Her knee rises slightly in sleep and the lips of her pussy become visible.
A shudder wracks me.
She is naked in my bed.
Where I sleep.
Surely I can’t be expected to withstand this level of need without satisfying it.
Breathing hard, I shove my shorts down to my knees and fist my cock. Her voice echoes inside my head, calling me Daddy while I conquered her pussy from behind. And I begin to stroke. My teeth bite into my lip hard and draw blood so I won’t groan and wake my sleeping kitten. She is so sexy, her pussy red from my savage treatment earlier, her ass cheeks two plump, little handfuls. Daddy, she calls me. Daddy. Daddy.
An image of her in a cotton candy pink dress bouncing on my lap fills my mind.
Her pigtails wrapped in my fists.
It’s unexpected how much this vision affects me, but it does. It cranks my arousal to the highest setting, my hand jacking up and down my steel faster, faster.
And I come all over her tight, young ass, growls of bliss trapped in my chest.
Wiping the sweat from my upper lip, I decide to leave my spend there. Right where it belongs. And I leave the room determined to fulfill my Whitney’s wishes.
It is a very long night for me.
Whitney lives up to her kitten nickname, rubbing and purring all over me. Nuzzling her face into my throat and tucking her little hands up beneath my T-shirt. I consider many, many times holding her down and shoving my cock as deep as she can take it, but the redness of her pussy stops me. Truth be told, as the minutes tick by and her sore coloring does not go away, and Whitney’s exhaustion remains obvious, I become appalled by my behavior.
This girl is barely half my size and I did not employ any gentleness.
She seemed satisfied afterward, but I could have hurt her. Badly.
My mouth dries up at the thought. Shame clogs my throat.
I decide to get out of bed early and punish myself downstairs in my gym. Maybe if I exhaust myself, my cock will cease to stand straight up, seeking my kitten’s pussy. Before the sun comes up, I have sweat through my T-shirt running, jumping rope and pummeling the punching bag.
When I have finally managed to tire myself and my erection starts to wane, Whitney walks into the gym in one of my T-shirts and my dick fires back up into the ready position.
“Morning,” she murmurs, pushing her mussed honey hair out of her eyes. “You are working out the morning after a fight?”
“Yes,” I rasp, marveling over the way the sun lights up her blue eyes. “Did you sleep well, kotik, or should I buy new bed?”
“No need for that,” she giggles. “I slept better than I have in a long time.”
“Oh.” Pride floods my chest. “Good.”
She chews her lip. “Did you make any calls about Scout?”
“Yes. I am in contact with a man in Brawn’s inner circle.” I worry about telling her the next part. “He tells me that Easton has brought your sister to his home. She is in no danger, he says, but he is not willing to grant this meeting yet.”
“Grant this meeting?” She shoves my T-shirt sleeves up to her elbows, but they slide back down and I try not to sigh over her cuteness. That might not prove wise when she’s irritable. “Who does he think he is?”
I hold up a hand. “Let me finish. There will be a phone call.” I glance at the clock on the wall. “Your sister will be allowed to call at one o’clock. Does this please you, Whitney?”
Her features soften. “Yes. For now. I still need to see her to be sure she’s all right, but a phone call is great.” She smiles at me. “Thank you, Maxim.”
The crowded feeling below my collar bones forces me to clear my throat. “You will trust me to arrange meeting with your sister soon?”
“Yes.”
I give a satisfied grunt. “Very good.”
Whitney saunters around the gym, trailing her finger over my equipment, and I have to restrain myself from stomping after her. Picking her up and crushing her to my chest. Rocking and kissing her. Making her tell me once again how well she slept.
“So are you going to show me some moves?” she asks, giving me a flirtatious look.
I cock my head. “You want to learn mixed martial arts?”
Her shoulder shrug is swallowed up in my borrowed T-shirt. “I’ve been watching it for a long time. Usually me and Scout sit in front of the television and pray to the gambling gods that my father doesn’t lose his bets. I guess, because of that, I’ve kind of resented the sport. But you changed that last night. You were so…powerful. I want to feel powerful, too.”
Her calling me powerful winds me. Humbles me. “I understand this desire.”
“You do?” She stops behind the bench press. “Weren’t you born powerful, though?”
“Nyet, kotik. I was born poor in Astrakhan. The fishing industry died and my father could no longer provide. I got started in shipbuilding when I was fourteen. And after the work day ended, there were fights. Illegal ones. I saw the money that could be made and knew it could support my family. So I started carrying heavy materials, lifting and learning to punch. To kick. Where the weak spots are located on a man’s body. When I joined those fights, I lost. But then I grew. And grew.”
She smiles. “And you started to win.”
“Yes. My first real win came last night, though.” Thump thump thump goes my heart. “First one to matter.”
Her lips part on a breath, the blue of her eyes softening.
We look at each other a long while across the gym, until I finally shake myself. “You asked to learn some moves. We will start at beginner speed.”
“Okay.”
“Get into a fighter’s stance. Like this.” I show her, turning at an angle and bending my knees slightly. “Fists up. Always guard your face.”
She nods earnestly, a concentration line between her light brows. “What now?”
“Now you learn jab. Stay on the balls of your feet. Always be moving.”
It is one of the greatest delights of my life, watching her dance around on her toes in my T-shirt. “What am I jabbing?” she asks.
“Me.”
“Where?”
I slap my stomach. “Right here. You won’t hurt me.”
Her left hand fires out and strikes in the center of my abdomen. I think. I barely feel a thing. But she sucks in a breath and pulls her hand back, cradling it to her chest. “Ow. Ow!”
The blood drains out of my face. “Whitney!”
“It’s okay,” she says with a wince, shaking out her hand. “I’m fine.”
“Let me see.” I pull her toward me and examine her knuckles, cursing the very day I was born when I find them red and swollen. “Ah, kotik. Baby. I am so sorry.” I kiss each of her knuckles. “I’ve never had a woman punch me before. I didn’t think. Forgive me.”
“I told you it’s fine.” She shakes her head at me. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
My stomach churns. I’ve only had my girl for one day and already I have made her sore and red in two places. “We go get some ice.”
“Maxim, I don’t need any. I promise.”
“Da?”
“Da.”
I blow out an unsteady breath. “Then I will show you other part of MMA?” Without waiting for an answer, I throw her up onto my shoulder so she is seated on her butt and facing forward, making her yelp. “You are in the octagon after a victory. Put your hands up in the air,” I say, walking her over to the mirror. “Flex your muscles like a champion.”