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I reach down between us and grab his erect member, directing it inside me. “I don’t care.” Right now. “I don’t need anyone else. I needyou.”
My permission is all he wants to hear. He growls my name under his breath as he guides himself into my hot waiting center. My body eagerly welcomes him, and I groan as he fills me up. “More,” I beg.
Niccolo’s strong hands seize my hips, anchoring me firmly against the cool porcelain of the sink. With a tantalizing rhythm, he begins to move within me. His movements are frenzied and urgent, an unspoken testament to an insatiable hunger that echoes my own yearning. His body fits with mine as if we are two pieces of a sultry puzzle, forging a bond fueled by carnal desire and raw passion.
I toss my head back as he drives into me harder and deeper. Everything disappears. The people outside demanding to come in. The bass drum echoing through the floorboards. The bare fluorescent bulbs bathing us in an unflattering light. It all fades into oblivion, and all that matters is him, me, and the promise we’re making with our bodies.
His thick, pulsing shaft throbs against my most sensitive spots, leading me to wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. The sink creaks under the combined force of my weight and his thrusts, and water drizzles from the tap. The air is heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, mingling with the faint smell of alcohol.
Everywhere he touches me is electric. His lips on my collarbone, as he marks me with his teeth, send shockwaves of pleasure through my system. His hands gripping my skin so tightly that fingertip-shaped bruises mar my skin.
The heat of his body burns under my searching hands as I slip them beneath the rough fabric of his shirt, my fingers sinking into the solid warmth of his skin. My nails graze against him,leaving trails of palpable desire that seem to fuel him further as he crashes into me, relentlessly stealing my breath away.
My pants echo in the silent room, punctuated by gasping moans and breathless curses. Every thrust leaves me more entwined in his web of forced intimacy. He’s an intoxicating mix of savagery and tenderness, and I can’t help but surrender myself to his tantalizing dominance.
I taste the sweet intoxication of my own arousal lingering on his lips as he sweeps a hasty kiss across mine, the briefness only sparking an even stronger wave of longing. The raw taste of us strikes a chord of animalistic need in me, making me yearn for even more.
“Cum for me, baby,” he growls in my ear, feral in his need for release. “Cum all over on daddy’s cock.” Niccolo grunts as he thrusts his hips against me, a primal sound of satisfaction that echoes through the room.
I do as he commands; I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. My walls tremble around him as I give in to my pleasure, shuddering from the explosion of my orgasm. “Nic,” I utter, my stepfather’s name on the tip of my tongue as I reach my peak.
“That’s right, baby girl.” He tightens his grip on me before he comes, too, filling me with his hot seed. “Milk daddy’s cock. Take every ounce of me.” He drips down the insides of my thighs, coating the edge of the sink with his jizz. Niccolo kisses along my jawline, nipping at my skin as he gently pulls out of me.
My body clenches around the empty space left by him as if yearning for his return.
He pushes a few strands of hair out of my face as we lock eyes. “Let me take you home,dolcezza,” he whispers in a husky voice. “Let me take care of you.”
I’m sore and weak, and I need him. It’s silly, stupid, even, but I need my daddy to take me home and tuck me into bed.
“Okay,” I resign, feeling more exhausted than I’ve ever felt in my life. “Take care of me.”
Chapter 22
Niccolo
As I drive Christine home, I hand her a bottle of water and watch as she gulps it down eagerly. She denies being drunk, insisting she was only slightly tipsy, but I can feel my fingers tightening around the steering wheel as I focus hard on keeping control of the car. The familiar streets seem to blur together as my mind races with worry for Christine’s well-being. It takes all my concentration to navigate through traffic and safely reach my destination.
The danger of Christine’s admission is that she thinks it makes me feel better to know she wasn’t drunk. But her confession is provocative and infuriating, inflaming my anger. If she was only tipsy, that means she flashed a stranger with a camera when she was still in a state to make good decisions.
I want to pull the car over right now, march her out on the side of the road, and turn her ass a violent shade of red to make up for her misbehavior.
But instead, I drive home while she tells me about her night. She starts with the story about dinner at Carrie Pennington’s house and takes me minute by minute through the rest of herevening. My anger dissipates in the long moments down the dark highway, and by the time we reach home, it’s almost all gone.
“Let’s shower,” I instruct as we walk through the door.
Christine looks over her shoulder, teeth grazing her bottom lip. “If that’s what you want.”
With a gentle touch against the small of her back, I guide her into the sanctuary of my bathroom. Christine slowly undresses, revealing her soft curves in the dim light. I turn on the hot water and watch as steam fills the room, creating a hazy veil around us. As she slips beneath the jets, water cascades over her body, tracing every curve and dip with liquid sensuality. My eyes cannot help but feast upon her naked form—each inch of her is a breathtaking work of art, flawless and alluring.
I follow her into the warm embrace of the shower. The soothing warmth of the water surrounds me, washing away the last traces of tension coiled in my shoulders.
“Come here,” I tell my stepdaughter. And she steps closer to let me soap her up.
I meticulously clean her, eradicating any memory of another man she may have. Then I explore her body like I’m discovering new land, dragging a loofah across her breasts until the mesh hardens her nipples into stiff little peaks. She presses her back to my front as I venture lower. Caressing the loofah over her mound, her legs part instinctively. Feeling bold, I swap out the sudsy sponge for my fingers, which delve deeper into her folds.
She already has one mark on her collarbone, but I suck on her neck until I leave another. I’d give her a collar of hickeys if she let me; I’d mark her so visibly that no other man would dare totouch her. Christine doesn’t notice what I’m doing as my fingers manipulate her core, working her clit back and forth until she’s gasping.
I push her forward, and she reaches up to grab the wall, holding herself aloft on the slick shower tiles. As I enter her from behind, her groans are amplified by the bathroom acoustics–an echo chamber broadcasting our sex-fueled symphony. I could listen to her sing like this forever, her song the lyrics of our lovemaking.
