Page 27 of Filthy Business
Every inch of her wet cunt clenching around my cock. Skin on skin. Heat to heat.
I hissed through my teeth as I pushed deeper.
“Oh, oh,” she moaned.“Yes. Ohhh, God. More, I need more, Daddy.”
Her hair had come loose. Golden curls spilled over my pillow. That perfect red lipstick smeared across her lips like a filthy fucking masterpiece.
I gripped her hips and rammed in deeper. Her legs wrapped around me, and her cunt sucked me in like she was made for me. The pressure, the heat—too much. Not enough.
I thrust again. Harder.
The condom strangled every sensation, and I snarled, wanting nothing more than to rip it off and fuck her bare.
She moaned beneath me, her tits bouncing with every stroke, her wrists bound above her head with my ties.
I buried my face in her neck and growled,“You’re killing me, baby. This fucking condom—”
Pop.
A sudden snap and warmth spilled over my cock.
Fuck.
I froze, then groaned low and filthy in her ear.
It tore.
It fucking tore.
I was inside her—raw.
My brain scrambled, but my cock throbbed like it had won the war.
She looked up at me, dazed, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
I should’ve pulled out. I should’ve stopped.
But the thought hit me. One sharp, savage whisper.
Breed her.
And I lost it.
My hips slammed forward as I roared through my teeth, spilling deep into her cunt. I held her there, locked to the hilt, her walls pulsing around me like her body already knew what it was meant to do.
My baby. My sweet, filthy little baby.
I remained buried to the hilt, her cunt fluttering around my cock like it didn’t want to let go. My muscles locked, jaw clenched, and I fought to steady my breathing. The condom was gone—just scraps of latex clinging to me and nothing between us.
She was warm. Wet. Mine.
And if that broken condom did its job?
Iris was mine for good.
With a fat belly full of my seed.
“Can we do that again?” she whispered.
