Page 39 of Daddy's Little Liar
“Green. All green.”
He chuckled. “All right. Hands on the seat, feet on the ground. If at any point, this hurts your ankle, you’re to say so immediately. Got it?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Where may Daddy not touch you?”
Not touch her? He’d already touched her ass, her pussy, hell, he’d fingered and plugged her butt hole twice. When she’d said she was green, she meant it. If he didn’t hurry and touch her soon, she was going to burst into throbbing, empty flames. “I don’t care.”
“If you tell me that—”
“Please shut up and just touch me,” she begged. “Please?”
He did. Her pussy clenched when his hand covered it. If not for her boot, she’d have come up on her tiptoes as his fingers parted her, searching for her clit. Stars of wanting burst inside her when he found it. He pinched, bringing her gasping and arching lopsidedly up onto the toes of her good foot. “Oh my God!”
“Shut up?” he echoed. “Did you tell Daddy to shut up?”
“And touch me!” she protested. She yelped when he twisted and quickly grabbed the seat to keep from grabbing between her legs to stop his hand. “I’m sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
He tsked. He also relaxed his grip, slowly bringing her back down off her toes with a panting half-laugh, half-sob of relief. “You need training, baby girl.”
Pulses of heat rose to overwhelm what lingering discomfort his pinch had created. It filled her clit, the slow throb melting her. “I’m sorry,” she sighed.
He touched again, much gentler this time, slipping his fingers into so much wetness before locating her sensitive clit all over again. He caressed it, rolling it between his slick fingers. “I don’t want you to say you’re sorry, honey.”
Muffling a moan, she buried her face in the seat as he circled and stroked her.
“That was a very naughty thing you just said, whether you meant to. You’ll get a Hail Mary pass, but you’re not getting off scot-free.”
She bit her lip, the tiny nip of pain that caused a delicious balance against the mindless pleasure his circling fingers was wringing from her. He held her pussy in his hand, her clit in his fingers, her fast-rising orgasm a product of his whim.
His thumb sank up inside her, sending her pussy into fluttering spasms so intense that she almost came.
“Not yet,” he said, wrapping her hair around his other hand to tighten his grip.
“What?” she gasped, so consumed by the feelings he was evoking, it was impossible to process what he was saying. Did he just tell her not to come? As if she had any control over that!
He pulled on her hair, yanking her head up off the seat and forcing her back to bow as he pushed her down on the seat. His hips were solid against her ass, the bulge at the fly of his jeans pressing hard right where she ached to feel him the most. Under her belly, his fingers were pure magic, stroking every string of her as if she were the finest violin. The reverberating hum trembled every inch of her.
“I said,” he growled, sending shivers racing to her pussy. “Don’t. Come.”
Her entire sexual life, from the moment foreplay was initiated, she’d spent racing to achieve orgasm, and now he was telling her not to?
She could have cried, and he wasn’t making it easy to obey. He gave her no wiggle room. No escape. No mercy.
His fingers had her aching clit laid bare, heightening the stimulation until she could barely breathe and could not hold still, no matter how hard he ground his hips into her ass. She was dancing on the razor’s edge of pleasure, so cutting it could have killed her when he suddenly snatched his hand away.
She almost shouted, her body shaking with the riot of an orgasm so abruptly denied. Only belatedly did she remember where she was.
Just as abruptly as he’d stopped touching her, he backed from her, putting at least four feet of distance between them. “Roll over.”
His voice was deeper than usual. Huskier than usual. Tinged with lust, it made her muscles clench and her nipples swell. Her heart was beating in the needy tips. Her breasts felt so heavy, so confined and neglected, safely tucked as they were in her bra and hidden within her blouse.
Trembling, she eased off the truck seat and turned to face him.
“Sit on the seat,” he ordered. “Be careful not to let your skirt fall.”
Grabbing the oh-shit handle just above the open passenger door, she eased herself up on the seat. The leather of it was cool under her bare ass.
