Page 28 of Bossh*le Daddy
"That's right." He pulled me up suddenly, my back to his chest, one arm banded around my waist while the other hand continued its torture between my legs. "Mine to pleasure. Mine to deny. Mine to control."
His teeth found my shoulder, biting down just hard enough to mark, and the sharp sensation nearly undid me completely. I was balanced on the finest edge, one touch away from shattering, but still he held me there, proving his dominance with every second that passed.
Then he was lifting me, turning me again with that effortless strength, and I found myself looking into his eyes as he pressed me back against the desk. The intensity I found there—possession and pride and something deeper I didn't have words for—made my heart stutter.
"I want to see your face," he said roughly, sliding back inside me with one smooth thrust. "Want to watch you fall apart for me."
His thumb found my clit again, circling with exactly the right pressure, and I felt myself climbing toward that peak one final time. But this time, I saw in his eyes that he wouldn't deny me. This time, he was climbing with me.
"That's it," he encouraged as my body tightened around him. "That's my good girl. Come for Daddy. Now."
The permission broke the dam I'd been holding back. The orgasm crashed over me with the force of a hurricane, bowing my back, tearing screams from my throat that echoed through the empty office. I clenched around him rhythmically, pulling him deeper, needing him with a desperation that bordered on violence.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips stuttering as my orgasm triggered his. "That's it, take it all. Take everything Daddy gives you."
I felt him pulse inside me, filling me with his release, marking me internally as thoroughly as he'd marked my externalsubmission. We clung to each other through the aftershocks, both shaking, both wrecked by the intensity of what we'd shared.
When the world finally stopped spinning, he gathered me against his chest, still buried inside me, neither of us willing to separate just yet. His lips pressed soft kisses to my temple, my cheek, my jaw, gentle worship after the storm.
"My perfect little one," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "You did so well. So good for me."
The praise washed over me like warm honey, soothing all the raw edges he'd exposed. I nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his scent, feeling safer than I'd ever felt despite being near-naked and debauched on my office desk.
Eventually, reluctantly, he withdrew from me, both of us making soft sounds at the loss. But he didn't go far, lifting me into his arms with the same ease he'd shown all evening.
He carried me to the small couch in the corner of my office, settling with me in his lap, my head on his shoulder. His hands stroked soothing patterns on my back while I floated in that peaceful space between satisfaction and sleep.
"You're going to follow my rules from now on, aren't you?" he said eventually, but there was no real sternness to it now, just fond exasperation.
"Yes, Daddy," I breathed against his neck, meaning it this time. After this, after being so thoroughly claimed and cared for, the idea of disappointing him again was unbearable.
"That's my good girl." His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head. "Mine to take care of. Mine to protect. Mine to love."
The last word made my breath catch, but before I could process it, he was shifting us, tucking me more securely against his chest.
"Rest now," he commanded softly. "Daddy's got you."
Chapter 6
WhenIwokethenext day, I knew I had been claimed. Every muscle sang with delicious soreness as I surfaced from sleep, legs tangled in sheets.
I stretched carefully, testing each ache like a treasured souvenir. My thighs protested the movement, inner muscles tender from how thoroughly he'd taken me. The sensation sent heat spiraling through my belly, a visceral reminder that last night hadn't been another desperate dream.
Damian Stone had called me his good girl. Had spanked me for breaking his rules. Had knelt between my thighs and taken me apart with his mouth before fucking me on his desk until I screamed his name—no, his title—for anyone left in the building to hear.
My feet found the cold floor, toes curling against worn hardwood as I padded to the bathroom. The morning light filtering through my one window was unforgiving, but I needed to see. Needed proof that I hadn't imagined the whole thing.
The bathroom mirror had that same crack running through it, but today it showed me someone I barely recognized. My hairwas a disaster, tangled from his fingers. My lips still looked swollen, well-kissed. But it was the marks that made my breath catch.
Fingerprint bruises bloomed purple-blue on my hips, perfectly placed where he'd gripped me. I traced them with wondering fingers, pressing gently to feel the tender ache. Mine, he'd growled while leaving these brands on my skin. Mine to pleasure. Mine to deny. Mine to control.
I turned, craning to see my shoulder in the mirror's cracked surface. There—the imprint of his teeth, faint but unmistakable. Evidence of that moment when he'd pulled me back against his chest, marking me while I begged for release.
"Oh God," I whispered to my reflection, but I couldn't tell if it was horror or satisfaction in my voice.
Maybe both.
The pacifier waited on my nightstand when I returned to the bedroom, innocent-looking next to my bunny. My fingers ghosted over both objects—the worn fur of my childhood comfort, the smooth plastic of this new surrender. I felt like I was growing into something new, something more than I’d ever been before.
