Page 37 of Hero Daddy

I swallowed hard, the request both thrilling and terrifying. No man had ever seen me fully naked in bright light, had ever looked at me with such focused intent. My body wasn't like those in magazines—soft where society preferred hard angles, curved where the ideal was lean.

Chad seemed to read my hesitation. "Trust me," he murmured, one hand sliding from my face to my shoulder, down my arm, fingers intertwining with mine. "Let me show you how perfect you are to me."

Something in his voice—a note of genuine reverence, of hunger that couldn't be faked—gave me courage. I nodded, then carefully bent to push my tangled leggings and panties the rest of the way down, stepping out of them awkwardly. My t-shirt followed, pulled over my head with trembling fingers. My sports bra was the last barrier, and I removed it with a deep breath, standing before him completely nude.

Chad's eyes moved over me with palpable heat, taking in every curve, every soft line, every place where my body told the story of who I was. Rather than shrinking under his gaze, I found myself straightening, opening to it, accepting his visual caress like a flower turning to the sun.

"So fucking beautiful," he breathed, the curse making the compliment more genuine somehow. "I knew you would be." He reached out, his hand hovering just above my skin, asking permission without words.

I nodded, and his palm settled on my collarbone, warm and slightly rough with calluses. "Soft," he murmured, his touch trailing down to the swell of my breast. "So soft everywhere."

His hand cupped the weight of my breast, thumb brushing across the nipple, drawing it to a hard peak. I gasped at the contact, the direct stimulation sending electricity straight to my core. His other hand joined the first, cupping my other breast, weighing it appreciatively.

"Perfect handfuls," he said with a small, appreciative smile. "Made for my hands."

His touch was reverent but greedy, exploring with both tenderness and possession. His fingers traced the underside of my breasts, the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips. He turned me gently, his hands moving to my bottom, still warm and sensitive from the spanking.

"Beautiful," he murmured again, his palms spreading across the flesh he'd disciplined earlier. "Mine to correct. Mine to pleasure."

The possession in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. He turned me back to face him, his hands never leaving my skin, as if breaking contact was unthinkable now. His eyes held mine as one hand slid around my hip, fingers trailing through the curls between my thighs.

"I can feel how wet you are," he said, his voice dropping lower. "How much you want this. Want me."

I could only nod, words beyond me as his fingers found my slick center. He explored me gently but thoroughly, learning my body's responses, watching my face as he discovered what made my breath catch, what made my knees weaken.

Without warning, he lifted me, his strength making it seem effortless. He carried me the few steps to the padded bench, setting me with my back against the wall beside it. Then he knelt before me, a powerful man on his knees, yet losing none of his dominance in the position.

"I'm going to taste you later," he promised, his hands spreading my thighs wider. "But right now, I need to feel you everywhere."

He rose slightly, bringing his erection level with my breasts. Understanding what he wanted, I pressed my breasts together, creating a channel for him. He slid his thick length between them, the sensation unlike anything I'd experienced—the hot, hard shaft gliding against my sensitive skin, the head occasionally brushing my collarbone or chin.

"So soft," he groaned, his hips moving in controlled thrusts. "So perfect."

His hand reached between my legs again, fingers finding my center as he continued to thrust between my breasts. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, building a pressure low in my belly that threatened to explode at any moment.

"Please," I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for. "Please, Daddy."

The title seemed to ignite something in him. He withdrew from between my breasts, his fingers leaving me achingly empty. Before I could protest the loss, he was standing, reaching for his discarded jeans.

"I'm clean," he said, retrieving a condom from his wallet. "Tested regularly. But we're doing this right."

He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling the protection on with practiced efficiency.

"I need you," I whispered, shameless in my want. "I need you inside me, Daddy. Please."

He lifted me again, this time positioning me so my back pressed against the wall, my legs wrapping around his waist. The head of his erection nudged against my entrance, hot and insistent.

"Are you ready for me, Little One?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of his control. "I won't lie—it might be a lot at first. I'm bigger than most."

I nodded frantically, beyond words, beyond thought, consumed by the need to have him fill me.

He pressed forward slowly, entering me with exquisite care. The stretch was immediate, intense, bordering on too much but never quite crossing that line. He watched my face intently, ready to stop at the slightest sign of real discomfort.

"Breathe," he instructed, his own breath coming in controlled pants. "Relax for me. That's it."

Inch by careful inch, he worked his way inside, my body gradually yielding to his size, accommodating him in ways I hadn't thought possible. When he was fully seated, he held still, letting me adjust, his forehead resting against mine in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

"You're taking me so well," he murmured, pride and awe mingling in his voice. "My perfect girl."

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