“What about when I’m going to put it in your ass? Huh?” I release Jolie’s throat, flipping her over onto her stomach, separating her cheeks roughly and giving myself a look at her untouched entrance. “Maybe you’ll just find something to bite down on.”
Her fingers curl into the pillow. “I want this,” she says huskily. “I want to feel you there.”
A groan rumbles in my chest. “Is it any wonder Daddy can’t stay away?” I spit on her puckered hole and push forward with my hips, wedging my cock between her cheeks and riding, riding, thrusting against the promised land I’m about to claim as mine. “I’m probably going to get three or four inches in and bust, baby, you’re so fucking sweet.”
My addiction lies in getting this girl off, however, so I reach for the bedside table, taking out two things. A butterfly massager she’s had since I met her but hasn’t used since. And a small bottle of lubricant—which she also hasn’t needed. I turn on the massager and slide it under her hip, moving inward until I can press it tightly to the juncture of her thighs.
Jolie’s whole body shudders, her hips dropping to grind into the vibrator. “Oh!”
“Fuck it for Daddy,” I rasp against her ear. “Fuck it while I defile you.”
Jolie sobs, her thighs jerking a little wider, giving me more access to where I need to go. I take it with a growl, using my knees to push hers open even more. If she could see my face right now, she’d be scared to death. I’m fully her stalker in this moment. I’m the wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’m the man who steals hair from her hairbrush and licks the rim of her coffee mug before it goes in the dishwasher. I’m an obsessed felon who assaults men that try and speak to her. I am fucking insane. And I’m working two fingers in and out of her fuck-tight ass. A dream come true. A fantasy come to life. She has no idea the battle I fight not to hold her down, get inside of her, and roar myself hoarse about everything that makes her irresistible. Addicting.
Mine.
I spit again onto her entrance, then replace my fingers with the thick head of my dick, inching inside with a low, jagged sound of a man overcome. A man on the verge of imploding. Or going insane. Or both.
“Let’s see how deep I can get it,” I growl into her neck, working my flesh through the damp, stretching resistance. “Let’s see what a good little girl you are.”
The mounds of her ass are so soft against my belly, her back is such a sweet curve, bisected by the feminine ridge of her spine. Her cheek is pressed to the pillow, so I can see her open mouth, the shallow breath coming in and out. The black fan of her eyelashes. She’s a revelation. A goddess walking the earth. And so tight. So motherfucking tight around my dick that I’m making hoarse panting sounds, a bead of sweat rolling down my temple. “Daddy,” she whispers when I sink in another inch. “I’m all yours.”
I choke out her name and a shudder wracks me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
My orgasm seems to spear up from a deep, untapped part of me and I’m already overflowing her little asshole, barking curses as white streams roll down the slopes of her buttocks, filling the parted valley in between, sloshing up onto my belly, because at some point I started thrusting and she started encouraging me with yes, yes, yes, and I wrap around a hand around the slapping headboard and fuck into her clenching hole, releasing everything inside of me. Every drop she inspired.
“Mine, goddammit. Mine forever.”
“Yours.”
I fall on her, shaking violently, and without the use of my usual shield, I gather her up like she might disappear and wrap my body around her, as if we’re under attack. I rub my open mouth across her forehead, up into her hair, holding her so tight she’s gasping for air. I’m supposed to display more control than this, but the dread inside me won’t allow for caution.
“Don’t you ever leave me,” I rasp into her ear. “Don’t you dare.”
“I won’t.” Our kisses are quick, frantic, everywhere. “I won’t.”
Momentarily, I’m reassured.
But in the back of my head, there is a voice saying we’ll see.
We’ll see about that.
6
Jolie
I stand in the shower watching water slide down the white tile, unsure of how long it has been since I moved. There is something bothering me, worming its way under my skin, but my brain wants to ignore it. My heart, too.
With Christopher, lovemaking is always intense. An emotional, full contact sport. But last night, there was something different. A desperation that still clings to my skin, as if he left it behind by accident. As satisfying as it was, it…jarred something inside of me. A wakefulness.
Feeling as if I’m waking up from a trance, I soap my body and rinse, going through the motions, even though there is something hot prodding me in the gut.
For some reason, my mind drifts to two days ago. When he came home and seemed to read my mind, playing his role as if he’d been anticipating it. Like he knew what was going to happen the moment he walked through the door. Knew what I needed.
I think of how he avoids any conversation about his past. Heck, his present.
I don’t even know where his job is located.
My heart is beginning to beat faster. I replay the last month in my head. It has been blissfully happy. I’ve made progress personally, separate from Christopher, and he’s been there rooting for me, pushing me. At home, we’ve been locked in a constant state of lust, but our conversations are always about me. Or they’re funny and lighthearted.
Or they’re vague.
Like wisps of something deeper we never delve into.
Communicating without really getting into finer details.
This man I married is protective, funny, thoughtful, supportive, sweet.
He’s also primal, intense, mysterious and dominant.
There is a part of the picture of Christopher I’m not seeing, though, isn’t there?
Standing here in the shower, that seems so obvious, while before, I was distracted by a fog of desire and love and excitement. Part of me wants to step back into the fog and forget the pieces that are suddenly stark and coming together, but I can’t.
With a hard swallow, I climb out of the shower and go about my routine. I get dressed in a loose shift dress that brushes me mid-thigh and I blow dry my hair, applying a little makeup. When I walk into the kitchen, Christopher is standing at the counter dressed for work, a coffee mug to his lips. He turns to smile at me, just like he does every single morning, but this time I’m looking for something else—and I see it. Right after he spots me, just before he smiles, there’s a flash of something wild. Obsessive.
It sends a cascade of nerves down my spine, but…it also turns me on. Makes me short of breath, my thighs clenching together. If he backed me into the bedroom right now, I would go. He would make me moan and claw at his body and I could go about my day as if there isn’t anything wrong, but…I think there might be. And I can’t ignore that.
I’ve missed warning signs before and it got me kidnapped.
Terrorized for days.
I’m stronger and smarter now, though, aren’t I?
“Hey, angel eyes.” He says this so casually, as if he didn’t hold me like the world was ending in the wee hours of the morning. “Made your toast.”