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“Come on, baby,” I growl when I reach her panties. Nude. Nude thong. Goddamn. I lick her slit through the cotton like she’s the fountain of life, feasting on her mound through the dampening material. Sweet. “Let me apologize. I’m sorry. Let me make it better.”
Who the fuck am I in this moment? I have no idea. I’m just a man who is struggling with a girl who is trying to keep her panties on while I fight to pull them down. I can’t let her win this battle because she’s going to walk out and I won’t handle that well. I might demolish this fucking building if it happens, so I just need to get my tongue in her flesh. I need to atone.
That authority I felt earlier, when I pointed at the couch and told her to sit…it’s back.
I’ve only ever experienced this dominant impulse with Kaylee. And it takes me over.
I surge up her body, pressing my forehead down on hers. Looking her in the eye—and she must feel the jolt of electricity, the new energy, too, because she stops struggling and holds her breath. “You’re going to stay still and let Daddy apologize between these little girl legs.” I reach down and twist her thong in my grip, tearing it off in one growling pull. “You’re going to come on my face as many times as it takes to forgive me. Is that fucking clear?”
A shiver courses through her. “Yes,” she sobs, the fight going out of her.
Oh. Oh Jesus, this is…
Inescapable. Inevitable. Isn’t it? Aren’t we?
Even if we’d met on the other side of the world without hidden agendas, she would be on her back and I’d be asserting my dominance. She needs it. That much is obvious. As obvious as the fact that I’ve never been more attuned to my own needs. I’ve never needed at all.
Not like this. Not until her.
I move back down her body, biting her gently through her clothing. On her tits, her belly and hips. These thighs that open for me, trembling, but brave. I refuse to hesitate a single second and risk her remembering to be angry. No, I wouldn’t be able to stand it. So I kiss her inner thighs like a possessive motherfucker—because, God, that’s how she makes me feel—and I dip my tongue to her hole, stroking long and thorough up to her clit, bathing it. Worshiping it. Kissing and laving and teasing that nub while her breathing accelerates, whimpers and cries filling my office, the shadow of her writhing body moving on the far wall. Fuck. I’m going to have her painted there. I never want to forget the first time I got my tongue in her pussy.
“Daddy,” she whispers, her hips rising to meet my next lick, her tummy shuddering when I nibble and bat that little nub with gentle lips and a stiff tongue. I reach up, quickly unbuttoning her blouse and spreading it open, kneading her full tits until they’re swelling over the cups of her bra, into my greedy palms—and I continue to conquer the succulent flesh in front of me. She’s ripe and delicious and juicy and mine. And the more she enjoys my tongue, the more fulfilled I feel. Because of someone else’s pleasure. Hers. Christ. I never want to stop. “I…I…I think…I can’t stop it…” Her fingers slide into my hair and tighten. “I can’t. I can’t.”
“Do as you were told,” I roar against her drenched sex. “All over my face.”
“B-but…is it supposed to feel like…like…”
“Like you’re dying?” I spit on her slit and lick it up. “Just wait until I fuck you.”
Her right hand leaves my mouth and slaps over her own. A second later she screams into her palm, her hips rocking one final time against my mouth before jolting, shuddering, her thighs flexing around my head, heels buried in the breadth of my back. I experience all of it, her, even while I’m reeling from the perfection of bringing this girl to orgasm. The new, deeply ingrained responsibility that’s building in me.
“No one goes near this pussy but me,” I shout into her stomach, my thumb working on her clit, extending the release as long as I can. More. More. I want to make her come every second of the rest of my life. “No one. Ever. My face is the contract and you just inked your signature on it.”
God help me. Once wasn’t enough.
Her sugar-sweet taste is driving me back down her body, shoving open her thighs. I bury my face in her sodden flesh and lap at it, holding her still with a forearm across the hips when she starts to struggle.
“No, no,” she says on a shaky exhale. “I can’t again. It’s too much.”
“You can. You will.” I lick everywhere. Up and down her sticky inner thighs, across her stomach, through the swollen valley of her cunt. I’m an animal and finally, finally, she wraps the strands of my hair tight in her fingers and lets me milk another orgasm from her pussy, groaning and rubbing my face in her perfection while she strains again, calling my name—Matthew, Daddy—until she sobs one last time and goes limp on the couch. “Do you forgive me?” I ask, rising above her, heart in my fucking throat. “Do you?”
