“Will you beg for me, baby?” I asked, voice gone low and husky. “Ask for everything and let me give it to you.”
Zephyr looked up at me. A shiver passed through him, and his lips grazed the inside of my thigh before he whispered, “Yes, Daddy.”
It wasn’t coy.
It wasn’t a joke or a taunt.
It was surrender.
Reaching down, I threaded my fingers through his hair. He rested against my leg, lips puffy, chin damp, and face written with pure devotion.
“Take your clothes off,” I said. “Then get on the bed. Spread out for me.”
He unfolded from his bridge and rose to his feet in a single, fluid motion. Then he peeled his crop top over his head to reveal the pale skin and elegant lines of his torso. The shirt dropped to the floor behind him.
With a hook of his fingers and a slow roll of his hips, he shimmied out of his leggings and the thong beneath. Both items slid down his legs into a pooling whisper of fabric. Stepping out of them, he rendered himself bare in the low light.
And then he turned, walking toward the bed with that dancer’s grace, thighs flexing, back muscles shifting. He crawled onto the mattress, then paused at the center and looked back over his shoulder.
I’d reposed long enough.
Standing, I stripped out of my shirt and pants, thenyanked my tie completely loose. I approached where Zephyr had braced himself on hands and knees. Mounting the mattress, I settled on my heels beside him. My hand drifted to the small of his back, where I traced a slow path up the line of his spine.
Goosebumps chased my touch, prickling his skin and making the fine hairs stand on end.
I’d done this on our first night together. Then, it had been an excuse to stall. I hadn’t been sure what the hell I was doing in some stripper’s bedroom, tangled up in lust and longing and buried shame. I’d wanted him, yes. But not with this certainty. This ache. This need to memorize him with my hands.
I traced down again, slower this time, dragging my fingers over the shallow ridges of his ribs, then cupping the flare of his hipbone and giving it a squeeze. His next breath hitched, shaky and soft.
“Fuck me, Beck,” he murmured. “Please.”
Always so damn polite.
Leaning in, I pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. Then another below the curve of his neck. My fingers grazed his skin, and I followed the path with my mouth, trailing kisses down his spine, adding nibbles between touches. I lingered at the dip of his back, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing after.
Zephyr’s arms trembled with restraint.
By the time I settled behind him, kneeling between his parted legs, he was vibrating with want. I palmed one cheek, spreading him open, and bent to kiss the curve of it before I let my fingers slip down to his entrance.
He gasped when I touched him, only a brush at first, a teasing pass of my fingertips. Then I pressed in, slow and deliberate, feeding one finger into his heat.
His breath caught.
I worked him open with patient strokes, easing in and out, rubbing against his inner walls until he softened around me.
Then I added a second finger.
I crept over him again, balancing on one arm while my other hand worked inside him. Two fingers angled forward, prodding the spot that made his thighs quiver and cock jerk. Slick soaked my hand as his body responded with helpless enthusiasm.
“Daddy,” he whined, chest heaving, hands fisting in the sheets.
I pumped my hand into him again, scissoring him open wider before feeding a third finger inside.
He stammered a needful plea and shook all over. His body was moving on its own now, thrusting back while I pushed forward, taking everything he could get.
His cock hung heavily beneath him, but he never reached for it. Just submitted while I speared three fingers in and out of his ass in a relentless rhythm.
“Beck, please… I can’t.” The hitch in his voice sent a wave of sensation straight to my groin. “Please,” he repeated while writhing.
