Page 11 of Time Out

“Daddy, please, more kisses.Pleeeeeease…Daddy!”

“That’s my girl.”

I find her clit with my tongue and give her what I know she needs.

Blissful relief.

When I feel her body tighten, hear her hold her breath, I give her clit another three hard flicks, and she erupts with a gush of warm honey. I shift my mouth, driving my tongue into her hole, fucking her in and out while she drenches my face.

The orgasm consumes her, the tightness around my tongue reminding me how hard it will be to get my cock inside her. But I’ve climbed steeper mountains than this without as much resolve, so tomorrow when she’s sober, I’ll prep her little girl opening the best I can, then take that cherry once and for all.

Her pussy clenches around my tongue, and I move back to her clit as she slaps at my head, twisting and yelping. I release her thigh and slip my middle finger inside as far as I can.

Her flavor is like a miracle. If I had to eat her pussy every day for the rest of my life and never even get off myself, I’d die a happy man.

“God, Daddy,” she hiss-whispers, her voice sweet and youthful, and that prickling down my spine reminds me again how young she is. Can I be sure she’s even legal? Wilson said they check before the girls dance, but things can be faked…

But, fuck, she called me Daddy without me reminding her, and I come damn near to blowing my load inside my pants. She’s taken my brain and turned it into scrambled eggs. I’m not thinking straight. All I know is I need this girl.

She’s mine. And, worst case, she’s close to legal, I tell myself, pushing away the niggling doubt.

I take a breath, but as she comes down the greedy beast inside of me wants more.

I kiss her clit as a fire burns in my chest, and her voice cracks as she goes limp.

I wring out another orgasm from her twitching body as she calls me Daddy over and over, binding us together in a way I don’t think she fully understands.

When she’s spent again, I swallow down every drop, then push to my feet, leaning over and connecting our lips in a slow, deep kiss, so she can taste how delicious she is. I glide my tongue into her warm mouth, sharing the orgasm I gave her.

Emotions roll through me like a storm as I draw back, her eyes fluttering as they focus on me.

“Now, be a good little girl and put on the robe there.” I point to the side wall where there are two fluffy, white, five-star hotel style robes hanging. “I’m going to make you some tea and a grilled cheese sandwich. Soak up that alcohol. Tomorrow will be a very different day for you—” I stall mid-sentence. The hammer of realization that I don’t know her name hits me again.

She reads my mind with a smile so sweet, I probably need a shot of insulin. “I’m Fay. Fay Dunkin. Like the donut shop,” she says, her name like a song, and I can’t believe how connected I am to her already.

“I’m Hudson. But when we are home, and especially when I’m fucking you, you call me Daddy.”

Chapter Four

Fay

Amazingly enough, four gin and tonics did not leave me with a hangover. I am thirsty as heck though, but Hudson, in all his stern gruffness, has me drinking Pedialyte on a strict schedule in order to replace my depleted electrolytes.

He had Door Dash deliver a whole case.

Grape flavor, because I said that was my favorite.

I passed out after the bath. The events of the evening and the alcohol finally taking me out hard.

I remember getting tucked into the world’s biggest bed with the softest sheets I’ve ever experienced.

From there, it was sweet darkness and a night’s sleep like I haven’t had in years. Blissful unconsciousness and warmth. Heaven.

I woke to the smell of frying bacon, with sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains, warming my naked shoulders. I slid out of bed to find a super huge t-shirt draped over the end, and after I slipped into it, I followed my nose.

Which is how I ended up on the patio, tucking into a mouthwatering breakfast of bacon, eggs, hash browns, wafflesandFrench toast, with strawberries and extra syrup. Everything a girl could ask for the morning after she had her first taste of alcohol.

“So…” I start, on a smirk, taking in his more casual look today of a plain white t-shirt stretched across that continent of a chest, paired with a baggy pair of blue jeans. His dark hair is pushed back off his forehead, exposing a long scar close to the hairline. “Are we going to talk about the multiple felonies you committed last night?”

---