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“I’m down for kinky.”
“Good, because you’re my woman, and I’m your man… correctionDaddy, and I want to take care of your needs.”
“So what does that make Zayn, York and Xeno? Are they my Daddies too?”
Dax pulls a face. “York is too much of a kid at heart, Zayn ain’t intothatkind of kinky-fuckery, and Xeno…”
“Is definitely a Daddy,” I finish for him, watching in amusement as Dax considers Xeno’s ‘Daddy’ status. When he realises that he’s got competition in that department he shakes his head. “Okay, okay, he totally passes the Daddy vibe. But you snooze, you lose. I’ve claimed that title and he can fight me for it.”
“I reckon you could share. It’s not like you haven’t before,” I remind him.
“True enough, but tonight he ain’t here. I am. So that makes me your Daddy for the next…” he looks at his wristwatch. “Four hours, give or take.”
“Four hours?” Idoneed to get some sleep, I remind him.
“You will, after I’ve fucked you unconscious.”
“Is that a promise…?” I chuckle as his fingers dig into my arse, and he presses his lips to mine.
He’s so tall that I have to stand on my tiptoes to meet his hungry kiss. Anchoring myself to him, I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his as he parts my lips with his tongue and kisses the love right into me. There’s so much love. I feel it right down to my toes, in the marrow of my bones. Dax loves me with his kisses and I love him all the way back.
“I will never get over how beautiful you are, Kid,” he says after a minute or two of bruising, toe-curling, clit-throbbing kisses.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” I reply, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, wanting it off. Needing to be skin-to-skin. He lets me remove it, sighing when my palms press against his pecs and I plant a kiss right on top of the angel tattoo in the centre of his chest. “Though I do have to admit, my muscles are screaming at me for some of those moves I pulled off tonight. Despite your sweet words, I’m a little out of shape.”
“Ditto, Kid. Ditto,” he replies, his hand sliding up my back and around my front where the heel of his palm presses against my collar bone and his fingers dig into my too tight shoulder muscles.
“Ah, that feels so good,” I moan, loving the firmness of his touch, and how his hand feels so warm and certain against my skin. For a couple of minutes, he indulges me, massaging my shoulders, and I can’t help but melt under his touch.
“As much as I want to hear those breathy little moans you make when I massage your body. I need to wash up. Go relax on the bed. I’m going to hop in the shower quickly,” Dax says, sliding his hand down my arm, his fingers twining with mine, giving them a brief squeeze.
“Don’t be too long,” I say, watching him strip off his slacks, kicking his feet free from the material. Biting on my lip, I feel a rush of love squeeze my heart as he strides past me.
“Two minutes, max,” he promises, stopping at the door of my ensuite bathroom, and turning to face me.
“No more,” I add, my body zinging with desire and anticipation as he pulls his boxers down over his hips, his cock springing free.
“Like what you see?” he asks, his dick hardening at my leisurely perusal.
“Damn,Daddy,” I respond, chuckling softly as he reaches for his dick, gripping the thick base.
“Two minutes,” he reiterates, mostly to his cock that’s pointing directly at me.
“I’ll be timing you, because if you’re not out in the promised time, I might have to deal with the ache in my pussy myself,” I say, climbing onto the bed and settling against the headboard. I spread my legs just enough to give him a tantalising view of the place he loves to feast on the most.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he warns, pumping his dick a couple of times before reaching up to grip the door frame, showing me every inch of his beautiful body. “Take a good look, Kid. See how hard I am for you. How my dick leaks, wanting you so bad. Don’t deny what belongs to me.Iwant to be responsible for all those breathy moans that turn me on so much.”
“When you put it like that,” I whisper, my tongue peeking out to wet my lips as I take my fill of him.
He knows I get as much pleasure out of looking at him as he does me. On many occasions, before making love, we’ve spent long minutes just staring at each other, appreciating what we see. It’s kind of our thing. Something that belongs solely to us.
After his amputation, it became something we just did. I knew instinctively, despite how he used to try and reassure me otherwise, that he felt less than. That somehow by losing part of his arm, he became less of a man in my eyes.
The opposite couldn’t be more true.
I’ve never seen what he’s lost, I’ve only ever seen the masculine beauty of him. His broad shoulders, wide chest and strong thighs. His veiny forearm and hand, the strength of his biceps, his perfect dick that stands firm and virile from the trimmed thatch of hair at the base. I will never tire of staring at the perfect artwork that covers every inch of his skin, or react any differently to the way his presence makes me feel sosafe. I love all of him, including his huge size twelve feet and the stump of his arm that reminds me every day just what kind of man he is.
A brave man.
