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But I didn’t want to slow down. Slowing down meant thinking, and thinking meant overthinking. Second-guessing. “Does this mean we have to stop?”
He planted a kiss between my eyebrows and said nothing for a long moment. I tensed.
“Only if you want to,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief and kissed a line from his mouth to his earlobe. “I don’t want to stop. I want to make you come.”
A deep, throaty growl rose from his chest. He kissed my neck and began sliding his finger in and out of me. His hands were big, his fingers thicker and longer than mine, allowing him to reach the tender places I couldn’t.
The pad of his thumb circled my clit. I humped his hand in tandem with pumping his cock. I couldn’t help myself. It felt too damn good not to. He added a second finger and I flinched at the sting, stroking him faster to distract myself.
After a moment, the pain subsided and all I could feel was the tension and pleasure as he moved inside me, his thumb strumming my clit.
I tucked my face into the angle of his neck. He was going to make me come. My own father was going to make me come. The thought had my thighs shaking, my hands faltering in their rhythm.
“Are you close?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Are you?”
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I could come just from listening to you.”
He wrapped his other hand around mine on his cock. I let him glide my fist along his length and closed my eyes to concentrate on what he was doing to me. Clutching his shoulders, I pressed my nose to the skin of his throat. He smelled the same, like sandalwood and home.
Eyes squeezed shut, I could almost see my orgasm waiting for me over the horizon.
“Don’t stop,” I rasped. “Don’t…”
“Not a chance, baby.”
Baby. The epithet swaddled me like a security blanket. His baby. I felt warm all over, flushed from head to toe.
It suddenly struck me as a cruel joke that the father I’d been seeking would also be the man who made me feel this good. The only man I was forbidden from touching, who could make me feel so wanted, so treasured, so precious to another person. Now that I had found him, I refused to let him go.
I met his thrusts with my own, rocking my hips in time with his fingers.
“Dad,” I said, breathless. “Promise you’ll stay this time... Promise you won’t make me go.”
“Neither of us are going anywhere.” He kissed my jaw and neck, all the while fucking into our joined fists. “You’re mine, Paige, and I’m going to take care of you.”
Lights and colors burst behind my eyelids as I came.
I whined, my muscles flexing around his fingers and my clit pulsing under his thumb. His hand tightened over my fist as wet heat splashed onto my stomach, coating our hands and the undersides of my breasts.
The sound of our heavy breathing filled the room. He palmed my swollen folds and kissed my temple. I felt dizzy and rooted, like I’d float away if I wasn’t holding on to him. Finally, I straightened so I could reach his lips. We kissed sweetly, like shy teenagers skipping class to go make out under the bleachers.
He used his T-shirt to clean the semen from my breasts and belly. That’s when I noticed the blood stain on his hand. He’d torn my hymen with his fingers. Had I even noticed? I must have, but all I could remember was the pleasure he’d given me.
“Dad,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I want you to be my first in everything. Not just this.”
His hand paused between my legs.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, baby.”
“Why not?”
I licked a drop of cum from my knuckle before he could mop it up. It tasted like seawater. Contrary to his words, the look on my father’s face told me there would be plenty more where that came from, if I wanted it.
Of course, I wanted it.
