Page 72 of Daddy Brigadier

As he continues to thrust, I moan through my teeth. “Can I come, Daddy? Please, Daddy?”

He runs his tongue across my collarbone. “Yes, little slut.”

My breath hitches at his words, and a soft moan escapes my lips as he thrusts forward. Harder. Crueler. I crave every part of it.

His nails are now digging into the surface of my throat, and he makes me come apart, the heat building inside of me, burning me from the inside out. He thrusts just one more time before my pussy clamps down around him. In the heat of the moment, I bury my face in his shoulder, muffling my helpless moans as he thrusts all the breath right out of my lungs.

He thrusts violently, and I cry. “Daddy!” My pussy spasms around his cock in waves, and my body shakes under his.

After one final thrust, his cock pulsates, but he stops himself before he can come in me.

He unties my wrists from the headboard, then tips my cheek to make me stare at his throbbing, hard cock. “You did that,” he says. “You dirty little slut.”

Valentin rubs his cock over my lips, teasing me. “I will always own you,” he murmurs, but it feels more like a caution than a vow.

I exhale hard until my lungs are empty, devoid of breath and oxygen. Opening my throat with his thumb, he slides his cock into it. My throat squeezes, and he withdraws an inch or two so that air can escape my lungs again. I begin to hum, and my throat and mouth vibrate around his cock. “You make me so proud.”

A few more thrusts into the depths of my hot mouth, and he slowly pulls out, leaving me panting, taking a moment to suck big gulps of air back into my lungs. He grabs my head again and slides in, then withdraws so I can once more catch my breath. He repeats these movements several times, making me moan and swallow harder with each thrust to my throat.

His cock swells, and he erupts, his cum splattering all over my face.

“Clean me up,” Valentin orders.

I obey, taking him into my mouth again. His cock is soft by now, empty of everything it could deliver, but still heavy. So, I relish licking along the meaty shaft, gathering every drop of him, then swallowing greedily.

“Good girl.” Valentin kisses me on the top of my forehead. “Such a pretty good girl,” he praises, wiping a smear of cum from my cheek with his thumb and pushing it between my lips so I can suck every last vestige of it clean.

Valentin presses a kiss to my lips, sweet and tender. “Wait here.”

I’m lying on the bed, feeling wet, sticky, and utterly spent. The soothing sound of running water drifts from the bathroom. I look over and catch sight of Valentin kneeling on the mattress, his strong arms slipping beneath my body. A surprised squeal escapes me as he lifts me effortlessly into his arms.

My gaze follows to the enormous bathtub filled to the brim with warm water, bubbles dancing on the surface. He bends forward, lowering me into the warm water. Moments later, he settles behind me, his chest pressing against my back. I lean back into him, and he wraps his arm around me. Then I close my eyes.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been lying here, still. Silent. But the water is starting to turn cold. I sit up and look back at Valentin. His head is tilted back against the ceramic, his eyes closed. I’m not sure I want to wake him. I lean forward and turn on the hot water to heat it again.

I turn to my side and lean my head against his chest. He hums and presses a kiss on top of my head.

I run my finger across his chest, my nail scraping lightly against his scar. “How did you get this?” I saw it before, but I always forget to ask.

His hand rests gently atop mine, our fingers entwined. “I was shot.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

His voice softens as he responds, barely above a whisper. “Dmitri Savin was just a kid back then, and he made a mistake—let’s just say it was a mistake he never made again.”

He leans down and kisses me gently. “My turn. Tell me about that tattoo on your shoulder.”

I swallow, my voice shaking. “I got it when I was a teenager.”

Valentin shifts slightly, his curiosity growing. “Why a coffee cup?”

“My sister and I used to spend a lot of time in the coffee shop. It was our thing.”

“You have a sister?” he asks, his tone lacking curiosity, suggesting that he’s already aware of her existence.

“I used to have a sister,” I say, then swallow, the heat rising in me again.

His eyes soften, and his tone lowers. “Is she dead?”