Page 58 of His Princess Brat
“I’ve done nothing but think—”
“No, you haven’t!” I hotly accused. “I don’t care what you did in America! I don’t care if you drive a chicken car!”
“Held together by chicken wire... you know what, not important. Honey, I love you.”
“Well, I don’t love you,” I snapped, drawing myself up stiff and straight. “I’m over it.”
He gave me a look.
“I am,” I insisted.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I folded my arms defiantly.
“All right.” He folded his arms too. “Then I guess you won’t mind proving it.”
“I don’t have to prove anything.”
“No, I suppose you don’t, but I’m going to make you anyway.” Grabbing my arms, he abruptly pulled me in and kissed me.
God. Damn it.
I melted. From the touch of his lips all the way down to my stupid, tightly curling toes.
“I love you,” he whispered, caressing my lips with his, his grip on my arms relaxing as I unwillingly leaned into him. “And I’m sorry. I really did want to protect you, but seeing you with that guy last night... the way he treated you, I just saw red.”
“Fuck y—”
He kissed me again and only let go of my arms when I reached up to wrap them around his neck. He grabbed my ass instead, his fingers digging into my nether cheeks as he pulled me up against him. My feet lost contact with the ground, but all I could feel was the hunger in his mouth as he consumed my tears, my anger, and left me with nothing to hold onto... except him.
The first thing I knew he was walking me into a horse stall and suddenly there was Sanaa, nibbling at my braids.
“Oops,” he said, backing out again. “Wrong one.”
He carried me into the next one down, setting me back on my feet long enough to wrestle my riding shirt and bra off over my head.
The heat of his mouth closing over my nipple was beyond heaven. He suckled one, gently rolling and plucking at my other nipple until it felt as if there were two hot mouths teasing at me until I couldn’t keep back my gasps and moans.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I warned, clawing at the fastenings of his pants. He was already ripping his own shirt off just to get skin to bare skin with me.
“This doesn’t change anything, Daddy,” he corrected, giving my hip a sharp slap as he dropped to one knee. Hooking my leg up over his shoulder with one hand, he spread the folds of my sex with his other and promptly knocked me backwards into the rough stall wall when the lash of his tongue and the heat of his mouth latched onto me.
I cried out, grabbing his head in both hands as he licked, flicked, and rolled my clit in his mouth.
“Daddy!” My hips bucked up into his mouth, the sharpness of my need only growing hotter with the stroke of two fingers sinking up inside me. “No... oh!”
Yes, to the come-hither flick of his moving fingers in my pussy, not thrusting but searching, stroking, caressing in weird beckoning motions that jacked me up straight with a shout when suddenly he was touching something not even he had ever touched before.
I thought I knew what pleasure was. I thought I knew how hard I could come, how loud I could cry, how fiercely my body could lock down on the ferocity of the orgasms he could so easily coax from me, but this... this was ecstasy. It was pleasure so intense it was almost like pain. It was killing me, ripping through me, shaking me apart as I came and came, and his mouth and his fingers just kept strumming me from the inside out.
“Whose pussy is this?” he asked, grinning up at me between licks and suckling kisses.
“Daddy’s,” I whimpered. “It’s Daddy’s. It belongs to Daddy.”
He smacked my hip again. “On your knees, Princess. Daddy wants to fuck this sweet, wet pussy.”
“No,” I moaned, already getting down on my knees in the clean straw of the stall.
