Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
I spread my legs open for what I see. It’s automatic.
I’m rewarded by Daddy getting down on his chest between my legs and kissing my pussy. Rubbing his stubble against its softness and groaning brokenly. “Christ, it’s so beautiful. Smooth and juicy.” He traces my seam with his thumb. “Just a little peach asking to be eaten in one big bite.” Before I can guess his intention, he raises his hand and slaps my sex sharply, causing a whimper to escape my mouth. “I’ve been sent to pound it raw, haven’t I, young lady?”
My back arches from pure need. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Too bad you sucked me dry, huh?” He slaps the flesh between my legs even harder this time and I realize, oh my goodness, pressure is building below my navel. Could I have an orgasm from being slapped there? “Maybe if you had a gag reflex, I’d have held onto enough come to rail you like a little slut on the floor. Wouldn’t you have loved that?”
I have no idea what my response is going to be, but I end up screaming behind my teeth, because he gives me another front spanking and I’m hyperventilating now, on the verge of flying. “Please,” I pant. “Please, please. Joel. Daddy.”
Slap. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know!”
Slap. Slap. “Do you want me to show you?”
“Yes!”
His fingers create a V that exposes the most sensitive part of me and his tongue swipes long and roughly along that valley, and my legs start to kick, my fingers clutching desperately at his hair, the floor, no idea where or how to anchor myself when I’m pitching this violently. Because oh my lord, oh my…oh, he’s tonguing that pearl now at the top, licking it like the finest delicacy on earth. And when his long middle finger slips inside of me, tickling a deep spot with a pilot’s precision, that’s all I need to hit my limit for pleasure. I peak like I’m being tortured. It’s so good, but so intense.
I cry out something unintelligible, and while that finger stays thrusting between my thighs—is it two fingers now?—his mouth fastens to mine and calms me, keeps me from shattering into a million pieces, even as my body runs the gamut of release. A bone-melting release that is about more than touching the right spot. It’s consuming, because he gave it to me. He praised me, rewarded me, proved how much he desires me.
Dominated me.
I’m safe here. I’m safe under his care.
I can’t remember the last time I felt secure like this.
But with my orgasm ebbing and reality intruding, I remember…that I deceived Joel. I seduced him. I got physical with him for the wrong reasons. To hurt my father. Even after he encouraged me to talk about my problems. Even after he comforted me while I cried. Brought me here tonight, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the reunion happening in my apartment.
And when Joel picks me up and cradles me against his big chest, carrying me to the bed and holding me, rubbing my back, kissing my forehead, the guilt and self-recrimination becomes almost too much to bear. This man gives me exactly what I didn’t know I craved. Emotionally. Physically. But I sullied our beginning with my plan for revenge.
Joel falls asleep spooning me tightly, but I’m too overcome with guilt to stay.
With a wealth of unshed tears in my eyes, I slide out of his warm, perfect hold, get dressed and Uber back to my apartment, berating myself the whole way for my immaturity. The fact that I inflicted my bad intentions on this man who tried so hard to be honorable. Until I pushed him over the edge. He’ll probably wake up tomorrow morning resenting me, sick over what he’s done to his best friend’s daughter. He’ll hightail it home and fly out of my life. Just like my father has always done.
CHAPTER 7
Joel
Iwake up feeling like I’ve just come out of a coma.
The events of the night before return to me through a filter, my heart almost diving out of my mouth when I search the messy bedding and I don’t find Haylo.
“Haylo?” I’m out of the bed, still wearing my unzipped pants and rumpled dress shirt, willing a moonbeam blonde to pop out of the bathroom with my toothbrush dangling from her mouth.
Oh Jesus. Her mouth.
I stop at the doorway to the bathroom I can clearly see is empty, bracing myself on the frame, my pulse erratic. I turn to glance over my shoulder at the living area, the full scope of what I did to Haylo on the floor making my head swim with panic. She must have fled in the middle of the night, terrified I would wake up and manhandle her again.
That’s exactly what I did. Manhandle might even be a mild word.