“Yes, Daddy,” I pant. “I belong to you. Make me yours.”
Fire flares in his blue gaze and his hands move in a flash. My skirt is a joke, an afterthought; he shoves it up to my waist, palms bracing on the tops of my thighs, and pulls me flush against him.
He’s hard, already. I can feel the shape of him through his pants, the blunt weight of it pressed between my legs. I whimper, and the sound seems to shock us both. He looks at me, eyes wild, and for a second I think he’ll back away.
Instead, he says, “You’re so fucking beautiful, sweetheart. Sweet and slutty, just the way I like it.”
I can’t answer. I just grab at his shirt, buttons scattering, and drag it over his head. He’s all muscle and hair and old, half-faded scars. The kind of body you only get from fixing things, from breaking things, from fighting and healing and fighting again.
He undoes my bra with a snap, and I shiver as my giant Double D’s spill out into his hands. He groans, looking at them, and then takes one in each palm, thumbs circling the nipples until they’re hard as glass. He lowers his mouth to the left, then the right, licking and biting until I’m panting, my whole chest on fire. My hands knot in his hair, hold him there, make him do it harder.
“Oooh, Daddy!” I cry out, my lashes drifting shut. “Mmm, your mouth makes me so achy and wet! It’s like I can feel your lips on my pussy when you do that!”
Kent growls deep in his throat, tugging even harder at a nipple with his lips.
“Good, because your pussy’s getting fucked tonight, sweetheart, so it needs to be ready".”
He slides down, dragging his teeth along my stomach, pausing at the waistband of my skirt. He looks up, grins, and pulls it off in one go, panties with it. The air on my skin is so cold I swear I can see steam rise.
He parts my thighs and settles between them, hands kneading at my hips. “Let me taste you,” he says, and the words make me jolt. He ducks his head, and his tongue finds me, slow at first — a lazy lap, like he’s savoring the moment. Then deeper, faster, flattening his tongue and then flicking it, again and again, over my clit. I cry out and he laughs, a low wicked sound. He brings a finger to my entrance, then two, pressing and circling, but never pushing in. He wants me to beg.
“Please, Kent,” I whisper, and he growls against my cunt, the vibration sending a spike of pleasure up my spine. “Please. I want it.”
“You want what?” His voice is muffled, but mocking, a little cruel.
“I want your cock. Inside me. Please.”
He laughs again, rough and ragged, and then climbs up over me, knees bracketing my hips. He’s stripped bare now, cock huge and angry and leaking at the tip. I want to reach for it, but he pins my wrists above my head with one hand and uses the other to line himself up.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes burn. His jaw is clenched. For a moment, I think he might cry.
He presses the head of his cock to my entrance and pushes, slow, so slow I want to scream. There’s a moment — just a second —when I think it’ll never fit, that I’ll split in two. Then, a bright, white-hot pain, like being cut and stitched in the same breath. I suck in air, nails digging into his forearm, a sharp cry muffled in the crook of his neck.
He goes still. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I gasp, blinking tears out of my eyes. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He pulls back, just a little, then pushes in again, and the pain begins to fade, replaced by a spreading heat, a fullness that blots out the rest of the world. He moves slow, patient, letting me adjust to him, and with every thrust the hurt slips away more, replaced by something sharper, something sweet.
He lets go of my wrists and brings his hand to my face, thumb smearing away the tears, then slides it down to my throat, gentle but firm.
“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, and the words make my cunt spasm around him. He kisses me, tongue deep and greedy, then fucks me harder, faster, hips slamming into mine.
He talks the whole time, filthy words I never knew I wanted to hear:
“You were made for this, you know that? You were made to be Daddy’s fuck toy, weren’t you, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I pant, not even thinking about it, just wanting to please him. “I’m your cockholster!”
He groans.
“You’re such a dirty little slut with a dirty mouth too. Such a horny, slutty whore with a creamy cunt that craves Daddy’sfucks.” He squeezes my throat, not hard, but enough to let me know I’m his.
I come without warning, the orgasm tearing through me, body locking up around his cock. I scream his name, and he groans, a feral sound, and buries himself to the hilt, coming with a shudder that rocks the bed.
“Fuck!” he shouts. “Shit shit shit!”
