Page 74 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

“This is mine,” I murmur against the scar. “I should have been there.”

She trembles. I mouth the scar again, tasting salt, forgiveness, fury. Then I trail down between her legs.

The first stroke of my tongue is leisurely, a sweep from the wet entrance up the soft ridge of her clit. My name falls out of her and I respond by flattening my tongue and licking her again, slower, deeper.

“Eyes on me,” I command, glancing up. She’s already staring, pupils blown, breathy and furious and undone. “You put me outside this house for six years. You are going to watch me reclaim every inch.”

I hook her thighs over my shoulders, grip the backs, and dive in. There’s nothing gentle left in me. I devour her as if I can erase the time we lost, tongue plunging into her, fucking her with wet, punishing strokes before sealing my mouth over her clit and sucking hard. Her hips jerk. I pin them with my hands, fingers digging into soft flesh.

She moans, a raw, choked sound, trying to squeeze her thighs together. I pry them wider. “You keep that open for me,” I growl. “Or I pin you to the wall and start over.”

She obeys. Her hands slam onto the headboard, gripping the spindles, shoulders trembling. I suck harder, flicking my tongue over the sensitive bundle, then slide two fingers inside her. She clenches greedily. I curl them up, grind into that inner spot that used to make her sob, and she gasps.

“Nathan—” The name catches. She bites her lip until it whitens.

“Say it right.”

“Daddy,” she chokes, eyes rolling back.

Pride erupts in my chest. “That’s my girl.” I double down, fucking her with my fingers while sucking, licking, devouring. Her thighs tremble, her stomach tightens. And when I drag my thumb across her clit in a hard circle, she snaps. The orgasm slams through her like lightning. She cries out loud, heedless, thighs shaking around my head. I ride it, keep my mouth on her, keep my fingers moving until she’s writhing, until the aftershocks make her beg.

“Stop—Jesus—Nathan⁠—”

“Not a chance,” I mutter against her flesh, licking her clean. Only when she’s whimpering from overstimulation do I pull back and kiss my way up her body, over her stomach, her ribs, her breasts.

I roll her onto her stomach, drag her hips up so her ass is high and her face is buried in the pillow. I grip her waist, thumb digging into the scar again, and line myself up. The drag of my cock through her slick folds almost unmans me. No latex, no barrier, just heat and history. I thrust in slow, a claiming stroke, until I’m buried to the hilt.

“Fuck,” I groan, the word torn from my chest. She’s molten, clenching around me like a fist. I grip harder, hunch over her, bite her shoulder.

“You feel that?” I rasp. “That’s six years of hunger.”

She moans into the pillow. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” I start pounding, long strokes, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the walls. “You hate that you still crave this.”

She keens, fingers clawing at the sheets. I wrap a hand around her throat, lifting her head just enough to hear her breath. “Words.”

“I still crave this,” she gasps. I slam into her harder, each thrust a promise, a punishment, a plea. The bed frame knocks the wall. She braces on her elbows, and I take advantage, sliding my hand beneath her to squeeze her breasts, pinch her nipples, make her gasp.

“Come,” I order, rubbing her clit with two fingers while still driving into her. “Come on my cock.”

She shatters. She’s sobbing, moaning my name, shaking so hard I have to hold her up. I fuck her through it, everything in me focused on wringing every ounce of pleasure from her. When she collapses, I pull out, flip her onto her back, and plunge back in from the front. I hook her knees over my shoulders, folding her nearly in half, and pound into her at an angle that makes her see stars.

Her back bows, fingernails digging into my forearms. I catch one of her hands, pin it beside her head, lace our fingers.

“Look at me,” I growl. “Say you’re mine.”

Her eyes lock on mine, still shining with fury and tears. “I’m yours,” she whispers.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours.”

I slam harder, sweat dripping onto her chest. “Say Daddy.”

“Daddy,” she breathes, and the word snaps the rest of my control.

I release her hand, grab her hips, and pound until she’s sobbing again, orgasm after orgasm rippling through her. Every time her body clamps down I groan, forcing myself not to spill. I pull out, grab her arm, and haul her off the bed.