Page 39 of Small Town Daddy

"God damn," I groaned again, my voice rough with the strain of holding back, though every muscle in me screamed for release. Her tongue danced, tracing patterns that sent electricity surging through me, igniting every nerve she touched.

Her eyes found mine—those green eyes, wide and filled with an intensity that matched my own. In them, I saw everything: her determination to please, her desire to be here, in this moment, owning it. It was as if she could see right through the layers of caution I’d built around myself, stripping them away with each flick of her tongue.

"Lucy," I rasped, my hands finding their way into her hair, guiding her gently though she needed no guidance at all. She’d found a rhythm, one that threatened to unravel me completely. The room faded around us, narrowing to the point of contact where her mouth met my cock.

I felt the tension coil tighter inside me, a spring wound to its breaking point. She seemed to sense it too, increasing her pace, hollowing her cheeks just so, drawing me impossibly deeper into the warmth of her.

My hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more, needing more. And then, her hand joined her mouth, stroking what she couldn’t reach, and it was all too much.

"Lucy," I choked out, unable to hold back any longer, "I'm gonna—" But the words dissolved into a moan as the dam broke. Release slammed through me, powerful and consuming, spilling into her waiting mouth.

She didn’t falter, swallowing with a grace that left me breathless, her eyes never leaving mine. As the last shuddersof pleasure passed, I let out a shaky breath, awed by her unwavering focus.

"Good girl," I murmured, my voice a mix of praise and wonder. Her answering smile was radiant, softening the edges of the storm we’d just weathered together.

Chapter 11

Lucy

Iloved waking upin Marcus’ bedroom. The sheets were so soft. The morning light so sweet. My Daddy’s steady breathing filled the room, peaceful and calm. I stretched, feeling contentment settle over me like a warm blanket. Beside me, Marcus lay asleep, his features relaxed, handsome in repose. There was something comforting about watching him, a tranquility that made me want to linger in this moment.

I didn't want to wake him just yet. Slipping out of bed, I tiptoed across the room, careful not to make a sound. The wooden floor felt cool beneath my feet as I made my way to the kitchen. I decided on pancakes—a simple breakfast with an aroma that could wake anyone from even the deepest slumber.

The kitchen welcomed me with its familiar hum, the counter-tops a testament to Marcus's understated style. I found what I needed: flour, eggs, milk. The whisk felt right in my hand, the rhythm of mixing soothing my thoughts. As the batter sizzled inthe pan, the sweet scent began to fill the house, a promise of something good.

Something good.

Like the something that had happened last night. My mind went back to that place, and a torrent of sensation flooded my still drowsy brain. The way Marcus's touch had ignited a fire within me, each caress setting my skin ablaze with desire. His lips on mine, exploring, seeking, finding solace in the connection they shared. She could still feel the heat of his body pressed against hers, the way he whispered words of tenderness that melted her defenses.

The memory of our passion lingered like a sweet ache, a reminder of the raw intensity that had consumed me.

I’d been worshiping his cock, and he’d been worshiping my . . . everything. I sighed. In the quiet of the morning, with the scent of pancakes wafting through the air, I found herself lost in a reverie the connection we shared.

The feeling of his tongue on her clit.

The feeling of his hand on her bottom.

She shivered.

"Morning." Marcus's voice, still rough with sleep, came from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, hair tousled, eyes warm. A sight that made my heart skip. "Something smells amazing."

"Just pancakes," I replied, trying not to seem like I was just thinking about Marcus’ wicked tongue. "Hope you're hungry."

"Always," he chuckled, moving closer. “Especially after last night.”

I blushed. He walked lazily over, kissed my check. He smelled so good. Like happy memories and the thrill of the future, all in one. The kitchen seemed to shrink around us, the air thick with unspoken things. It was easy between us—the teasing,the laughter. Every word seemed to weave another thread into whatever this was becoming.

"So,” Marcus said as he took his first bite. “What's your secret? Why are these so much better than mine?" He looked at me with mock suspicion, blue eyes sparkling.

"Family recipe," I said, tapping my nose. "Passed down for generations. Ultra top secret."

"Ah, well that’s reassuring. I don’t have a family recipe to cheat with," he teased, leaning back in his chair, satisfaction etched on his face.

“Cheat?” I exclaimed, pretending to be scandalized. “How dare you?”

"You're alright," I played along, trying to suppress a giggle. But inside, there was a storm of emotions, a mix of vulnerability and something thrillingly new.

We finished breakfast amidst more banter, each jest a gentle nudge deeper into the connection we were building. For a moment, it felt like the world outside had faded away, leaving just us and the lingering aroma of pancakes—a small corner of happiness carved out in the quietude of morning.

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