Page 36 of Hero Daddy

He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, standing half-naked before me. Scars marked his skin in places – a long one across his ribs, another near his shoulder, testament to his military past. They didn't detract from his beauty but enhanced it, making him real, making him human despite his superhuman control.

His hands moved to his belt next, fingers working the buckle with unhurried precision. The soft clink of metal seemed abnormally loud in the quiet room. He pulled the leather slowly through the loops, the whisper of it like a promise of future use that sent a shiver racing down my spine.

"Eyes on me, Daliah," he reminded me when my gaze briefly dropped to my feet. "You wanted this. Now you own it. All of it."

I raised my eyes back to him, heat flooding my cheeks but unable to look away as he unbuttoned his jeans and lowered the zipper with the same deliberate patience. The denim parted to reveal black boxer briefs struggling to contain his substantial erection.

Chad pushed his jeans down his muscular thighs, stepping out of them with athletic grace despite his obvious arousal. He stood before me in just the tight black underwear, every muscle defined, his power barely contained by the thin fabric. The bulge of his erection strained against the material, the outline clearly visible—thick, long, intimidating.

His thumbs hooked into the waistband of his briefs, pausing there as his eyes locked with mine. "Last chance to back away, Little One," he said, his voice rough with desire but still giving me an out. "After this, I won't be able to control myself like before."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I don't want you to control yourself," I whispered. "I want you."

Something flared in his eyes—hunger, possession, need—and then he was pushing the briefs down and off, revealing himself fully.

I couldn't help the small gasp that escaped me. Chad stood completely naked before me, magnificent in his unashamed masculinity. His erection stood proud from a nest of dark hair, thick and long and straight. It was easily the largest I'd ever seen, both in length and girth, with prominent veins running along the shaft and a smooth, defined head already glistening with evidence of his arousal.

My mouth went dry at the sight of him. A mixture of desire and intimidation flooded through me. He was beautiful, powerful, almost frighteningly male – and he was mine to touch, to taste, to worship.

"Well, Daliah?" he asked, his voice deeper now, challenging. "Do you still feel like being naughty? Do you think you can take all of your Daddy?"

The question hung between us, loaded with meaning. This wasn't just about physical capacity but about everything he represented—his control, his dominance, his care, hisexpectations. Could I handle all of him, every aspect, every demand?

Fear and desire crashed through me in equal measure, neither fully winning out but both driving me forward. I nodded, then found my voice.

"Yes, Daddy," I whispered, the words barely audible but filled with desperate need.

Without conscious thought, I sank to my knees before him, my leggings and panties still tangled around my thighs, restricting my movement but somehow making the position feel even more submissive. My hands reached for him like a supplicant, fingers trembling as they made first contact with the hot, velvet skin of his erection.

He was impossibly hard yet soft to the touch, like steel wrapped in silk. My fingers could barely close around his girth, the substantial weight of him filling my palm. His sharp intake of breath at my touch sent a thrill through me—I was affecting him, powerful in my submission.

I leaned forward, drawn by instinct and need, and took him into my mouth. The first taste of him was salt and musk, overwhelmingly male. I could only accommodate the head and first few inches, his size making a complete taking impossible, but I tried nonetheless, driven by a desperate desire to please him, to worship him as he deserved.

"Fuck," Chad growled above me, one hand coming to rest on the back of my head, not pushing but present. "Look at you, Little One. Taking your Daddy's cock so beautifully."

His words sent liquid heat pooling between my thighs. I hollowed my cheeks, sucking more firmly, using my hand to work the substantial length I couldn't fit into my mouth. My eyes watered with the effort of accommodating him, but the discomfort felt right somehow – a physical manifestation of the challenge he presented, the demand for my complete surrender.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice strained, his fingers gently tangling in my hair. "So good for Daddy. So perfect."

I worked him with growing confidence, finding a rhythm between my mouth and hand, discovering what made his breath catch, what caused the muscles in his thighs to tense. The power I felt was paradoxical – on my knees before him, serving him, yet holding his pleasure in my control.

"Keep your eyes on me," he commanded, his voice thick with pleasure. "I want to see you worship me."

I looked up the impressive length of his body, past the defined planes of his abdomen and chest, to meet his gaze. The connection was electric, intimate in a way that transcended the physical act. I was on my knees before him, mouth filled with his substantial length, but in that moment, I felt anything but subjugated. I felt powerful, needed, essential.

"My good girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing my cheek where it hollowed around him. "So eager to please your Daddy."

The praise washed over me like warm honey, spurring me to greater efforts. I took him deeper despite the strain, my hand working in tandem with my mouth, determined to bring him pleasure, to prove myself worthy of his desire. My own arousal built with each stroke, each murmured word of encouragement, my body responding to his pleasure as if it were my own.

Just as I found a perfect rhythm, Chad's hand tightened in my hair, gently but firmly pulling me back. His magnificent length slipped from my mouth with a soft, wet sound that should have been embarrassing but instead felt primal and right. I looked up at him, confused by the interruption when his labored breathing and tensed muscles had told me he was close to release. His eyes burned down at me, pupils blown wide with desire.

"Not yet, Little One," he said, his voice rough with restraint. "I need more of you. All of you."

He reached down, strong hands gripping my upper arms, and lifted me to my feet in one fluid motion. My leggings and panties still tangled around my thighs, I felt awkward and exposed, but the hunger in his gaze transformed my embarrassment into something else—pride, desire, a strange new confidence.

"Look at me," he commanded, his hands moving to frame my face, tilting it up to meet his eyes. "You are perfect, Daliah. Every inch of you is unbelievably beautiful to me."

His thumbs stroked my cheekbones, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the intensity of his gaze. "I want to see all of you," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Show your Daddy. Let me worship my beautiful, defiant girl."

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