He nods as he piles the biscuits into a cast iron dish. “Never thought about it. I figured that ship sailed for me a long time ago. I don’t think I’d be a good husband, anyway.”
I tilt my head to the side slowly, as I stick my finger inside the bowl to lick the edge. “Yet you’re desperate for me to call you Daddy.”
There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “There’s this responsibility with Daddy. This sense of need and reliance that I crave.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs, and I lift the pan, sliding it into the oven as he rinses out the bowl and stacks it into the dishwasher. “I like feeling needed. I’m sure that makes me some kind of misogynistic asshole, right? Your generation very much believes in women not needing a man. Hell, I think my generation is full of independent, men-hating women too.”
I shrug and narrow my brows. “Men-hating? No. A woman isn’t man-hating if she wants to be independent. She can be independent and like you taking control sometimes too.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing.” He swallows back a grin and glances toward me. “I think I like controlallthe time.” His jaw tenses a little. “For example, if I tell you to get out a bottle of water and drink the whole thing, would you do it?”
“What?”
“Your dehydrated, baby girl. You haven’t drunk enough today. Drink something for Daddy?”
“Are you telling me for real?”
He nods and my clit twitches.What the hell?The man just told me to drink water. He didn’t demand I spread my legs and show him how wet I am, though if he did, I’d be ready for him.
I open the fridge and pull out a bottle, handing him one as well. “I can drink because I’m thirsty. You should too.”
He takes the water in his hands and shakes his head. “And what if I told you to get on your knees and make Daddy come before that oven timer goes off, would you do that too?”
My clit throbs and my chest tightens as I stare up at the massive beast of a man before me.
I shouldn’t want to get on my knees for him.
I shouldn’t enjoy his demands.
Yet, I do… and I’m going to.
Chapter Eight
Rhett
She’s on her knees in the kitchen staring up at me like a young, sweet, innocent, little angel who doesn’t have a fucking clue what she’s doing. I don’t know why this gets me off so much, but it does.
My God.
My cock pulses as I weave my fingers into her soft hair and glance toward the oven. “You have ten minutes to make Daddy come. Can you do it?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Her fingertips fumble at my buckle as she releases the belt and tugs my jeans to the ground, my cock already stiff and waiting at her soft, pink lips.
“Do you know how, baby girl?”
Her tiny hand wraps around my dick and she shakes her head.
“Okay.” My dick pulses at her lips. “Take Daddy’s dick with one hand, and cup his balls with the other.”
She obeys every command like a good little girl, and I praise her as such. “That’s my girl,” I groan, loving the way her soft, little hands feel against my skin. “Now use your tongue and lick long strokes all the way up to the head.”
Again, she does exactly as she’s told, licking her way up my shaft as her little hand instinctively pumps. My girl is a quick study. “So smart, princess. Just like that.”
I pump my cock in and out of her innocent, little mouth over and over, trying to stay composed, trying not to scare her or be too rough, but the longer I pump, and the more I hear the little squeaks she makes when her air is short, the more I lose control.
“Daddy’s gotta push in more, baby. Hold on.” I grip the back of her head and shove myself inside, thrusting and groaning as she gags.
