Page 43 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

“When I take you on our date,” I say, pausing until he looks me in the eye. “I am going to fuck you, Tatum. Is that alright?”

“Oh, Jesus, fuck, holy-fucking-Rinna!”

He’s leaning back against the bathroom mirror, bending his knees as he brings his feet up to the edge of the counter. He scoots his ass closer to me, and I’m gifted the sight of his hairless pucker.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell his hole, petting the rim with my finger. He’s shaking like a leaf as his hand works faster. I know what he needs. I’m well aware of what makes Tatum go tick-tick-boom.

Sucking my finger to get it ready for him, I taste his sweat, mewling at the flavor. I’ve missed the times spent celebrating his hole. It’s been less than two days, and it already feels like part of me is missing. Sure, he’s had fleeting moments with my finger, but it hasn’t been the constant pulse of reassurance I’m used to providing him.

Tatum reaches down, wrapping his hand around my finger, whispering, “It’s missed you so fucking much.” I have to swallow a happy sob before continuing, because those words are enough to steal my breath.

Moving closer, I blow a slow, warm breath over his sensitiveskin. His hole clenches at my heat, and it’s all the invitation I need. I bring my finger to his hole and softly guide it to where it belongs.

“You can,” he whispers, his eyes clenched tightly.

Crooking my finger, I find his secret button. I’ve dived these depths endlessly over the last six months. I know every inch. Every twist. Every ridge. One might call me a connoisseur. One might be correct.

“I can do what?” I ask. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. Wanting to hear him say the words, I lean in and tease him by pressing a kiss at the crease of his groin and thigh. How is his skin this soft? It’s as if my lips are touching silk. “You can tell me anything.” I open my mouth long enough to swipe my tongue across his balls, purring at his sweaty flavor. He’s not giving in, though, and his hand movement has slowed to a near-stop. His face is a picture of conflict. There are emotions within emotions lying just beneath the surface. “I wish you would let me in. All I want is to be your safe place. Anything you want to say, it’s okay. It’s okay, because I love you.”

To my surprise, his eyes blast wide open, and the look he gives me is one for the record books. It’s a look I want to capture so that I might revisit it whenever I need reminding that he loves me just as hard and horribly as I love him.

“You can fuck me, Abi,” he says, determined. “I want you to fuck me.”

And that’s all it takes. I watch as his balls draw closer to his body, then jet after jet of his load lands in my mouth. I free my cock from its confines and stroke three times before I’m spilling over, my load pumping out on the floor. He’s panting and gulping and gasping for air, but his hand still works frantically as if it’s chasing the only pleasure it’s ever known. Through it all—as each eruption lands in my mouth—his eyes never close. They remain locked on mine, decidedly. He’s no longer coming, just stroking his spent cock and staring at me.

“I meant it,” he finally says. “I want you to fuck me.”

It takes me a moment to realize I still haven’t swallowed. His cum lays fresh on my tongue, the flavor already so familiar, I don’t even notice. Once his breathing is steady and he manages to find his bearings, he smiles, letting his legs drop down over the side of the counter. He sits up straight, but he doesn’t speak, just stares at me like there are mismatched puzzle pieces on my face and he’s trying to work the pattern out for himself. Finally, and thankfully, he holds his arms out for me. It’s all the convincing I need. Rising from my knees, I stand in front of him, allowing him to drink the sight of me in. We study each other like we’re trying to emblazon ourselves on each other’s memory. It doesn’t last long—maybe six or seven seconds, at best—but it’s a life-changing moment. I lean close, wrapping my arms around his back, and I pull him as tightly to me as I can manage.

I’ve yet to swallow the only evidence of what we’ve just shared. He must know, because when he pulls away, he holds my face in his palms, looking more affectionate than I’ve ever seen him. His voice is filled with an almost unbearably hopeful tone when he finally says, “Will you share it with me?”

What Tatum wants, Tatum gets.

I part my lips when his are finally against mine, and I let his cum pour out like a waterfall. As our tongues tangle, the load passes back and forth between us. Our kiss lasts lifetimes, though little time has passed. As the kiss goes on, he slides his hand into my jeans and gently caresses my cock.

“Was there any of yours left?” he asks, darting his eyes down at my dick. I’m filled with guilt, because I’ve failed the little one. I should have known he would want to taste me. It’s my job to know these things. I’m supposed to take care of him. To provide for him.

“My love,” I say, stroking his cheek. “It pains me to say I spilled my seed on the floor. I’m very sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking.” I kiss the corner of his mouth. “Will you forgive me?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice shaking. “Yeah, Abi. It’s okay.”He buries his face in my nape, kissing my gently. “So, are we really doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“The date. Like ... a real one?”

I lick my lips, practically purring when I find a stray droplet of his cum on my mouth. I could live on his load for the rest of my life, and it still wouldn’t be enough. “It’s your decision, sweetheart. I would love to take you out, but if you’re uncomfortable ...”

He stares at me for what feels like hours before finally shaking his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m not uncomfortable,” he clarifies, his voice small and shaking. “If you’re dead-set on dragging me on a date, I guess I don’t have much say in the matter.”

If he needs to pretend the only reason we’re going is because I’m forcing him to, I will allow it. Whatever it takes to make him comfortable. There’s barely an inch of space between us, but I take a half-step forward until we’re chest to chest. “It’s a date.”

CHAPTER 9

TATUM

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