I don’t need to be told twice.
I withdraw almost completely before driving back into her, setting a pace that’s just shy of punishing. Each thrust pushes a small sound from her throat, and the sounds she’s making are better than anything I’ve ever heard.
She pushes back to meet each thrust, matching my rhythm, taking everything I give her and asking for more.
“So good,” I praise, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair. “Taking Daddy’s cock so well.”
I increase my pace, my grip on her hip tightening to the point that I know there will be bruises tomorrow.
“Your pussy feels amazing,” I tell her. “So fucking tight. So perfect for me.”
I reach around with my free hand, finding her clit and circling it in time with my thrusts. She cries out, her internal muscles clenching around me in a way that nearly makes me lose control.
“That’s it,” I encourage, feeling her begin to build toward another peak. “Let Daddy make you come again. Let me feel that sweet pussy squeeze my cock.”
Her movements become more desperate, more erratic, as she chases her release. I can tell she’s close, so close, but needs something more to push her over the edge.
Without breaking rhythm, I withdraw my hand from her clit and bring it back to her ass, circling her entrance with my middle finger before pressing inside again, just as I did with my tongue.
That does it.
She comes with a wail that might be my name, might be “Daddy,” might be nothing coherent at all. Her pussy clamps down on my cock like a vise, pulsing and squeezing with an intensity that tears my own orgasm from me before I’m ready.
“Fuck, Nola,” I manage as pleasure rips through me. I drive into her one final time, as deep as I can go, and empty myself inside her with a groan.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Neither of us can. We remain frozen in that position, her bent over my bed, me buried inside her, both of us panting and trembling with the aftershocks of release.
My mind is blessedly blank, swept clean of all the anger and fear that drove me to this point. There’s only this moment, this connection, this woman beneath me who’s somehow crawled under my skin in less than forty-eight hours.
Slowly, I withdraw from her body, watching with satisfaction as a trickle of my release follows.
Mine. Marked inside and out.
I help her onto the bed, arranging her body against the pillows before collapsing beside her. We lie there in silence, both catching our breath, sweat cooling on our skin in the climate-controlled air of my bedroom.
When I can move again, I roll onto my side to look at her. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed with exertion and pleasure. She looks peaceful. Satisfied. Beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache with something I don’t want to name.
My gaze travels lower, to the marks my hands have left on her body. Fingerprints on her hip, the pink flush still visible on her ass. Evidence of my loss of control. Of my anger and fear transformed into something else, something sexual and consuming.
Guilt flickers at the edges of my thoughts. I was too rough. Too demanding. Took advantage of her vulnerability, her need to please me.
But then her eyes open, meeting mine with a clarity that silences the guilt. There’s no regret in her gaze. No fear. No judgment.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice softer than I intended, almost tender.
She smiles, a small, satisfied curve of her lips. “More than okay.”
I reach out to trace the marks on her hip with gentle fingers. “I was too rough. I’m?—“
“Don’t,” she interrupts, placing her hand over mine. “Don’t apologize. I wanted it. All of it.”
I search her face for any sign of deception, any hint that she’s just saying what she thinks I want to hear. But there’s only honesty in her eyes, only certainty.
“I was so scared,” I admit, the words escaping before I can stop them. “When I couldn’t find you. When no one knew where you were.”
She shifts closer, her hand coming up to touch my face with unexpected tenderness. “I really am sorry. I didn’t think... I didn’t understand what it would do to you.”
I turn my face into her palm, pressing a kiss to the center of it, a gesture so intimate, so unlike me, that I barely recognize myself in this moment.
