Page 38 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"I need... more." She struggles with the words, embarrassment warring with desire. "I need you to..."
"Use your words, beautiful. I want to hear you ask for what you want."
"I need you to touch me," she whispers, her cheeks flushing deeper. "Please, Victor. I need more."
"Where do you want me to touch you?" I keep my voice gentle but firm. "Show me."
With trembling hands, she guides my palm to her breast, and I can feel her heart racing beneath my touch. Her boldness surprises and delights me.
"Like this?" I ask, cupping her gently through her sweater.
"Yes," she breathes. "And... everywhere."
"Such a good girl, asking so sweetly." I reward her honesty with a soft kiss. "I'm going to take such good care of you."
My hands move with deliberate slowness, mapping every curve through her clothes while she trembles in my lap. I can feel her growing desperation, the way she arches toward my touch, seeking more contact.
"Tell me again what you want," I command softly.
"I want you to make me feel good," she admits, her voice barely audible. "Please, I need you to make me feel good."
"That's all I want to do, sweetheart. All I've ever wanted to do." I grasp the hem of her sweater and pull it upward. She raises her arms immediately, letting me strip it from her body. The simple white bra beneath is cotton rather than lace, practical rather than seductive, but on her it's perfect—innocent, unpretentious, real.
"Beautiful," I breathe, my fingers tracing along her collarbone, down to the swell of her breasts. "So beautiful."
When my hands cup her through the thin fabric, she gasps and arches into my touch. So responsive. So perfectly eager to please.
"Does this feel good?" I ask, my thumbs brushing across peaks that harden immediately under my touch.
"Yes," she gasps. "Yes, so good."
"Then tell me. I want to hear how I make you feel."
"You make me feel... alive," she whispers. "Like I'm finally awake."
Her answer is perfect—exactly what I want to hear. I reach behind her to unhook her bra, and she doesn't protest when it falls away. Her skin is pale and perfect, flushed pink with arousal.
"Exquisite," I murmur, my hands reverent as they explore her newly revealed skin. "Absolutely exquisite."
I worship her with my hands, my mouth, learning every sound she makes, every place that makes her gasp. She's so responsive, so eager to accept everything I give her.
"Please," she whispers again, her hands fisting in my sweater. "I need..."
"What do you need, beautiful girl? Tell me exactly." My voice drops lower, commanding.
"I need you. All of you. Please don't make me wait anymore."
The desperation in her voice is intoxicating. She's exactly where I want her—eager, willing, completely focused on what I can give her. Time to push another boundary, to claim another piece of her.
"Tell me who you need," I insist, my thumb circling her nipple but not giving her the pressure she craves. "Who do you need to take care of you? To show you what's best?"
Her eyes widen at my demand, but the flush on her cheeks deepens. "I need you, Victor."
"Not quite right," I correct gently, pulling back slightly to deny her the contact she's arching toward. "Try again. Who am I to you now? Not your ex's father, not just Victor. What do you call a man who takes care of you, protects you, knows what's best for you?"
Confusion flickers across her face, then understanding dawns. She trembles, embarrassment and arousal warring in her expression.
"Say it," I command softly. "Say what you're thinking right now."
