So when she pushes, I push back harder. And we both end up exactly where we need to be.
Catrina's somewhere in the venue with Stanley and Ruby, and isn't that a mindfuck? My wife's mother, sober three years now, babysitting our older two while I count down the minutes until I can bury myself inside her daughter.
After that day when she walked in on us, she didn't speak to us for six months. Except for making sure I paid for her new house and put her on a monthly allowance.
But time does strange things. She watched me hold Winona through three pregnancies, watched our son reach for me when he was scared, watched her daughter bloom into something radiant under my care. And eventually she stopped fighting it. Now she helps manage some of the accounting, runs a charity for low-income widows, and teaches Stanley to bake biscuits. I try not to think too hard about how fucking weird our family tree looks.
The set ends. Winona takes her bows, blows her kisses, and then she's bouncing toward me with her face flushed and her chest heaving.
And, God... God, I need her so badly my teeth ache.
"Daddy." She tucks herself against my free side, careful of Stella, pressing her sweaty forehead to my jaw. "How was I?"
How was she? Like she doesn't know she just brought twenty thousand people to their feet. Like she can't feel my cock throbbing against her hip.
"Nanny's meeting us at the hotel." I grip the back of herneck, feel her shiver. "Your mom's got the other two. And you've got about fifteen minutes before I stop being civilized."
She looks up at me with those eyes. The same ones that used to watch me while I read her bedtime stories, the same ones that rolled back in her head the first time I put my mouth on that perfect pink clit.
And she smiles.
"Then we better hurry."
The car ride is torture. The elevator is worse. By the time I get her inside the penthouse, I'm shaking with it, stripping that silver thing off her while she laughs, gasping and taunting me with those pouty lips and wide eyes.
I put her on the bed. Spread her open. Drop to my knees. Because I've been thinking about the taste of her for six straight hours, and I refuse to wait another second.
"Daddy," she moans, fingers twisting in my hair. "Daddy, please—"
I lick into her, and her back arches off the mattress. Still so sweet. Still mine in every way. This girl I raised, this woman I worship, this wife who gave me three children and a life I never deserved.
I sold the construction and cement business when it became clear my wife’s career needed me full-time. Money was never a problem before, but now, besides investing and making sure we give back to a variety of charities, I know that we and our children—and their children when the time comes—will never want for anything.
Although they will all learn what hard work means.That’s what saved me and Stan, and I used to think as a kid that if only life had handed me everything on a silver platter, it would all be so much better.
But it’s not true. Bert taught me that effort equals reward. There has to be a balance. I plan to give my kids the family life I never had. I put my entire being into doing what’s right for my wife and my kids. It’s the purpose I was searching for for so long.
Her thighs clamp around my ears, and I drink her down, and when she comes, I'm right there with her, grinding against the mattress like a fucking animal, because that's what she reduces me to.
What she's always reduced me to.
I crawl up her body and push inside. I watch her face as she stretches around me, that little wince melting into pleasure the way it always does.
"I love you," she breathes.
"I know, baby." I start to move. "I know."
“It’s still too big, Daddy,” she whines, that playful twinkle in her eyes.
“It’s okay, just take it for me. Be my big girl and do your job right.”
Her moans fill the suite until we're both hoarse, until the sun threatens the horizon, until I've emptied myself inside her so many times I've lost count.
And still I want more.
I'll always want more.
Forever.
