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I slid in between his legs, stretching out on the couch on top of him, and god being in his arms, all cuddly and cozy and shit, just felt so fucking good. He reached around and slid his hands down the back of my pants, gripping my ass like a handle to pull me close enough to kiss, and yeah, that felt even better. So much better. I groaned into his mouth and let him tear me up, squeezing hard and kissing soft, teasing my lips open with his tongue and digging his fingertips into me rough enough to be cruel.
“This hurt?” he asked me, pinching my plumpest parts until I hissed.
“Fuck yes.”
“But you like it.”
“No shit.” I wormed up on him, humping his leg to get the point across.
“Why?”
“Feels good.”
“Hurting feels good?”
“When you do it. When you put your mark on me that way. Make sure I hear you. Make sure I listen. Like you left part of you on me.Inme. So I know where I belong.”
It was a good answer, I thought, clear enough and right enough to surprise me when the words came out, and he looked a little surprised too.
“You really do like it.”
“Yeah. Can’t believe you spanked me with a shoe though,” I muttered. “So stupid.”
His thumb just barely stroked the top of my crack, teasing, making me wish he was spreading me apart. “Yeah? I think you liked that. All that special attention from Daddy for being so naughty. Standing in the corner. Getting a good lecture. I think you liked it all.”
I snuggled harder into him, part to hide my face, part to agree without really agreeing. He was right, I did like it. The extended time and attention, all of it so specificallymine, methe most important thing in the world when he was digging around in my brain and my guts, calling me out, breaking me down, building me up. I hadn’t had a minute to walk myself through it again, and when I did it now, in front of him, when he busted out that Daddy word when I wasn’t expecting it, all my senses just shot up to the top, making me squirm.
“Maybe,” I finally said, and I could feel him laugh at my bullshit.
“Didn’t even mind writing lines for me either, did you? I saw your hand under that table,” he teased me.
“I wasn’tdoinganything. My dick just got hard sitting there. I was trying to make it settle down.”
“Yeah, is that what you were doing?” He squeezed me hard and pulled me up for another kiss, softer this time.
“You think I’m gonna sit at the kitchen table and jerk off?”
“You will if I tell you to.”
I grunted and rubbed hard against him again. “Pervert.”
“You love using that word, don’t you.”
“If the shoe fits.”
He laughed against my lips, and goddamn, there was just something about the way he laughed that sucked all the air out of my lungs. It came from somewhere so deep down, low and rumbly like a volcano erupting.
“Come here, flip over,” he said, sliding to the edge of the couch and rolling me inward. “I want you on the bottom.”
“Why?”
He just moved me the rest of the way, making my dick hard when he dragged me into place underneath him, straddling me with his big ass thighs. “Because I said so,” he told me, and I swear to god nothing annoyed me more than when people said that kind of shit, except when he did it I couldn’t even breathe.
And then he reached over to the table and picked up a bowl of ice cream, sitting it on my stomach, the bottom of it ice-cold through my tshirt, and all of my breath came back in one big gasp.
I jolted, arching up under him. “Fuck, that’s freezing.”
“Don’t spill it,” he warned me, looking down at me all mock-serious, and I tightened up my muscles to keep from shivering. No fear, no anxiety, just this instantneedto make him proud, to please him, to behave. It was this weird switch inside me with his name on it that was always either all the way on or all the way off, either I was open and willing like I never was, or I was shut tight and needed to be forced open, and that wasn’t familiar either. He just had access to some part of me no one else did, not even me. Right now that switch, that need to please, was really, incrediblyon.
