Page 32 of Daddy's Little Librarian
His open hand came down with a clap that sounded harder than it actually was. He knew, because although she jolted at the impact, her eyes also closed, her breath became a wanton sigh, and her head lowered. He spanked her slow, but steady, painting her bottom pink, taking his cues from every wiggling squirm as to when to smack harder or softer, faster or slower, and when to switch targets completely, laying a single swat full across her hot little pussy.
Compared to the force he laid upon her bottom, the slap he gave her pussy was gentle, but she still jumped and cried out, a lusty shout that was quickly followed by a low-throated moan and a grind of her hips against his knee. She shivered, the flesh of her bottom clenching, and when he pulled his hand back, his fingers came away wet and fragrant with the scent of her arousal.
He was not immune to that scent, that sight, and certainly not to the squirming feel of her grinding upon his thigh. The thrum of arousal pulsed through his veins, burning him from the inside out, pulsing in his head and his chest, and absolutely in his cock. Already he was hard as hell, prodding up against her belly, begging to go where his fingers couldn’t help but return to wander again and again, slipping into wetness, circling the sensitive tip of her clit, rolling it until she was mewling whimpers and rolling her hips along with him.
Her legs began to shake. Her tiny toes were curled.
“Say Daddy, may I come please,” he told her, catching her clit between his fingers and flicking it with his thumb. Slow flicks made her back arch and turned her breathy moans erratic. Fast flicks made her legs snap shut and her gorgeous ass hump up and down, riding his hand in a way that made his cock instantly jealous. “Say it. Daddy, may I come please.”
“D-Daddy,” she broke off with a moan. She gripped and re-gripped at his pants, her trembling thighs spreading open wide. He wondered if she even knew she was doing it, granting him better access, filling every breath he took with the erotic aroma of her. He loved her bucking, grinding, increasingly desperate gasps. He loved even more that he only gave her one line to repeat and yet she had to cover her face with both hands before she could plead out, “Daddy, m-may I come? Please, Daddy!”
She got it out just in time too. Already her bottom was tightening, her hips jerking. He barely got two fingers up inside her in time to feel those telltale convulsions as her orgasm ripped through her and her greedy pussy clamped down on the digits he pumped in and out of her. She was soft, slick, molten.
Heaven.
She was heaven, perfection, and he didn’t stop fucking her with his hand until he’d wrung every last convulsive twitch from her bucking hips.
His turn.
Her legs were like jello. He had to support her, even just for the short time it took to pick her up off his lap and bend her over the dining room table. Had they not already eaten all the pizza, it would have been on the floor where he sent the box flying when he slapped it out of the way. He didn’t bother undressing. Who the hell had time for that? Shoving his pants down out of the way, he grabbed the back of her hair and slammed up into her like, well… a man who’d been in prison for two years.
Her cry was all pleasure with only the slightest twinge of guttural discomfort—if discomfort it could even be called. She was tight; but she took him. Every inch. He made sure of it. Over and over again, he thrust hard and he thrust deep, and he didn’t stop. Not until they were both shaking, both coming, both crying out, and in a rush of hot ecstasy that he felt pulling all the way down through his balls, he drained every drop of fluid he had into the beautiful heat of her.
She collapsed, limp and panting, still bent over the table.
She was still perfection. She was still heaven.
And he wasn’t just thinking that because she was the first woman he’d been with since Dana.
She deserved a hell of a lot better than a thirty-two-year-old ex-cop turned Birthday Boson for a fast food restaurant where he wasn’t even qualified to operate the fry machine.
He pulled out of her body with no small reluctance.
He never should have taken this job. He never should have had her call him Daddy. She was his now. How in the world was he ever going to let her go?
Running his fingers through her golden hair, he pulled her head back far enough to kiss the top of her bangs, and then he pushed off both her and the table. “Come on, babygirl.”
On wobbly legs, she followed him to the bathroom. He cleaned her up. No condom, damn it. Automatically, the potential consequences of his actions doubled in his head. Tripled. What the hell was wrong with him?
She leaned up against the sink while he washed the stain of him from out between her legs. Drowsy as she was, she smiled the whole time as he helped her back into her pajamas. That smile killed him; his will crumbled.
Just one night. It was okay to have one night. Tomorrow, they’d talk about it, put things back to rights. He’d do what he should have done when she first approached him about this job and he saw her bed cut to shreds—he’d call every friend he used to have at the station and see if any of them still cared enough about him to do him a solid. He’d pass her over into their care and he’d bow out, because while physically, mentally, and sexually he could love her, take care of her, and protect her, he couldn’t do a damn thing for her financially. He was a felon. That stigma would follow him for the rest of his life. He didn’t have a home of his own anymore. He didn’t have a car. He couldn’t buy her coloring book or a stuffed animal, or even an ice cream cone.
He couldn’t be a Daddy in the way he wanted to be, and that she deserved to have him be.
He was pretty well useless to her.
So yeah, tomorrow was soon enough to admit all that out loud to her. For tonight, though… tonight he could still pretend. And since they were pretending, it was perfectly okay for him to lower himself onto one knee, lean forward and kiss the soft, bare skin of her mons, where the smell of him still mingled with hers.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said. “Daddy’s going to kiss you in special places, and he wants you one more time before we go to sleep.”
Slipping her fingers through his short, dark hair, she nodded. Her desire was naked in her eyes when he took her hand and he loved that she fell so sweetly into step alongside him, letting herself be led from the bathroom.
Which was as far as he got before he felt the whisper of a breeze that did not belong in a house where all the doors were locked and the windows were bolted.
The front door was standing wide open. Every hair on the back of his neck stood straight up on end when he saw it, but he never had a chance to react.
In retrospect, getting clubbed over the back of the head by Gopher was just what he deserved for allowing himself to have something he shouldn’t and for being more concerned about ‘pretending’ than in keeping Scotti safe. And contrary to popular belief, his world did not go instantly black just before he hit the floor. It exploded into stars first.
