Page 24 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

No, no. This is punishment. Not solely for pleasure.Focus.

I stop and grab her by the hair, yanking her up. “Did I say you could come, Princess?” I growl in her ear. “You’ll come when I tell you.”

Her chest is heaving. I’m holding one of her breasts, my finger flicking her rock hard nipple. I fuck her harder, and her eyes roll up as she leans into me.

“Oh… oh, no. My nipples… W-Wait,” she moans. “Please, Daddy.”

“Not. Yet.” I can feel her walls quivering around my cock with every thrust. She’s going to blow any second. “Breathe through it, baby.”

“I… I can’t…”

Dammit. She’s going to come whether I like it or not. I let her hair go and she leans forward again, thighs shivering. I grab her hips, digging my nails into her skin, and I start fucking her hard and fast. Over and over again, she curses,oh, fuck, oh, fuck, fuck.

She comes. Her pussy tightens around my cock like a vise grip. It’s all I can do not to follow her. I lean into her and bite my lip to keep myself under control…

It’s no use. Her knees are starting to buckle and I’m holding her up with my arm around her waist. I come inside her like a shotgun. I moan loudly against her back as a geyser explodes from me and drips down her legs.

“Tight… little… pussy…” I mutter involuntarily. I let her hang in my arms for a few moments before I pull away. Shit. That went much too quickly.

Still, she did fairly well for her first time with me. But this princess needs a lot of training.

I turn to her as she leans against her restraints, breathing in large chunks of air. “Take a moment or two to gather yourself,” I say. “Then we’re going to try this again.”

She blinks as she looks at me. “Again?”

“Yes,” I say. The way she looks, disheveled, her legs wet with our cum. It’s getting me hard all over again. “As many times as it takes.”

9

SOFIA

Four times. Four times in… I’m not sure how many hours. All I know is that when I opened my eyes after my last orgasm, the light from the windows was changing from darkness to the bright gray of morning.

Sore, legs shaking, and practically dripping with cum and sweat. He brought me a bottle of water from his bag, then he wiped me down with a cool, damp rag. I lay on that mattress watching him clean me up. His silver hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, but I could see a sheen of sweat on his skin. He’d taken his shirt off with his pants at some point, so the rest of his body shone in the grim light of dawn, highlighting all his tattoos… including the strange spider tat on his throat.

Bratva tats are almost always the same in a way. There’s always lots of Russian writing and images of ferocious animals and sometimes, even, of things like the Kremlin and other such institutions. His tats are like that… except for the little black spider on this throat.

I was too tired to bother inquiring about it. I doubt he’d tell me if I did, anyway.

He came prepared with that little bag, tossing me one of his dress shirts while he put his back on. “Get dressed,” he said, and nothing more after that.

Now, I’m sitting in the back seat of his car as we drive onto the property, wearing practically nothing but this dress shirt. I pulled it up under me as I got into the car to shield my bare ass from the leather of the seats. It’s a good thing the afternoon heat hasn’t kicked in, I guess.

I’m achy and tired, but also…

I can’t explain what I’m feeling. Perhaps because I don’t want to. Last night was like one of the dirty dreams that I started having after I first met Titus. It was electric and intense and powerful and even a little scary. I’d never say it out loud, especially around him, but I enjoyed every fucking minute of his torture.

I honestly think I’ve lost my mind.

His driver hasn’t spoken a word to him since we started driving. They talked a little back and forth as I was being escorted to the car, but otherwise, it’s been nothing. I can sense some tension there. It makes me think that maybe he’s more than just his driver. If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s probably hissovietnik, his own personal internal spy.

When we turn onto Titus’s property, I find myself looking along the tree line for Adam. I know he’s not there. It’s been days since we launched an attack on the property. If he were somehow still waiting there, I can’t imagine he’d still be alive.

I hope he’s still alive. I hope he’s run as far as he can from this place.

The lane up to the house looks different in the daylight. The large expanse of land and trees, the high, pointed tops of the iron bars around the area in the distance that just barely touch the bottoms of the tree line of the small patch of woods between properties…

It’s beautiful. And really open. I’m legitimately shocked that I wasn’t spotted as soon as I set foot inside the grounds.