Page 25 of Cinderella and the Daddy
"No."
The defiance feels good, even as my heart hammers against my ribs. I raise my hand to slap him—to do something, anything, to break through that infuriating control of his.
He catches my wrist before I can make contact, pulling me hard against his body. Then his mouth crashes down on mine.
Pure possession, rough and demanding. His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he's conquering territory.
I should fight him—should bite and scratch and remind him that I'm not some willing participant in whatever twisted game this is.
Instead, I melt.
The man is completely feral, and I fucking like it.
I must be twisted because I want him unhinged.
My free hand fists in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He releases my captured wrist to slide both hands down my body, bunching the silk dress up around my hips.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my throat, his teeth scraping sensitive skin.
I can't. The word won't come. Instead, I arch into his touch as his fingers find the edge of my panties.
"Luka," I gasp.
"That's not what I want to hear." His fingers slip beneath the lace, finding me already wet and ready. "Tell me to stop or tell me you're mine."
I bite my lip, refusing to give him what he wants. He slides one finger inside me, then two, his thumb circling my clit with maddening precision.
"Stubborn," he murmurs, but there's approval in his voice.
He pleasures me with his fingers, building the pressure until I'm trembling against the wall. My head falls back, a moan escaping despite my determination to stay quiet.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough with desire.
The words shoot straight to my core. My thighs tremble against his hips. My fingers dig crescents into his shoulders through the expensive fabric of his shirt. The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until?—
"Luka!" His name tears from my throat as everything detonates. White-hot pleasure races down my spine, my inner walls clenching around his fingers. I taste copper—I've bitten my lip to keep from screaming. The hallway spins, or maybe that's just me, lost in the aftershocks that ripple through every nerve.
Before my breathing even steadies, he's lifting me. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, my body still pulsing with want.
I can feel his hardness behind the zipper of his pants.
I’m so fucking insane with want. He’s given me an orgasm, but I want more.
I need it.
I rub my pussy against him.
“Get yourself off,” he grunts.
The command sends fire through my veins. I'm pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, and he wants me to use him for my own pleasure. The power in that reversal makes me dizzy with want.
I rock my hips against the hard ridge of his erection, the friction sending sparks through my core. The silk dress is bunched up around my waist. I can feel the expensive fabric of his suit pants through the thin lace of my panties.
Panties that are soaked with my own desire.
"That's it," he growls against my throat. "Take what you need."
I move faster, chasing the building pressure. My hands grip his shoulders for leverage as I grind against him. The wall is cool against my back, but his body is furnace-hot against my front.
