Page 91 of Off-Limits Daddy
I rolled my hips against his, teasing him through both our briefs. The friction hit just right—slow and hungry. I wanted to make him feel everything.
“God, baby,” he groaned. “You’re making Daddy lose his mind.”
I rocked harder, faster, grinding down just enough to make him curse.
I moaned, leaning down to kiss him again, swallowing the growl in his throat.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that, baby.”
I kept going, hips moving in that rhythm he liked, lips trailing over his chest, then lower, sucking a bruise just below his nipple. His body tensed beneath mine.
The praise came low and rough, thick with love and hunger. “You take such good care of me,” Daddy murmured. “Look at you. My boy. Riding me so sweet.”
I rocked harder, moaning against his skin, thighs trembling, pressure cresting fast and hot. Daddy shifted beneath me, palms guiding my pace, grounding me while everything inside burned bright and came undone.
We were all mingled breaths and heat and hands and mouths.
“That’s it,” he whispered, hands framing my waist. “Let go for me, boy. I’ve got you.”
His breath stuttered.
My pulse skipped.
“I’m gonna—ohfuck, Daddy.”
My body shook as I came, helpless and loud. His orgasm followed moments later, one hand gripping my ass, the other pressed flat to my back.
Our seed spilled between us, our cocks pulsing against each other.
My muscles gave out, and I collapsed onto his chest, boneless and gasping. A laugh shook out of me—shaky and full of everything I didn’t have the words for.
“You good?” he asked, breath heavy.
“Mmm. Perfect.”
The room was a mess. The sheets were a tangle. The tray sat on the nightstand like it had no idea what just happened.
I pressed my face into his neck and sighed. “I should be getting ready for camp.”
Daddy kissed the side of my forehead. “Let me hold you a minute longer.”
And so I stayed—boneless in his arms, his breath warm against my temple—as the early morning light filtered softly through the window, the rest of the world waiting on the other side of the bedroom door.
EPILOGUE
ARI
Half a dozen smudged handprints glistened on the drying rack, a mix of red and silver tempera paint and whatever glitter hadn’t clung to the construction paper. The bell had rung twenty minutes ago, but the art room still pulsed with a kind of soft,
lingering chaos—abandoned water cups, scribbled worksheets, the faint scent of acrylic and peppermint from someone’s lip gloss.
I wiped down the counter with a damp rag, then paused at the trash can. A paper snowflake stuck out from the top—edges crumpled, uneven, glitter clinging to one flap. Some kid had given up on it, maybe embarrassed it didn’t look like everyone else’s.
That didn’t stop me from fishing it out. I couldn’t throw away someone’s effort. Not when I knew what it took to put yourself on the page.
It had been five months since Daddy recovered from his concussion. Five months since the camp job ended. Five months since Briar Creek Middle School offered me a probationary full-time position teaching Visual Arts. The first week I’d felt like Iwas faking it—like any second someone would burst through the door and
tell me they meant to hire arealteacher. But kids didn’t care about credentials.
