Page 45 of Filthy Business
His cock twitched inside me.
“Oh? You feel that?” he whispered against my mouth.“She knows. She knows I’m about to fuck her again.”
His hands gripped my wrists and pinned them above my head. My breasts arched into his chest, sticky and sensitive, and I gasped when he rolled his hips—slow, deep, and brutal.
“I’ll never get tired of this pretty little cunt,” he said, nipping my bottom lip.“She fits me too fucking well. Like she was made to take me. Every inch.”
His pace grew rougher, and I could feel him swelling inside me again—thickening, ready to fill me to the brim all over again.
“You ready, sweetheart?” he whispered, dragging his lips across my neck, voice almost tender.“Because I’m going to keep going until I see my come leaking out of every fucking hole.”
He kissed me then—soft, slow, filthy—tongue sliding over mine like he was worshipping the taste of his own ruin.
And then he started to fuck me in slow, deep strokes, making me feel every fucking inch.
I clung to him, gripping his neck, moaning each time he hit deep inside of me.
“Yeah, baby, feel my cock,” he said, slipping his arms beneath me to grip my shoulders.“It’s all yours.”
His chest slid over mine, hot skin dragging across my sensitive nipples, each scrape making me whimper and writhe. The sweat between us made everything slick—filthy and fluid—as his weight bore down, trapping me beneath him.
His body grazed mine with every brutal thrust, the friction igniting sparks across my tender breasts. I could feel his muscles shifting, flexing, gliding against me as he pistoned in harder, faster, deeper.
I cried out and raised my hips, offering myself to him—open, aching, obscene.
“That’s it, brat,” he growled, breath ragged.“Let Daddy fuck you like he means it.”
His cock plunged deeper still, so far I swore I could taste him. Every stroke punched the air from my lungs, his pelvis grinding my clit as he bottomed out again and again.
“Taking me so fucking well,” he panted, his grip tightening.“This little cunt was made for me.”
My nails clawed at his shoulders as his chest rubbed raw against my nipples, stinging and sweet. Every drag of his skin made my back arch off the bed.
He grunted and shifted the angle, tilting my hips higher with his forearms under me.
Then he fucked me—hard, and unyielding.
Each thrust a vicious declaration of ownership.
“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” he hissed against my ear, his voice a rough caress.“I want you conscious when I fill you again. I want you to feel me leaking out for hours.”
I could only moan, too wrecked to speak, too needy to stop him.
“This is how I’m going to fuck your cunt for the rest of our lives,” he groaned, slamming into me again and again.
My legs shook. I screamed as I came—crying, shaking, whimpering his name.
“That’s my girl. Oh, fuckkkk. Milk my cock. Take my load,” he moaned.
He held himself deep, spilling into me. I felt his come spurt out. Savoured it. Loved the ache of him rooted inside me.
My arms dropped. My legs fell open. I welcomed the darkness even as my pussy kept fluttering around him.
My Daddy.
???
I blinked awake to see Daddy staring at me. The warm morning light was peeking into the room through the cracks of the curtains.
