Page 21 of Kneeling for Daddy
“The next time you want to play with my pussy or can’t stop thinking about my tongue on your clit, just ask.” He slowly licks his lower lip, savoring the last of my taste on it before turning away from me and walking toward the door.
“I’d rather never come again,” I lie as he steps into the hallway.
The last few days have been a war that neither of us will admit we are fighting. Ani stalks around the penthouse with that cute little nose of hers upturned and those fiery hazel eyes burning with hatred every time they meet mine. She pretends to be unbothered, but it’s impossible to miss the way her fingers tighten around her coffee cup when I enter the room or how her breathing shifts when I brush past her in the hallway.
I push. She pushes harder. But neither of us is willing to relent.
And it’s driving me fucking insane!
I have been patient. More patient than I have ever been in my life. I put up with her bratting, knowing that I won’t be able to control myself if I punish her. Every night, I listen to her toss and turn in bed beside me, as restless and sleepless as me. I let her glare at me like I’m the devil. Maybe I am, because the way she looks at me, I’m having a hard time pretending that I’m not.
We both know the truth: my wife wants me as much as she hates the idea of me. She wants me so fucking badly she can’t hide it anymore.
And I want her, too.
My need for her is so fucking severe that my teeth ache from grinding down the urge to climb between her thighs at night when she’s pretending to sleep or to shove my cock down her throat to get a few minutes without listening to her bratty little mouth. Fucking her is the only thing I’ve been able to think about since she had the audacity to spit that lie in my face.
Fine. If she’d rather never come again than ask me for permission—or assistance—then she won’t. She’s not had another single orgasm by her hand or mine, and I’m making sure of it. I have blown off two meetings already this week to ensure I don’t give her a moment alone. She can’t even shut the bathroom door without me coming in under the guise of looking for something.
Last night, she squirmed in bed as I slid close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off my body and my soft breaths feathering over her shoulder. She squeezed her thighs together so firmly, I was near certain she was finally going to break. That little body of hers is wound so tight that she’s ready to explode, and I can’t help but smirk. My poor little pet is finding out whatneverreally feels like, and it’s fucking delicious watching her unravel. So long as I don’t unravel first.
Early this morning, she curled up on the couch and has been sulking and scrolling through her phone since. Her hair is a mess, her wide-necked T-shirt is slipping off one shoulder, and her legs are tucked under her in shorts that barely cover anything. I lean against the doorframe, sipping my coffee, andwatching her intently, which I know is her intention in this barely there outfit.
“Would you stop fucking staring?” she snips.
Pulling my eyes from the pert nipples poking through the thin fabric of her shirt, I take a slow sip from my cup. “You get real fucking bitchy when you don’t come,” I state flatly, dropping the words solely to get a reaction out of her.
Her head jerks up from her phone, and her gorgeous eyes burn through me as her mouth curves up into a wicked little smile that I am quickly coming to know all too well. “Then you’d better buckle up, husband, because it’s only going to get worse. I hear a lot of marriages go years without sex.”
I can’t hold back my chuckle. “Promises, promises.”
“Threats,” she corrects, setting her phone down with a sharp click against the glass coffee table. “You’re the one who thinks every word out of my mouth is an invitation to fuck me.”
I arch a brow. “Isn’t it?”
Her cheeks flush, but she purses her lips as her brows furrow. “Not everything is about your dick, Nikolai.”
“Not just my dick,” I mutter, pushing off the doorway and prowling closer. She doesn’t flinch as I cross the room and stop in front of the couch, staring down at her. “Pretty sure it was thoughts of my tongue dragging over your clit that started this.”
Her lips part, then press together tightly. She picks up her coffee mug from the table and takes a another sip, ignoring me hovering over her—pretending her thighs aren’t clenched and her breathing isn’t a shade too fast.
God, she’s stubborn. And fuck… I love it.
I sink onto the couch beside her, deliberately close, my thigh brushing against hers. Her mug wobbles slightly, but, refusing to give me the satisfaction, she doesn’t pull away.
“You know what I think?” I murmur, letting my voice drop into a gravelly whisper that always makes her flush. “I think you’re angry because you haven’t come since I caught you with your fingers playing withmypussy. I think you’re crawling out of your skin… So wet and needy that you can’t stand it. And I think if I spread your thighs right here, I’d find your little cunt dripping and ready for Daddy to fuck it.”
Her jaw clenches, and her throat bobs with her swallow. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Not flattery, little pet. Just facts.”
She shoots me a look that would probably send a lesser man to his knees. She hates that I notice—even more that she knows I’m right. I dust my knuckles lightly along her bare knee and up her soft thigh. She jerks away like my touch is fire. “Don’t touch me.”
“Or what?” I snicker.
Her nostrils flare, and her lower lip quivers. “Or… Or I’ll scream.”
A dark laugh rumbles from my lungs. “Go ahead. Scream. Do you think anyone will hear you? Or come to save you? Besides, I love how tight your pussy gets when you scream.”
