Page 50 of Campus Daddies

“No more. No more.”

His cock is relentless, slamming into me at a fast, hard pace.

“Cedric. Please.”

He slows but doesn’t stop. “You remember what to do to make me stop?”

I nod, and he smiles. Another small one, but it cuts through me in a way I can’t quite put into words.

Hands sliding up my hips and waist, he carefully rolls my dress up over my breasts, then my shoulders, and lets it gather around my elbows. His gaze is like a touch, tracing my hardening nipples and my hourglass shape.

Both of my breasts fit in his hands as he kneads me softly, hips moving at a steady, slow beat. Cedric pinches my nipples, tugging and teasing until he finds what I like.

It floods me with wet heat again, and his hips pick up pace in response.

Once he has me whimpering with need again, he releases my poor, abused nipples and holds my knees together, making me tighten around him.

I’m folded in a few positions before he’s hovering over me, one hand beneath my ass and the other lying over my tied wrists. He’s got me completely trapped, utterly at his mercy.

What ends me is the frenzy in his eyes, the intensity when he comes. Everything else about him is in control, but I can see the chaos in how he looks at me.

I don’t ever want to be looked at another way.

20

BRAXTON

Sofia has been over regularly to visit Birdie. She insists that I stop paying her, so I make her dinner. It’s a strange in-between place we’re sitting in since we crossed that line to sex. A memory I play on repeat, improving on it, progressing it.

But after I saw the rough cut she did and how she kept what we did in there—even the barest hint of it… Fuck, it drove me mad.

Almost as mad as seeing that new film professor flirting with her, and the way Cedric responded to her in our meeting. It’s building and building inside me.

I’ve become obsessed.

Yet, since I saw her in her advisor’s office, we haven’t had the time to unpack it. To either shut it down or proceed with what we’ve started.

I want more of her—of her touch, of her skin, of her mouth and her smiles, of her staying late or maybe over. If I allow myself, I’ll tumble down the rungs of a relationship with her before she takes the first step.

She’s upstairs with my daughter. I can hear their giggles through the floor. My happiness is a kind of anguish. I just want to know what my boundaries are.

When she comes downstairs, Sofia pauses in the kitchen where I’ve been lurking.

“Hey,” she says, looking me over.

“Hey. You two are done?” My voice is gruffer than I intend.

I get a smile from her, though. “Yeah. You get all your work done tonight?”

“I did.” Clearing my throat is loud and sounds aggressive. The downfall to being a big man. “Would you like to stay for a drink? Do you need a ride home?”

Sofia sets her bag down in one of the kitchen chairs and closes much of the space between us. “I can stay for a drink. I haven’t texted Dad yet.”

Is that an opening she’s offering me? It feels like one.

I grab her a glass and pour her a finger of whiskey, refilling my own with two. She playfully clinks our glasses together before taking a sip. I’m much slower, stuck watching her and packing away every morsel I can grab.

“What?” she asks.

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