.
5
RADOMIR
Ishake all over as she leads me into her apartment. She turns with a cute awkwardness, apologizing for the mess. But I don’t see any mess, just a few magazines and a cup resting on a coaster.
I shut the door behind us, then turn and grab those thick, tempting hips. She gasps as I pull her into my arms again.
“Do you need Daddy to take the lead?” I moan in her ear, my shaft grows even more solid somehow, just by being near her. A river of precum leaks out, hot, no, boiling. She spins in my arms, looks up with wide, excited eyes. She nods slowly.
“Tell me,” I demand. “Come on, say it all.”
She licks her lips as though she’s shy, like she’s testing out a new aspect of our lust, ofherlust. Calling me Daddy is other-world different to eye-fucking each other while fixing her car. That’s for damn sure.
“I want Daddy to take the lead.”
I can’t stop myself anymore. I wrap my arms around her and lift her up. She wraps her thick legs around me, instinctively. I crush my lips to hers, but pause the kiss just long enough to navigate.
“I don’t have to guess which room is yours,” I groan, and nod to the door covered with Polaroids.
She stares up with a deep, gorgeous red flush on her cheeks. I nudge it open with my foot, gently lay her down on the half-made bed. There are photos all over the walls.
Fuck. There’s a photo of her dad. Malcolm, the man I killed. As if I need to be reminded how fucked-up this is. All right, I get it. But please, not right now.
The trust and nervous expectation in her innocent eyes are too addictive. She leans up on her elbows, breathy, her neck reddens even more. Hinting, I hope, at the same redness covering her tits. And her engorged pussy lips.
Should I tell her now? Before this goes too far. Before I can’t stop it.
Instead, I kneel at the edge of the bed and grab her leggings. She shifts and murmurs, rolls and lifts her butt when I grab her leggings and underwear in the same greedy handful.
With every inch I peel her clothing down her thighs, and over her knees, I feel more and more damned. This feels like astraight-to-hellactivity. But, there’s no going back when I sit on my haunches and stare in savage hunger at her exposed, neatly trimmed pussy. Just an arm’s length away. Her lips are big, swollen with lust. Her clit peeks out, hooded and shy but engorged. Her hole is fucking drenched, leaking down toward her puckered asshole.
“Is… something wrong?” she murmurs.
I slide my hands up her legs.
“Say it, like a good girl, please. Every. Damn. Time.”
“Duh-Daddy?” she whimpers. “Is something wrong…Daddy?”
“I’m just admiring your cute, perfectly wet pussy,” I growl. Sliding my hands higher and higher up her juicy legs. “I’m just imagining what my soaked little girl will taste like. You’re so wet. Is it normal for Daddy’s little girl to get this wet?”
She gasps.
For a second, I think maybe I’ve taken the roleplay too far. Hell, I have. I did, the second I called myself Daddy, the father figure I took from her. But I can’t stop—and she fucking loves it. I can feel it. I can see it.
