That word again—Daddy—sending inappropriate heat through me. What is wrong with me that I respond to this? That I let this man who's practically kidnapped me make me feel this way?
His hands make quick work of my jeans, shoving them down along with my underwear. I hear his zipper, feel the blunt pressure of him against my entrance.
"Tell me you want it," he demands, holding back despite his obvious need. "Tell me you want Daddy to fill you up."
I should say no. I should fight. Instead, I hear myself whisper, "Yes…please."
"Please what?" He teases me with just the tip, making me whimper.
"Please…Daddy." The word comes easier now, shameful heat flooding me as I say it.
He rewards me by thrusting home in one powerful stroke, filling me completely. My head falls back against the wall as he begins to move, hard and fast, each thrust lifting me slightly off the ground.
"That's it," he praises, voice rough with exertion. "Take all of Daddy's cock. So fucking tight. So perfect."
My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he pounds into me. One of his hands supports my weight while the other grips my hair, angling my face for his demanding kisses.
"You belong to me," he growls against my lips. "This sweet pussy belongs to me."
"Vance," I gasp, feeling the tension building inside me already.
"Say it," he demands, slowing his pace torturously. "Say you belong to me."
"I—I can't?—"
He stops entirely, holding me on the edge. "Say it."
"I belong to you," I whisper, surrender and defiance mingling in my voice.
It's enough. He roars and resumes his relentless pace, driving me higher and higher. "You belong to me now, baby doll," he groans, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Feel how wet you are for Daddy's seed?"
I can't answer, too lost in sensation. His hand snakes between us, finding my clit with unerring accuracy, circling roughly.
"Come for me," he commands. "Come on Daddy's cock like a good little girl."
The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, my inner walls clamping down on him as pleasure radiates through my body. I cry out his name, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks even through his shirt.
He follows with a guttural groan, hips jerking as he empties himself inside me, pinning me to the wall with the force of his release. For long moments we stay joined, his forehead resting against mine, our breathing gradually slowing.
When he finally lowers me to my feet, my legs are shaky, my mind a confused jumble of emotions. Part of me is horrified at how easily I gave in, how readily my body responds to his dominance. Another part—a part I'm increasingly afraid of—is thrilled by it.
"You can have your phone back tomorrow," he says, tucking himself away and straightening his clothes. "After I’ve fixed it.”
It's a concession, small as it is. I pull up my jeans, trying to reclaim some dignity.
"Why me?" I ask suddenly, needing to understand. "Out of all the women in Vegas, why fixate on me?"
He studies me for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. "Because you look at the world like it's still good. Likeyou still believe in it." His hand cups my cheek. "I lost that a long time ago. But when I look at you, I can see it again."
The simple honesty in his voice catches me off guard, making my throat tight with unexpected emotion.
"I'm still angry about the phone," I manage to say, unwilling to examine the warmth his words create.
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't, baby doll. That fire's part of what I love about you."
Love.The word hangs between us, too new and terrifying to acknowledge.
"I'm starving," I say instead, changing the subject.
