Page 47 of Big Daddy

I narrow my eyes while simultaneously grinding down against his hand. He feels so good, and so does this bed. “How do you know I didn’t have money?”

He adds another finger, curling and curving them just right. “I went through your purse after you passed out.”

I smack his shoulder, but the wall of a man that he is? He doesn’t budge. His hand fucks me faster, his eyes more intense than ever, stormy and dark. “Big Daddy!” I protest, but he’s touching me in all of the places that turn me to goo, and my protest comes out as a breathy, hungered moan.

“You have no money on you? Do you know how unsafe that is? What would you have done if your alleged friend left you?” he asks, fucking me faster and harder with each pressing question. “You know what else I found? Something that pissed me off more than an empty wallet?”

A flood of heat surges between my thighs as the heel of his palm grazes my clit. My hips rove, humping his hand the way I humped pillows as a teen—feral with no rhythmic cadence or beauty, only the horny thrusts of a girl aching to explode.

“Hmm?” I moan, wanting to kiss him but ashamed of my hungover mouth.

His eyes capture mine, dark and foreboding. A single vein pulses in the center of his forehead, echoing his rage. “Birth control.”

My motions cease and my eyes lift from the place where I was watching his hand fuck me. “I practice safe sex. How can that be a bad thing?”

His mouth comes down on mine before I can protest, before I can warn him that I haven’t brushed my teeth, I’ve only drunk water. But Quincey doesn’t care. He hikes my legs up around his waist and presses his groin to my core, still finger fucking me as he uses his bodyweight to thrust deeper.

When he breaks the kiss, his hair is spilling over his forehead, and the tip of his nose is pink. “What day is it?” he asks as he adds his ring finger to my cunt.

My stomach tightens and my taint buzzes with pressure. My toes curl and my thoughts slide away, my orgasm cresting. “Thurs… Thursday,” I manage, wiggling against him faster, this time rhythmically.

“You haven’t taken your pill since last week,” he grunts, his erection slipping past his hand, poking into my thigh like a steel pipe wrapped in fancy fabric. “You could get pregnant if you’re active,” he tells me, his tone stripped raw, his voice hoarse and hungry.

With my climax just around the corner, I reach between us, batting his hand away. I go for his zipper, and he stops me by grabbing my wrist. “Winnie,” he says, his eyes locked to mine, silently warning me.

But I don’t care.

I want this.

I want it more than anything.

I don’t know how to explain it.

I have his zipper down and his pulsing erection in my hands within a second. His eyes hold mine as I align the head of his cock with my engorged pussy lips, and the pulsing in my clit intensifies as I stare up at him.

“We can’t go back,” he says, giving me a chance to pull away. But I don’t want to leave this room without knowing what it feels like to have a man like Quincey Parker between my thighs, throbbing and pulsing inside of me.

I lick my lips. “So fuck me already, Big Daddy.”

With a feral groan, he slams inside me, making me hiss and jerk as I struggle to take his girth and length. He’s so much more than I’ve ever had, and my body feels the stress of his size. Yetthrough the streaks of pain and pulsing aches, I’ve never felt so good. So tingly. So hot. So desired.

My womb actually aches inside my body as his cock spears me, in and out, over and over, his wild groans making my breasts ache to be gripped and my nipples throb to be sucked. Every veiny inch of him sinks deep inside me, so deeply that I cough. I gag. I cry out for him as his mouth swallows every word.

His tongue tangles with mine, his aftershave making my insides melt as he thrusts between my thighs. “You want my cum, Winnie Collins?” he asks, the bed slamming against the wall with each savage plunge inside me. “Then earn it. Come for me, come for your Big Daddy,” he rasps just as my body seizes, my cunt tightens, and I come harder than I ever have in my life.

Waves of euphoria wash over me, my lower half pulsing in rhythmic waves of pleasure, my eyes pulled closed as I moan his name, over and over.

“Big Daddy… Big Daddy… oh, god, Big Daddy…”

A beat passes and Big Daddy is pulling out, scrambling to lift my shirt and expose my stomach and bra covered tits. I open my eyes in time to catch the slit on his cock opening, a ribbon of pearly heat rocketing from him, painting my belly and bra.

“Not yet,” he groans, his fist twisting his cock right under his crown, jacking every single drop free. Ribbons of release paint my body, warm and thick, white and perfect. My eyes keep moving between the sight of his masculine hand jerking his meaty cock, and all the cum painting my skin. I gravitate toward the single drop that made it to my cleavage, slowly rolling down to the filigree lace of my bra.

When I swallowed him, I swallowed a lot. This orgasm is no smaller. In fact, there may even be more cum than before. And even though I just came, the sight ofhisorgasm makes everything down south get hot and needy all over again.

Inside, I’m aware of my emptiness. I’m aware of the hollowness in my womb. The space in my chest. All of it.

He gets to his knees, using the bedsheet to wipe his cock before he stuffs it back into his slacks. Slacks that cost more than everything I own, no doubt.

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