Page 43 of Tempting Tessa

“Did I say I was finished?” I cut her off, my voice dropping low. “You had your chance to back out. You don’t dictate things anymore, Contessa.”

She swallows hard but stays silent, which I take as progress.

“Second rule: no flirting with other men. No dancing with them, no letting them buy you drinks, no batting those pretty eyelashes for attention.” I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear. “You belong to me now, and I don’t share what’s mine.”

Her breath comes faster, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “You can’t control who I talk to.”

“I’m not.” I slide my hand up to wrap around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her there. “Talk to whoever the fuck you want. But the second I see you flirting, using that body to tease another man, there will be consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

I smile, slow and predatory. “The kind that will leave you unable to sit comfortably for days and them at the bottom of the Atlantic.”

Her thighs clench around me, and I feel a fresh wave of heat against my cock. She’s getting wetter by the second.

“Third rule: you will eat regular meals.”

This catches her off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” My hand slides from her throat down to her collarbone, tracing the delicate structure. “I don’t care if you cook for yourself, order in, or let me cook for you—which is my preference. But no more of this skipping meals bullshit.”

“You’re not my nutritionist,” she snaps.

“No, I’m the man who’s going to be fucking you senseless on a regular basis, and it’s my job to make sure your body is properly taken care of.” I slip my hand under her dress, sliding up her thigh until I reach her panties. “Fourth rule: these come off when I tell you to. No arguments, no sass.”

Her breathing quickens as my fingers trace the edge of her underwear.

“Fifth rule: when we’re alone, you call me Daddy more. I find I quite like hearing it fall from your pretty little mouth.”

“I’m not calling you that,” she whispers, but there’s no conviction in her voice.

“No?” I slide my hand between her legs, pressing my fingers against her panties. They’re already soaked through. “Your lips say otherwise.”

She whimpers when I apply pressure to her clit through the thin fabric, grinding the heel of my palm against her. God, that sound goes straight to my dick. Nothing turns me on more than breaking through that stubborn pride of hers.

“You’re so fucking wet,” I growl, circling her clit with my thumb. “Tell me who you’re wet for.”

She bites her lip, fighting it.

“Say it,” I demand, slipping my fingers beneath the elastic of her panties to touch her bare pussy. She’s fucking drenched, her slick coating my fingers instantly. “Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” she gasps as I slide a finger inside her.

“And what do you call me when I’m touching you like this?”

She trembles in my lap, her hips rocking against my hand involuntarily. I can tell she’s fighting it; that stubborn streak warring with her desire. I add a second finger, curling them to hit that spot that makes her thighs shake.

“D-Daddy,” she finally whimpers, the word falling from her lips like a confession.

Fuck, I love that sound. I want to bottle it and keep it with me forever.

“Good girl,” I praise, rewarding her with deeper, faster strokes of my fingers. “Such a good girl for Daddy.”

Her head falls forward onto my shoulder as she rides my hand, her breath coming in sharp little pants against my neck.

I pull my hand away abruptly, making her whine in protest.

“Not yet,” I tell her, bringing my wet fingers to my mouth and sucking them clean. She tastes like fucking heaven.