Page 38 of Hero Daddy

I shifted experimentally, causing him to sink fractionally deeper. We both gasped at the sensation. Then, as if reaching the limits of his restraint, Chad began to move.

His thrusts started slow, measured, each one deliberate and controlled. But as my body opened to him, as my wetness eased his passage, the pace increased. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady for his increasingly powerful drives.

"You feel so fucking good," he growled, his composure finally cracking. "So tight. So perfect."

The position allowed him to hit places inside me I hadn't known existed, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasureracing through my nervous system. I clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, anchoring myself against the onslaught of sensation.

"That's it," he encouraged as I began to meet his thrusts, rolling my hips to take him deeper. "Take what you need from Daddy."

The combination of the filthy words, his commanding presence, and the relentless physical pleasure pushed me toward an edge I'd only ever approached alone. My inner muscles clenched around him, tightening as the pressure built.

"Are you going to come for me?" Chad asked, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "Are you going to come on Daddy's cock?"

"Yes," I gasped, the single syllable all I could manage as the tension coiled tighter, tighter, approaching its breaking point. "Please, yes!"

"Now," he commanded, his thumb finding my clit, applying precise pressure as his thrusts maintained their perfect angle. "Come for me now, Little One."

My orgasm hit with shocking intensity, exploding outward from my core in waves that seemed to go on forever. I cried out, the sound muffled as Chad captured my mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. My body clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a groan from deep in his chest as he continued to thrust through my climax, extending it beyond anything I'd experienced before.

Only when the last aftershock had rolled through me did his rhythm falter. His movements became more urgent, less controlled, his breathing harsh against my neck. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself as deep as possible, his body tensing as his own release overtook him.

We remained locked together, breathing raggedly, sweat-slicked skin pressed tight, for long moments afterward. Chad'sforehead rested against mine, his eyes closed, his arms still supporting me effortlessly against the wall. When he finally opened his eyes to meet mine, something profound passed between us – recognition, connection, understanding beyond words.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered me until my feet touched the floor, steadying me when my legs trembled beneath me. He didn't step away, keeping his body close, one hand cupping my face with unexpected tenderness.

"My brave, beautiful girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. The simple touch, coming after such intensity, felt more intimate somehow than everything that had preceded it.

I leaned into his palm, overwhelmed by the complex tangle of emotions flooding through me – satisfaction, yes, but also something deeper, something that felt dangerously like belonging. In the aftermath of pleasure, in the quiet space of shared breath and racing heartbeats, I recognized a truth I couldn't yet name but could no longer deny – something fundamental had shifted between us, something that could never be undone.

And I didn't want it undone. Whatever this was, wherever it led, I wanted to follow it to its end.

Chapter 7

Theachebetweenmythighs reminded me with every shift in my seat – Chad had claimed me, changed me, marked me as his. I winced slightly as I leaned forward to inspect Mrs. Peterson's cuticles, my body's soreness a secret badge I wore beneath my practical uniform, invisible to everyone but thrillingly present to me. The salon's familiar scents of acetone and lavender hand cream seemed somehow sharper today, as if my senses had been recalibrated along with everything else.

"Just a little filing needed here," I murmured, my voice betraying none of the electric current that seemed to hum beneath my skin. Mrs. Peterson nodded absently, more interested in her gossip magazine than in my assessment of her nail health.

I reached for my file, the motion pulling at muscles that had been stretched in ways they'd never experienced before. Last night played in flashes behind my eyes—Chad's powerful body, his commanding presence, the discipline bench, his words: "Mybrave, beautiful girl." The memory of his hands, alternately punishing and reverent, made heat rise to my cheeks.

Glimmer Beauty Salon bustled around me, the same as it had yesterday and would tomorrow. The rhythmic snip of scissors from the stylist stations, the hum of hair dryers, the occasional burst of laughter from the front desk. But I felt different inside—grounded in a way I'd never experienced before, as if Chad's gravity had altered my orbit.

"Earth to Daliah!"

I blinked, realizing I'd been staring at Mrs. Peterson's hand without actually filing anything. Trina stood beside my station, one hip cocked, her perfectly plucked eyebrow raised in a question mark.

"Sorry," I muttered, resuming my work. "Just thinking."

"Must besomethoughts," Trina said, her voice dropping conspiratorially as she leaned closer. "You've been walking funny and spacing out all morning."

I felt heat crawl up my neck. Had I been walking differently? Of course I had—my body carried the evidence of Chad's thorough attention. The marks from his paddle probably still bloomed across my backside, and certain muscles protested movements I'd previously taken for granted.

"Just tired," I lied, focusing intently on Mrs. Peterson's pinky nail.

Trina made a noncommittal noise, clearly unconvinced. "Well, try to wake up before your two o'clock. Mrs. Henderson doesn't tolerate daydreaming during her weekly French tip."

I nodded, grateful when Trina sashayed back to her own station. She moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how good she looked—all sleek ponytail and tight black uniform that highlighted her gym-honed figure. I'd spent years trying not to compare myself to her, usually failing.

"You are perfect to me, exactly as you are," Chad had said, his hands mapping the geography of my body with reverence. His voice echoed in my memory, drowning out years of criticism and self-doubt.

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