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“Daddy,” I gasped, instinctively rubbing myself against the bed and moaning when it got me no friction at all but somehow made me even hornier.
“Be good,” he said. “You know that belongs to me.”
A shudder rolled through my body, an embarrassingly needy sound spilling from my mouth.
Daddy’s eyes turned hot, and he brought his cock back to my mouth. “Two taps if you need to, sweetheart,” he reminded me. “And when you feel like you’re going to gag, breathe slowly through your nose.”
Then he pushed it into my mouth, slow and steady and relentless, not stopping even when I did gag, praising me in a low, gritty tone as my throat spasmed around his thick length and then made room for him.
Then he pulled back, leaving me with just the tip as I panted around it, and wiped my cheeks. “So beautiful. Again.”
This time, when he pushed into my mouth with a low, sexy groan, something inside me felt like it let go. All my muscles relaxed, and a lovely, floaty feeling started to fuzz out my brain, so that even when he triggered my gag reflex again, it was like it didn’t matter.
“Good boy, that’s it, just breathe,” Daddy said, thrusting all the way to the back of my throat. “Oh fuck, sweet baby. Take a little more. No, don’t close your eyes. Daddy wants to see you.”
I opened them again, my jaw aching and my eyes watering and my heart feeling almost too big for my chest. It was like I was floating above my body, drifting in a safe cloud where my only purpose was to please him, and even the desperate, maddening, coiling sensation in my gut as my dick kept trying and failing to get hard felt a little distant, the tension a little less urgent even though a part of me still wanted to beg him to let me come.
It was like I almost didn’t need to, though. As Daddy kept fucking my mouth, his thrusts getting a little less careful, a little more forceful as his cock swelled and throbbed on my tongue, I only wanted his cum. I wanted him to fill me with it. I wanted to choke on it. I wanted—
“Fuck,” he gritted out. “Baby, baby, Dashiell.”
My whole body quaked, and the way he said my name as he finally got there and unloaded into my mouth—pulling back a little when I sputtered and choked and pumping himself with his fist so that his cum spilled down my chin and splattered over my face—almost made me feel like I was the one coming.
“Daddy,” I croaked as he finally finished, panting as I rested my head on his thigh, that floaty, buzzy feeling inside my head and my skin and my blood and my heart. “I need… I need…”
I couldn’t think.
He pulled me up, mess and all, and kissed my mouth. Licked his way inside with a groan and held the back of my head to keep me in place, anchoring me right there, with him, so I didn’t float away.
“What you need is a shower, sweetheart,” he said when he finally pulled away, gently running his fingers down my sticky cheeks with his eyes full of—
Well, it couldn’t be, it was too soon and too big of a dream, even though I was pretty sure it was how I already felt for him.
“Yes, Daddy,” I breathed out, so happy to have him decide that I didn’t care what we did. I was his. And since my face was also covered in his cum, he was probably right. I did need a shower. But then the door buzzer sounded from the front of the apartment, followed by a quick, staccato knock that I knew by heart now, and Daddy let out a low, muffled curse that made me giggle.
The shower would have to wait.
If we ignored Jackie, he’d just use his key and let himself in.
Chapter 11
Callum
* * *
“What do you want?” I growled at my nephew, deliberately blocking the doorway because the little shit had all the non-existent boundaries of a Gen Z’er and I had no faith that he’d respect my request for privacy if I kept it strictly verbal.
Jackie’s eyes widened. “Uncle Cal? I thought you didn’t get back until later tonight.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
He grinned, holding up a shiny bag with fussy tissue paper sticking out of the top in a shade of orange that reminded me of melon balls. “I’ve got something for your boy, and I was going to whisk him away for some pampering so he’d be all prettied up by the time you got home, but I guess I’m too late.”
“Dashiell is always pretty,” I grumbled. “He doesn’t need some kind of spa day for that.”
“No, but he might have fun with it.”
“Well, you can’t have him, so you should leave.”
