Page 24 of A Method to His Madness

“Daddy—”

That’s all I need to hear and I’m jackhammering, helplessly. Filling her with quick, savage drives, while my panicked conscience swears at me, demanding I calm myself down, despite the young flex of her cunt, the way she looks up at me in wonder, her mouth swollen from kissing, pleasure written right there on her features—and if I had any doubt of her enjoyment, her juice already dripping down my balls would clear things up. But I wrangle my urgency, nonetheless, needing to give her more care. More romance.

Every man who crosses her path dreams of banging her silly like this.

I need to be better than that. The best and only man she ever wants.

With an extreme effort, I slow my pace, slanting my mouth over hers for a thorough kiss that builds a purr in her throat, her thighs softening and opening even wider around me, unconsciously rewarding me for my restraint. My necktie has come loose from its clip and it briefly blocks my view of her tits, but I’m not having that, so I toss the silk over my shoulder, well aware I’m sweating through my clothes, but unable to stop or slow down.

“Cunt’s so sweet Daddy got carried away,” I grunt, rocking into her, my balls slapping loudly off the curve of her ass. “Taking my cock like you were trained for it.”

“Maybe I was built for you,” she murmurs, locking those little tendons up around me, so I can barely move, my bellow rattling the windowpanes. “Or maybe I don’t mind it hurting a little when you’re getting so much pleasure out of me.”

“The pleasure should be yours,” I groan raggedly, the pressure blinding in my lower back, stomach and testicles. So much pressureI’m going to explode.As if it’s not enough that I’m looking down into her flawlessly beautiful face while her tits bounce around, her hole is the size of a fucking dime and yet she moans every time I bottom out.

Motherfucker.

“The pleasureismine,” she breathes, reaching down between our bodies to rub her clit with two careful fingers, her back arching at the contact, then bouncing up with the bed from the slap of my thrust. “You taught me how to have it. Like this, Daddy?”

“Yes.” My dick releases a spurt of frothy white and I look down, watching with hungry eyes as I fuck it back into her. Hard, hard, hard. “Yes.”

“Can I play with myself while you fuck me?”

“Oh God, yes. Yes. Don’t stop. Even if watching you play means I won’t last much longer.” I pant heavily. “Look at me while you play.”

“It feels way better when you’re filling me so tight,” she moans, head falling back, her fingers moving faster, faster. “I’m coming again!”

“Good. Daddy’s busting, too, baby. Take my sperm.” I twist my hips to get in deep as possible, shoving my face into neck and yelling through the most satisfying climax of my fucking life, my balls zapping with currents of sensual electricity, her pussy massaging me while it spasms, her sobs of my name and pleasured jolts of her body egging on my own sexual flight, my dick jerking and erupting into her snug warmth, the headboard rattling against the wall because both of us are shaking so goddamn hard, riddled with relief over finally slaking the lust, but more than that.

So much more.

We’re clinging to each other in the relief of finding this. Us.

Two bonded people who are vowing with our bodies to never be apart.

No matter what the world is about to throw at us.

CHAPTER 12

Ashley

I sleepin his arms that night.

I don’t think I’ve shared a bed with someone since childhood and my best friend slept over. This is different. Very different.

After we make love, he finally takes off his clothes while I sit watching him from the pillows, wrapped in a soft sheet. He undresses the way he does everything else—with the utmost care. Tie. Belt. Watch. He removes them, sets them down, side-by-side. Eyes zeroed in on me, he draws his white dress shirt from his waistband and releases the buttons, one by one, until he can strip off the garment.

My pulse clamors at the sight of his ruthlessly tight muscles, the power of his half-naked body. His past is evident here, in tattoos and faint scars. I want to run my hands and mouth over every inch of that body and make it mine. Erase the past with my tongue and touch until he only thinks of me.

Apparently, I’m obsessed with him, the same way he’s obsessed with me.

My tummy hollows and I whimper softly when his fingers move to the fly of his slacks. I can still feel him moving on top of me. Can still feel the determined entry of his long, thick shaft into my body, the way he ground himself deep, cursing, grunting, rasping his disbelief over how well I was able to fit him. This man is a marvel of control, but I turned him into an animal. I’m addicted to that transformation already.

His pants are pushed down to the floor and he steps out, wearing nothing but a black pair of boxer briefs while he hangs his clothes on the back of a chair, his muscles moving and shifting in delicious patterns. I’m verging on screaming for him to join me in the bed when he finally does. He lies on his side, handsome head propped on a fist, the position putting his bicep on mouthwatering display.

For long minutes, he does nothing but stare at me in the dim silence of the room, a vein ticking in his temple. Until he breaks the silence. “I was rough with you. At the beginning. And the end.”

I’m sandblasted by heat, my pulse rate tripling. “I know,” I respond, smiling.

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