Page 32 of A New Year's Toy

“Yes, Daddy.” My eyes open to gaze at his looming face.

“You’ve satisfied me greatly this trip.” The rhythm of his pounding is harsh, his words coming out in grunts. “Really satisfied me.”

Elation spreads on top of my skin, inside my veins. The praise and acknowledgment nudge at my orgasm faster than any toy would’ve.

“And good girls get their reward. They get a choice.” His fist pulls my hair tighter when he sees my eyes starting to roll with pleasure. “Would you rather come while I fuck you or while you’re riding my face?”

My core is wound tight, about to snap at his dirty talk.

He notices, growling, “Don’t you come.”

“With you fucking me,” I scream my answer, the first thing my dazed mind offers me.

He says nothing else, pulls me off the wall, grabs a pink peony from the closest vase, and tumbles the both of us to the floor. Alistair adjusts my feet to loop around his neck, the flower he clutches between his teeth makes him look like the evil version of Zorro.

I fucking love it.

“Your pretty, pink clit went through a lot yesterday.”

He rocks into me, slower but nowhere near tender. His hand slithers to my neck, his favorite place other than my pussy and heart. His fingers don’t wrap around it, they’re just there.

A distraction. For what he was doing with the peony while I closed my eyes, anticipating the pleasure of his grip.

The gentle tickle of my nub compared to the harsh fucking and the almost choking whooshes the air out of my lungs.

He spins it in circles, the same direction he sways his length inside of me.

“Will have to be kind to your sweet mound,” he says through gritted teeth. “The rest of you, not so much.”

The tightening of his hand on my throat happens the same moment his slow sways transform into rough thrusts one after the other. He pats, caresses, and pushes the petals of the peony on my clit.

It begins to tickle the edge of unbearable. I open my mouth to say something.

Alistair presses against my vocal cords. He never takes me to where I can’t breathe, but he does demonstrate his absolute and total control. How safe I am under his watch.

“Don’t run from it.” His thumb strokes where my pulse hammers. “Let me take care of you. Let me make you come.”

“Alistair.”

“Come,” he thunders.

His hair is mussed, his shirt scrunched, and he is still without a doubt, the most elegant, pristine king of my universe.

Smothered beneath him, subjected to his every desire, I come. The world shatters into a million tiny pieces around me, my body a vessel of roaring, pummeling pleasure.

Alistair releases my throat, just as fast as he released the clasps, prolonging my orgasm. As I gasp hard for air, Alistair’s lips curve, seething, and in a few, demanding thrusts, his climax fills me.

I’m whole.

“I love you, Nola.”

He caresses my chest, my neck, my chin, and my lips with the peony. It’s soothing and enveloping. It also smells of my pussy and his sweat. Of us.

“I love you, too.” I smile, tugging on his neck using my feet.

It amuses him. Following my subtle hint, he discards the flower, lowers my feet to the floor, and bends down to me.

One tender kiss is all he allows me before helping me up to prepare yet again for dinner.

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