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After withdrawing his cock from me, he hastily makes his way back between my thighs. Spreading them wide with gentle insistence, his eyes hungrily fix on the most intimate part of me, glistening and swollen.
“Do you know how many nights I lay awake, dreaming of the taste of you on my tongue?” he murmurs, gazing down at me, his jaw tight.
Before I can answer, he lowers his head and licks a long, slow stripe up the length of my pussy, a cry rising from my lungs, torn from my very soul. The sensation is overwhelming and has my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to me even as I think I might shatter.
“Oh, God, Daddy—”
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he rumbles against my sensitive flesh, the vibration making me whimper. “Let Daddy feel that little clit tremble against my tongue when you fall apart for me.”
His words alone could make me come, but then he’s devouring me in earnest, his tongue circling my clit with devastating precision before dipping to gathering my arousal. He moans against me, a sound of pure satisfaction that vibrates through my core. Knowing he loves this—that he craves me this way—pushes me toward the edge faster than I thought possible.
He grips my hips, holding me steady as he feasts, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of my inner thighs with a tenderness that contrasts beautifully with the hunger of his mouth. He alternates between soft, fluttering licks and deep, pointed strokes that have me panting, writhing, and begging for release in broken, incoherent whispers.
“Please, Daddy, please… I can’t…”
“You can,” he insists, lifting his head enough to speak, his lips glistening with my arousal. “You can take more for me, can’t you, sweetheart? Be a good girl and let Daddy taste you when you come. Then Daddy will fill his good girl with his cum.”
When he seals his mouth over my core again, sucking my clit with gentle insistence, I unfurl in his firm hold. The orgasm rips through me with violent intensity, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t pull away—he drinks me down with hungry, desperate sounds.
Softening his touch as I come down, he licks at me until my eyes are rolling back in my head and I can barely breathe. Until I’m trembling and boneless, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. He crawls up my body with predatory grace, pausing to press his lips to my stomach, my ribs, the valley between my breasts. When he reaches my mouth, he kisses me deeply, and I taste myself on his tongue—us, mixed together, intimate and erotic and perfect.
“Do you taste how sweet you are?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with desire as he slides every glorious inch of his cock into me in one smooth, deliberate drive. “Do you feel what you do to me?”
I’m so sensitive from my previous orgasms that his deep thrusts are almost too much. Almost.
“So perfect,” he breathes, his voice shaking with emotion. “So perfect for me. You were made for me, sweetheart. Do you understand? Every inch of you. It all belongs to me. And I belong to you. Completely.”
His words, combined with the perfect angle of his hips, send me over the edge again. This orgasm is different—deeper and more emotional—rolling through me in waves that seem unending. I cry out his name, my nails tearing through his shoulders as pure, unadulterated bliss consumes me.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting through my orgasm, his strokes becoming shorter. The sensitivity is almost unbearable, but I don’t want him to stop. I want to feel him fall apart, want to be the one who makes him lose control. Feel him getting closer, his movements becoming more erratic as he grows more rigid inside me. I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper, urging him on.
“Show me, Daddy,” I whisper. “Show me how much you’re mine.”
His eyes, dark with a primal need that both terrifies and excites me, lock with mine, and I see everything. The love, desperation, vulnerability, and the raw, unadulterated passion. It’s all there, laid bare for me to see.
With a guttural roar that sounds like my name, he finds his release, his body shuddering as he pours himself into me. His lips claim mine in a final, desperate, hungry kiss that tastes of love and longing and a future we’re only just beginning to imagine.
His body spent, he collapses against me, and his heart hammers against my ribs. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close as I stroke his sweat-slicked back. We lie there for a long moment, our bodies tangled, the silence of the room broken only by our frantic breathing.
He lifts his head, his eyes soft, sated, filled with an emotion so pure it takes my breath away. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” I whisper, a genuine smile spreading across my face. It’s the way Kiki and I have always said goodbye, neither of us ever willing to be the one who loves less.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through my chest. “Not possible, sweetheart.” He gently pulls out of me, the loss of his warmth a fleeting ache before he rolls me into his arms and cradles me against his chest. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, then to my temple, his lips trailing a path of gentle kisses down my neck and across my shoulders.
Pulling me closer, if that’s even possible, his body curls around mine as he strokes lazy patterns against my skin. As I drift off in his arms, sated and safe and loved more deeply than I ever thought possible, I believe him. For the first time in my life, I truly believe that I am loved—not for what I can do, or what I can give, but simply for who I am. And as his breathing evens out behind me, his arms banded around me like he’ll never let go, I know that this is just the beginning.
This is forever.
The tropical sun beats down on the private deck of our villa, turning the teak beneath my bare feet into warm gold. The ocean stretches before us in impossible shades of turquoise and sapphire, the horizon bleeding into a sky so perfect it almost seems fake. But the scenery isn’t what holds my attention; Sophia is.
She’s sprawled on the chaise lounge like a goddess of fertility; a vision of abundance and life that makes my chest tighten every time I look at her. The white bikini she’s wearing—if you can even call the scraps of fabric that—strains against her transformed body. Her breasts—already generous—are now heavy and full, spilling over the cups in a way that makes my mouth water. But it’s her stomach, the beautiful, taut swell where our child grows inside her, that truly arrests my attention. She’s weeks from her due date, and she’s never been more beautiful.
I walk toward her, and my shadow falls across her sun-warmed skin. She doesn’t open her eyes, but her lips curve in a smile that tells me she knows I’m standing over her. “How are my girls?”
Sophia’s hand drifts to her stomach, her fingers spreading possessively over the swell of our daughter. “One of us is trying to relax,” she says, her voice is lazy and warm, honeyed by the sun and the contentment I’ve worked so hard to give her. Her eyes flutter open, bright and luminous, meeting mine with a spark of mischief. “The other is dreaming of being a gymnast, I think.”
I lower myself to the edge of the chaise, the wood toasty against my thighs. I place my hand over hers, feeling the flutter beneath her palm as our baby moves inside her. It’s a miracle I’ll never get used to, this proof of our love, growing safe and strong beneath my hands. I press my palm firmer, wanting to feel more, to be connected to both of them in this moment.
