I want him awake for this.
"You know what you're doing to me right now?" I say against her hair. Low. Just for her, except nothing in this room is just for her right now. That's the point.
"Yes," she breathes.
"Tell me."
Her hands tighten in my shirt. "You want to remind him," she says. "What's yours."
I pull back just enough to look at her face. She's not afraid. She's — God, she's luminous. Cheeks flushed, eyes soft and dark, the corner of her mouth doing that thing that has been ruining me since before I had any right to let it.
"You okay with that?" I ask. I will always ask.
"Daddy." Her hands slide up my chest, around my neck. She tips up onto her toes and puts her mouth against my jaw. "I've been yours since the first night you walked into Club Echo and looked at me like that. Actually, a long time before that." Her lips brush my ear. "Show him who you are to me."
The sound that comes out of me is not civilized.
Let him look.
"Still mine?" I murmur against her skin.
"Still yours," she says, and the steadiness in it, the certainty, after everything this man put her through tonight — it wrecks me completely.
Elodie’s fingers grip my thigh through fabric as she strokes me, her breath hot against my lips, but when we hit the desk, I break contact and whirl her around. Press her forehead to the polished oak surface, tug down my zipper while watching her dance instructor linger in the corner—still a threat even now. Her little hips sway, ass high under that sheer dress. “Yes, Rye,” she breathes.
I kick her feet apart with my boot, dragging her tights down her legs, ripping off the little pink ballet slippers leaving her naked under that tutu that’s been driving me crazy for more years than I should admit.
She smiles, those round cheeks offering herself like a ripe peach begging to be plucked.
Time to mark what’s mine. I turn her again, back to the mirror, and she wraps her legs around me when I lift her and the rest of the world narrows down to this. Her mouth. Her hands in my hair, pulling, like she can't get close enough. The small soundsshe makes against my lips that are mine, have always been mine, will be mine after every room like this one is a distant memory.
Her scent hits me, my balls fucking ache. My cock finds its way inside her tight warmth in one hard push, a growl tearing free as she clenches down on me.
Home.
Goddamn perfection.
Balls tighten instantly. Gritting my teeth against the urge to spill too soon, I brace over her back and hook a fist in that golden hair.
“Look at you,” I rasp, yanking her head up so those big brown eyes meet mine in the shadows. “Good girl.” I thrust slow, wanting her to feel how full she is. Her wet heat swallows me whole. “That pretty cunt was made for me.”
The director moans and shifts, muttering under his breath.
“And that worthless cock of yours?” I bite out, stilling her with my grip. “Will never touch this.” My palm curls into her hair again, pulling until her chin tilts back. “She’s mine.” I slam into her deep, watching her throat work as she gasps. “All mine.”
Animal instinct takes over. Pounding into her tight little body, her whimpers echoing through the room. The table legs scrape hardwood with every thrust.
Mine, mine, mine. Let him see how she gives it all to me. For me.
Her tiny body bends like a bowstring under my hands.
“Daddy… oh God, Daddy—I can’t—”
I roar, my hand owning her throat. “You worshiping daddy’s cock with your little cunt?” My hips surge in and out, in and out, driving deeper that I should. “Who’s your daddy?”
“You!” She twists and bucks, panting, eyes unfocused. “Only you.”
Fucking heaven. “Right fucking answer,” I snarl, lifting her hips to get a better angle and piston into her so hard wood cracks against the wall. “You’re gobbling up Daddy, aren’t you? Trying to make me cum in this hot little hole.” My balls knot tight, veins throbbing as her channel milks me.
