Page 21 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“Isn’t that what you want?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer, because I’m pretty sure he’d keep me as his husband forever, if I were to allow it. I bring my hand to his face, brushing my thumb against his cheekbone. “What doyouwant, Abi?”

“I want you to be happy.” He leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth. “If that means we end the marriage, then we end the marriage.” He clears his throat and looks away. “I’ve always known I’d lose you eventually.”

“You’re not losing me.” I attempt to reassure him, but I’m not sure how much I believe the words. Every muscle in my body is screaming for me to run-run-run.

He shakes his head. “When we return home, you will choose to stay. Your wish is to finally be rid of me. This is your chance.”

I bite my lip, unable to speak. He’s right. Given the choice, at this very moment, I want to run. I want to hole myself away from him until both he and this unrequested round of nuptial bliss is just a distant memory.

“We have to fix this. I can’t be married to you. It crosses every boundary line of rational behavior.”

“The night we met, you cracked my rib with a rolling pin, ejaculated on my stomach, and Fiona drugged you. We’re hardly a paragon of rational behavior.”

“I know,” I say. “But this is too much, even for us.”

He stares into my eyes, not speaking, not moving aside from the finger prodding my hole. “When we get back to Washington—if you choose to return with me—we’ll sort everything as soon as we’re settled.”

I close my eyes and exhale shakily. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll sort it when we’re home. Well, if I come home.”

His finger is easing in and out, keeping me steady. It twists and turns along the way, occasionally striking my prostate, and I’m pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose. “We’ll need to pack.”

“We’ve got a few days.” I stare at him, cupping his cheek, not wanting this moment to end. When we go back to our cabin, he’ll need both hands to pack his belongings. I’m not ready to lose this sense of fullness yet. “Just a little longer?”

He leans back in the chair and sighs. “Tatum.” He sounds exhausted. I know I’ve put him through the ringer, and all I want to do is make this easier on him. I don’t know how to tell him I’m not giving up on whatever this thing we’re doing is, but I’m just so fucking scared, I can’t see straight. He’s my kidnapper. My stalker. The man is my fucking home. I want to tell him. Really, I do. I just don’t want to give him false hope.

So, when those words won’t come, I give him the best ones I can find. “Will you make me come?” I whisper.

His eyes flicker up to meet mine. “Will you allow me to?”

I give him the only thing I can. A nod. And, even though the words are just as ridiculous as the situation at hand, I attempt a joke to lighten the mood. “Call it our honeymoon.”

He smiles. Not a big one, but it’s there, just for me. “Anything for you.”

His finger twitches inside me, making my entire body shudder. It’s like he’s testing the waters to see how sincere my offer is. I roll my hips to guide him on his journey, and it must be all the permission he needs. His index finger slides out, then slowly back in, traveling at a snail’s pace. As he fucks me with his finger, he uses his thumb to trace a crescent moon shape aroundmy rim. The action makes me quiver, and I press my forehead even firmer against his.

“Kiss my neck, little one,” he says. He rarely asks anything of me, and it’s such a simple request, I don’t want to deny him this. Reluctantly, I pull my forehead away from his, missing the warmth of his body heat. I bring my lips to the crook of his neck and press a chaste kiss against his skin.

The moment I hear him whimper, logic and rational behavior flies out the window. That one whimper is the most desperate sound I’ve ever heard—like his entire future rests on what I do next. As he strikes my prostate forcefully, I let out a guttural moan, and I give in. Opening my mouth, I dig my teeth into his skin and suck.

“Oh, my fucking God,” he moans, sounding so goddamn feral it makes my cock leak through my jock. I keep sucking, wanting to hear more of the sound. Wanting to know what other sounds he makes when he’s lost in pleasure. I’ve never purposefully done anything to sexually gratify Abi, but I’m pretty sure if he pulled his dick out of his pants and demanded I swallow, I’d do it without question. I kind of want to do it, anyway. “Fuck, baby. Yeah. Keep doing that.” His fingertip tickles my hot-button and I jolt forward in his lap, drunk on the flavor of his flesh. It’s like strawberry soap and woodsy cologne. Overpowering. All-encompassing.

I wrap my hand around the wrist he’s using to hold me against him and guide it lower, not missing the cracked sounds he makes when his skin connects with the fabric of my jock. It takes everything in me to pry my lips away from him, and when I do, I realize just how hard I’ve been feasting on his neck. His skin’s gone purple, and there are small indentations where my teeth just were. There’s even a small drop of blood in one of the craters. Looking into his eyes, I pull his hand closer and hold it against my throbbing cock.

“Tatum,” he says, raw with emotion.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling light and breathless. “Make me come, Daddy.”

The second the words are out, it’s like a bomb’s gone off between us. He wraps his fingers around my cloth-covered cock and pumps me slowly. This one act—this single moment we’re sharing together—feels truer than any sexual experience that’s come before. His touch feels like fate. Inevitability. Motherfucking destiny.

“Does that feel good, Pretty Baby?”

I bite my cheek and nod, thrusting against his hand. “So good. Jesus. It’s like I’m fucking a vise.” My words are like kindling to his fire, and he’s working faster than before. I feel my balls tighten, not sure how he’s taken me to the edge so fast. Embarrassingly fast, to be honest. I’m a little worried he’s going to think I’m a one-pump chump.

“Do I get to do this now?” he asks, teasing the head with his thumb. “Will you allow me to fuck you with one hand while I stroke your cock with the other?” Holy shit. Dirty talk through the filter of a Russian accent has no right sounding as sexy as Abi does right now. It’s like he’s fucking me with his voice. “Tell me you’ll let me do this again.”

“Yeah,” I manage to say even though my head is filled with a pleasurable fog. “You can.” I slam my lips on his neck again, mumbling incoherently against his skin. “Any time.”

“Every day?” he asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s expecting an answer, because he’s finger-fucking my hole with abandon now. “Every fucking day, Tatum. I’ll wake you up like this. Would you like that?”

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