Page 14 of Dirty Sweet Daddy

I snap then. Can’t hold back any more. My hands gripping her ass as I thrust up into her, setting a pace that has her whimpering with each stroke. I hit a spot deep inside that makes her cry out, her nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.

"There?" I ask, angling to hit it again.

"Yes," she sobs, trembling around me. "Right there, Daddy, please!"

I keep that angle, fucking her deep and steady, watching her face as pleasure overtakes her. Her eyes are glazed, cheeks flushed, lips parted as she pants my name—my title—over and over.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy," she chants, the word becoming a prayer, a benediction.

I can feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering around me, her thighs trembling where they bracket my hips. I slip a hand between us, thumb finding her clit, circling it in time with my thrusts.

"Come for me," I command, voice rough with need. "Come on Daddy's cock like a good girl. Let me see your first orgasm, pretty girl.”

She shatters at my words, her body convulsing around me, inner muscles clamping down on my length as she cries out my name. The sight of her—head thrown back, breasts bouncing, face transformed by pleasure that I'm giving her—nearly sends me over the edge. I hang on—but barely.

"Please," she begs when she can speak again, still trembling with aftershocks. "Please come inside me, Daddy. I want to feel it. Want to be yours completely."

Her words destroy the last of my control. I thrust up hard, burying myself to the hilt as my orgasm tears through me. “Oh, fuck, baby. Making Daddy bust inside this tiny thing. Fuuuck!” I roar as I come deep inside her virgin pussy, marking her as mine in the most primal way possible. My vision whites out at the edges, pleasure so intense it borders on pain coursing through my body as I fill her with hot spurts of seed.

"Mine," I growl against her throat, teeth scraping sensitive skin.

"Yours," she agrees, arms wrapped tight around me as I pulse inside her. "Always yours, Daddy."

We stay like that, connected, her forehead pressed against mine, our breathing gradually slowing. The magnitude of what we've done—what we've become to each other—settles over me. There's no going back now. No pretending this never happened. No returning to the man I was before I claimed her.

It’s done. Consequences be damned.

nine

. . .

Kate

It's been six days since I broke Lucas. Six days of pure bliss. Six days of his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, his cock buried deep inside me. We can't get enough of each other. The need is constant, overwhelming, like we're trying to make up for all the time we wasted dancing around each other. My body is covered in whisker burns and love bites, delicious reminders of how thoroughly I've been claimed. And I love it. Love belonging to him. Love the way he looks at me now—no more guilt, no more restraint, just pure, possessive hunger that makes me wet instantly. He's insatiable, and so am I. We've christened every surface of this house, it seems—the kitchen counter, his office desk, the shower, the hallway. Anywhere and everywhere the need strikes us. And it strikes often.

This morning, I was making coffee when he came up behind me, his broad chest pressing against my back, hands sliding under my t-shirt (his t-shirt, really—I've claimed all his softest ones) to cup my breasts.

"Good morning, angel," he growled in my ear, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they hardened to stiff peaks.

Before I could respond, he had me bent over the counter, panties pushed aside, his thick cock driving into me from behind. The coffee was cold by the time we finished.

Yesterday afternoon, I was studying in his office while he took calls, sitting across from him at his massive desk. When he hung up from his last meeting, I crawled under the desk and took him in my mouth, sucking him until his fingers tangled in my hair and he came with a strangled groan of my name.

The night before that, he carried me to the shower, pressed me against the tile wall, and ate me out until I screamed, water cascading over his dark hair as he knelt between my thighs. Then he stood, lifted me easily with those powerful arms, and fucked me under the spray until we both came so hard our legs gave out.

It's like we can't stop touching each other, can't bear to be apart. When we do have to separate—for his work, for my classes—the tension builds until one of us breaks. Usually him. He'll find me wherever I am in the house, eyes dark with need, and take me right there.

But it's not just the sex, though God knows that's incredible. It's the way he holds me after, large hand stroking my hair, whispering praise that makes me flush with pleasure. The way he brings me water, makes sure I eat, wraps me in his arms at night like he's afraid I'll disappear.

It's the things he says while he's inside me that really undo me, though. Filthy praise that makes me clench and whimper and beg for more.

"Look at you, taking Daddy's cock so perfectly," he'll growl as he thrusts deep. "Such a good girl for me."

Those words—"good girl"—do something to me I can't explain. They melt me from the inside out, make me desperate to please him, to earn more of that praise. I come hardest when he whispers those words in my ear, telling me how proud he is, how perfect I am for him.

"My perfect little angel," he'll murmur as I ride him. "Daddy's so proud of how wet you get just for me."

Right now, we're in the living room. I'm bent over the arm of the couch, my sundress pushed up around my waist, Lucas standing behind me, his cock driving into me with deep, measured strokes. His hand is tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my back, to make me take him deeper.