Page 70 of Unthinkable

The water splashes over my back, and before I have time to fully come down from my orgasm, my piss flows from me. I aim at her pussy. “Fuck, yesss.” A steady stream of piss hits her clit and flows down her pussy lips. Jesus, that’s hot.

“Oh god. Oh god, Daddy,” she chants as her body convulses.

Her lipstick is smeared, and she’s covered in my cum and piss, a filthy mess but beyond beautiful.

IMMIE

We’re naked with me lying on top of him. My head rests on his thigh, and I’m suckling the head of his spent cock as he strokes my legs and ass.

“I’ve never felt so relaxed. So at peace,” he says sleepily. “I want to lay here forever.”

I smile around his cock, loving his sweet words as my eyes flutter closed.

“My little nightmare became my dream girl.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

JENSEN

It’s been over a fortnight since the country club ball, and Amanda is barely talking to me. She’s given me the cold shoulder and been spending more and more time out of the house, and when she is home, she’s drunk off her ass and belligerent. She wakes just as fucked up as she went to bed.

If I was a husband concerned about her welfare, I would have marched her into therapy, but I’ve done this shit before, and truth be told, I’d happily provide her with a financial settlement to see the back of her.

She was never meant to be more than a safety net for Immie. I never declared my love to her, and while she has done so freely to me, it’s obvious to me it’s a superficial love. She thinks I need to hear the words for her to get what she wants, but she doesn’t need to give them to me. I didn’t need them for our arrangement to work.

“If I want a bigger cookie, I’ll fucking have one, you little bitch!” she booms as I step into the foyer.

“They’re not for you!” Immie screeches.

“Ahhh. Are they for Daddy?” Amanda mocks in a cruel tone, and my spine straightens.

“You can have some from this box,” Immie suggests.

A loud slap echoes, and my stomach falls. I know in my gut Immie has just been hit, and it feels like a blade is being pushed through my heart.

Enough is enough. Nobody touches what’s mine.

I stride toward the kitchen with fury pumping through me, and the moment I step inside, Immie’s baby blues meet mine. They’re full of guilt and trepidation and swimming in unshed tears, telling me everything I need to know. She’s done this to her before.

“Immie, go upstairs.”

“B-But.”

My jaw locks tight and my nostrils flare. “Now, please,” I clip out, and she jerks, a tear slipping down her cheek as she leaves the kitchen. I ball my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching out and comforting her. I have other issues, and right now, the bitch glaring daggers in Immie’s direction is my target.

“How many times?” I grit out.

Amanda scans my face lazily. “What?”

“How many times have you hit her?” The pulse in my temple pounds.

How dare she?

She pulls her shoulders back.

“I asked you a fucking question, now answer me,” I bellow, causing her to jump.

“When she needs to be kept in line.” She lifts her shoulder. “Someone has to do it. She’s become a brat.”