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“I want you so fucking much,” he said, his voice strained. “Too much. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The only way you could hurt me now is by letting me go.”
My father laid his hand between my breasts, over my heart, then skimmed his fingers down my body. Arousal bloomed fresh between my thighs. I whined softly. His gaze darkened as he squeezed me gently with his whole palm.
Please, I thought, don’t push me away. Let me stay with you.
I pressed against him, needy and insistent. He reached for his cock. My heartrate picked up speed as he positioned the head at my opening.
“Put your arms around me,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
Thousands of tiny luna moths took flight inside my ribcage. I clutched at my father’s back and shoulders as he slid the head of his cock inside me. My muscles burned. He withdrew to the very tip and then eased forward. I cried out.
“Jesus, you’re tight,” he rasped. “Am I hurting you?”
“Kind of.”
His shoulders tensed. “Want me to stop?”
“No, keep going.” I squeezed my eyes shut.
“You sure?”
I nodded. I wanted this, all of it, the pain as well as the pleasure. “I’m sure.”
He kissed a meandering line from my ear to my lips. I slipped my tongue into his mouth, a mirror image of what he was doing to me down below. He eased a little further in and then paused, allowing me time to get used to the sense of fullness. I imagined supple, receptive things: roses blooming, sand slipping through spread fingers, dark-chocolate pudding. I willed myself to be open, to embrace the anticipation of not knowing what would happen next.
When my father’s pelvis met mine, I knew he was all the way inside me. I felt stretched, plugged, so full I thought I’d burst. Yet, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as everyone said it would. Weeks of fingering and oral sex had no doubt prepared me for this moment.
He rolled his hips. I felt every inch of him sliding in and out, every inch of my wet pussy expanding and contracting around him. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more pressure on the outside, more direct stimulation of my clit.
I opened my eyes. He was watching me, his expression equal parts lust and concern.
“What do you need, baby?”
I licked my spit-chapped lips. “My clit…”
My father sat up without pulling out. Draping my legs over his thighs, he gripped the backs of my knees and hauled me toward him, burying his cock deeper. I moaned, shaken by the sensation and turned on by the unparalleled view of his toned chest and stomach. He licked the pad of his thumb and then used it to stroke my clit while he fucked me.
I came undone.
“Oh my god,” I stammered. “Oh god…”
That was it, exactly what I needed. My muscles gripped him tighter. So tight I was sure I’d force him out. But he kept on thrusting, his own string of expletives tangling with mine as he bucked his hips. Fucking me harder. Faster. It hurt a little, at first, but then it began to feel wonderful.
I wasn’t used to having something that big inside me while I got off. It was kind of disorienting. He switched from circling my clit to strumming. I cried out as he pounded into me, drifting somewhere between agony and ecstasy and loving every second.
“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he said. “Are you close? Please tell me you’re close.”
The awareness that my father was about to come inside me was enough to coax a second orgasm from my already spent body. Rather than respond, I simply let the sensation take me: deep, throbbing bass notes I wasn’t used to, coupled with the sense of total fullness.
I opened my mouth but no sound followed as my pussy clenched him like a fist.
Tight. Tighter…
My orgasm seemed to go on forever.
