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 unfurl her hair from around my fist and angle myself behind her, running my palm down the exquisite slope of her back, her bare, uptilted ass.
“Still confused about who takes care of you now?” I ask again, my voice harder. “Still confused who gives you love and discipline?”
Vigorously, she shakes her head, but she’s looking down at the floor, her teeth buried in her bottom lip. Right on the verge.
I spank her hard, the sharp slap reverberating around the room.
I spank her ten times, leaving that delectable flesh red. Flushed.
Power spikes in my blood, but only because I see what it’s doing to Haylo. How she’s responding by offering me her smarting cheeks for more, hiccups of pleasure falling from her mouth. “Yes. Please.” She presses the side of her face to the carpet. “Harder.”
Five more times, I connect my palm sharply to her bottom, until I can’t take another second of living outside of her body. I position myself above her, my chest to her fragile back, and I snarl my way into her, my dick burying in that little bang hole I didn’t stretch nearly enough because Christ, she can hardly take me.
Still, I push forward, yanking her ass higher and tighter to my lap with a vile curse. Driving deeper until my balls are crammed up against the parted lips of her cunt.
She’s trying so hard not to cry out, but when I thrust so hard, I lift her knees off the ground, she gives in, releasing a series of sobs that render me lost in a sexual fog, so that all I can do is buck in and out of her, the fronts of my thighs plastered to her smaller, smoother ones, the perfect curve of her ass angled right up at the ceiling where our shadows move furiously, a big shape fucking a delicate one, skin slapping wetly against skin, sounds coming from me that I don’t even recognize. Sick, beastly sounds that only grow deeper, more desperate the closer she brings me to the edge.
I reach for her chin, gripping it hard and tipping her head all the way back until she’s looking at me, her eyes glassy, lips bitten to hell. I don’t even have to ask, she simply opens her mouth, and I spit inside of that lovely pink warmth, noting that her cunt throbs eagerly in response, her whimpers growing louder. “Who is in charge now, young lady?” I growl.
“You are,” she says, zero hesitation. Truth in her eyes.
Slowly, I slide my hand downward from her chin, skimming my touch down her throat, her bouncing tits, lingering at her belly and strumming it for long moments while I fuck her madly, and when I finally start to play with her clit, she trembles violently, cream gushing around the tunneling girth of my cock.
“He should have taken care of you when he had the chance,” I rasp, rutting deep and holding, my middle finger quickly strumming, strumming, strumming. “Now I’m going to love my angel better than he ever could. In ways he couldn’t.”
“Yes,” she whispers shakily. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Forever.”
“Forever.”
Triumph blurs with lust and adoration and I flatten her sweet body to the floor, my composure gone in the face of her total devotion, which I can see, feel and hear is totally mine. I’ll never take it for granted. I’ll never take her for granted. With the crook of my arm around her little throat and her pussy welcoming me wetly, I give myself to release with a bellow, vowing to stretch the feeling in this moment to the end of time.
“I love you, Joel,” she moans.
“I love you, too, Haylo.”
EPILOGUE
Haylo
Ten Years Later
Isit in my cushy leather wingback office chair, legs crossed, the air conditioner blowing down from the vent above to stiffen my nipples. My last client just left for the day, and the sun is setting, bathing the office of my psychology practice in a hazy glow. Knowing my husband is probably taking the stairs two at a time to reach me, I set aside my notebook and tug the elastic band from my hair, shaking out the blonde waves that have grown long over the summer, nearly tickling the small of my back.
Joel loves it.
He loves everything about me and tells me every chance he gets.
I’m twenty-eight now. He’s forty-two.
People don’t stare at us with disapproval over our difference in age anymore. No, they stare in disapproval because we can’t keep our hands off each other in public.
Or private.
Anywhere, really.
I hear footsteps in the reception area, and my pussy clenches, anticipation prickling the hair follicles to attention on my arms. I lift my hips and slide off my panties in preparation for Daddy to walk through the door, which he does a moment later, rugged and sexy as ever in worn-in jeans, boots and a navy blue T-shirt that boasts the logo of his flight school, which he opened a decade ago just outside of Nashville, where we still live.