Page 72 of The Daddy’s Girl

I’ve never felt so good in all my life. I don’t even care if there’s an orgasm at the end of this because it’s heaven already. An orgasm would just be the end anyway. I’d like this to last forever.

Then he hooks his finger, curling it against a spot inside me that makes my knees buckle and my hips thrust. I have to slap a hand over my own mouth to keep from screaming.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he breathes against my cheek. “That’s the spot. Has a man ever found this before?”

I shake my head.

“Has a man ever made you come with just his fingers, Trouble?”

“Never.”

“You deserve better,” he growls quietly. Then the pad of his hand presses against my clit and he works his whole hand on my core, pleasuring me from the inside out and making me feel things I have never felt before. Alone or with a man.

“I don’t know if I can be quiet,” I gasp as he works me with one deft hand, taking me to another plane of existence.

“You better,” he whispers. Muffling my cries with his lips, he kisses me passionately as his fingers work me harder and harder until I feel like a balloon about to pop.

When the climax does hit, I know I’m screwed.

While I manage to keep quiet, it’s not getting caught that I’m worried about. I realize that I’m getting a taste of heaven, and that’s never a good thing. Because there is nothing above heaven. It is the pinnacle, and no one gets to keep heaven forever. I’ll die before I feel anything this perfect again.

“That’s it, Trouble,” he mumbles against my lips. “Come on my hand, baby. Let me feel you.”

He works my body through the longest orgasm of my life. He never lets up or relaxes his hard pressure and fast pace. My heart is pounding so hard, I can feel my ears begin to buzz and crackle.

The only thing that brings me back to earth is Matis lowly muttering to himself, “Oh God, what have I done?”

Hanging in his arms, I smile because these words of regret or self-deprecation haven’t stopped him yet, and I don’t think they will stop him now.

Rule #20: Hearts never grow old.

Matis

My fingers are soaked when I pull them from Amelia’s warm cunt. My cock is aching behind the zipper of my pants, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge it at the moment. The thought of Amelia seeing or touching my cock is still too forbidden and alarming to even imagine.

Even if my fingers are coated with her arousal.

What have I done?

I’m staring down at my traitorous hand, and it feels as if the world is collapsing around me. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Amelia, seemingly noticing my panicked expression, grips my hand by the wrist. With her eyes focused on mine, she smiles sweetly, a crooked grin on one side of her mouth as she drags my finger across her pale throat.

My chin drops as I watch her paint her skin with her own cum, and it takes everything in me not to haul her off this dresser and fuck her senseless in her bed.

“What are you doing to me?” I murmur.

Without responding, she presses her lips to mine again, nibbling on my lower lip and pressing her sweet tongue into my mouth. I couldn’t resist her kiss if I wanted to.

And I don’t want to. Not really.

I gather her up in my arms and kiss her deeper, even though the alarm bells going off in my head right now are deafening.

This is Amelia. My sweet, young, naive Amelia.

Why does she want an old man like me? Why does she have to kiss me like this? Why does she have to feel so fucking good in my arms? Like she was made for them. Like we fit together.

A door closes in the distance, and I practically leap across the room. The absence of her mouth against mine is almost unbearable. We both freeze, watching the door and waiting for the telltale footsteps of someone on the stairs. But there is none.