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It was a faint echo of what we had done that first time, when I had been on my knees worshipping her like she deserved, but I didn’t have nearly the same amount of patience at my command as I had then. I shoved her skirt up then greedily yanked her panties to the side, thrusting two fingers into her before she could even breathe a word.
She let out a little yelp, but I quickly swallowed it up with a bruising kiss. For a fleeting moment I worried that I was being too hard, vaulting too far past the line of pleasure-pain, but she just hissed as she wrapped her legs around me and pulled me so tightly to her that there was barely room for my hands.
“Yes, just like that, sweetheart,” I soothed as I pulled my lips away from hers. But my mouth didn’t leave her long, my fingers undoing her buttons, so I could get at her hidden, creamy flesh. I wanted to taste her again, to mark her as proof that I had been there, that I had moved her as only a competent lover could. I was so caught up in my lust at the idea that I found myself jolted from my thoughts when I always saw reddish-blue little bruises littering her perfect skin.
Those were my marks. Little love bites and small hickeys dotted both of her shoulders and the sides of her neck that her shirt had been covering. Some of them were almost faded completely, more yellow than anything else, but it made me burn so hot that I was surprised I didn’t combust right then and there.
“More,” Bev whispered, so quiet that I almost didn’t hear her.
“You like them?” I answered, my voice little more than a growl, wild and feral and surprising even myself. She nodded mutely, her eyelids fluttering closed, and she was entirely too pretty to be real.
My free hand, the one that didn’t have two fingers still rocking in and out of her, caressed her face. It was surprisingly tender considering the whirlwind like nature of what we were doing, but I just wanted to touch her beauty, to memorize it in that tactile way that she brought out of me.
Gentle, oh so gentle, my thumb stroked her bottom lip, the one she chewed on whenever she was thinking too hard. I hadn’t had a particular goal in mind with the gesture, just wanting to feel her, but then she drew the digit into her mouth and flicked her tongue against its calloused pad.
My full body shuddered at that, my other hand stilling as I breathed raggedly. “Little girl, do you have any idea of what you do to me?”
She looked up at me with those perfect green eyes. “I dunno, Daddy, why don’t you show me?”
Those words, that tone, everything about the moment was like a lightning strike and I suddenly couldn’t be inside her fast enough. I pulled my fingers from her, earning another hiss, and both of my hands were working myself free of my pants.
I didn’t even get them down my thighs in my rush to free myself. I freed myself enough for the job and then I was buried inside of her, her squeezing down around me like a vice.
She let out a little gasp, somewhere between pain and ardor, her hands coming up to grip the front of my shirt.
“Fitz,” she breathed. Or maybe whimpered. I couldn’t say. All I knew was the plaintive sound threatened to send me over the edge right then and there.
“No,” I growled, feeling like I might come apart at the seams. “Call me what you said earlier.”
“Daddy?” she questioned, voice hazy.
I signaled my affirmative with a roll of my hips, pushing deeper into her. I could feel her body just starting to give, trying to make room for me pretty valiantly considering it was only Bev’s second time.
“Okay,” she drew in a shaky breath and I could feel her flutter around me. When she seemed to have more of her wits about her, she pulled herself up so that her full lips were almost brushing my ear. “Ruin me, Daddy. Please?”
How could I deny a request like that?
I rutted into her, not holding back as she met me in kind. My hands went to her hips, gripping her hard enough to bruise as I held her in place for each of my wild thrusts.
Bev, to her credit, kept up a chorus of moans and heady whispers, her hand clamped over her mouth so that the secretaries might not hear us but still letting enough through so that I knew she liked what I was doing. As if I already couldn’t tell that by how her womanhood was flooding me with slickness and her walls were clamping down on me like they wanted to keep me inside of her forever.
