Page 10 of Daddy

Grinding against me, his chest heaving, he answers. “Good. More than good now.”

Tearing his shirt from his body as I drag him toward the couch, I tease, “Did you miss your Daddy?”

“Yes…” he pants, his fingers fumbling to undo my belt as I unzip his pants. Slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, I wrap my hand around his cock and slide up and down. His mouth gapes, and a breathy gasp blows over his lips.Fuck, I love that sound.

“I need to be inside you,” I groan, fisting him with one hand and working my pants over my hips with the other. Struggling to focus as I continue to stroke him from balls to tip, Jorge grabs the lube from the table and hastily slathers it over my length. As eager as I am, he shoves his pants to his knees and bends at the waist. “Such a needy boy,” I jest, throwing my shirt out of the way and carefully pressing myself inside him.

I slip into him with ease, his tight ass quickly growing accustomed to my size. “Fuck… I love the feel of you,” he groans, rocking his hips to take more of me.

Staying buried deep inside him, I move us to the couch with him on my lap. He kicks a foot free from his pants and plants his feet on the edge of the couch by my knees. Pressing his back against my chest, he works his hips and slides himself over my cock. “Fuck,mo rúnsearc. I love how you take my cock.” I spit in my hand and reach around his body for his cock. Sliding my slick hand along his length, I wrap the other lightly around his throat.

His head falls back as I stroke him, lolling on my shoulder as he rides me harder. Turning my head to breathe in the earthy smell of his shampoo, I crash against his lips. My tongue aggressively pushes between them, plundering his mouth and swallowing the sweet sounds he’s breathing into me.

“Are you trying to make me come?” I gravelly whisper against his cheek.

“Yes.” Jorge bounces vigorously over my cock. He feels so fucking good that I bite my lip to distract myself from my sudden overwhelming need to come. “I want to feel your cock throbbing as I come,” he pants. “Filling me with cum.”

Losing any resolve I have, I savagely slam into him from below and vigorously fist his cock. It takes only moments for Jorge to come, shooting ribbons across his stomach as I spill into him. Leaning against my chest, Jorge struggles to catch his breath—tiny, delighted whimpers spewing from him as I continue to leisurely stroke his thick, beautiful cock.

“I can’t get enough of you.” I pepper the words against the side of his neck with a trail of kisses.

My cock softening, Jorge slides from my lap. Grabbing my pants from around my knees, I pull them up my thighs as I stand. “You don’t have to do that,” Jorge mutters, gripping my hand. “I want to feel your skin on mine when I climb into bed with you.”

He’d feel differently if he actually saw me.

“I’d rather not shuffle to the bedroom with them wrapped around my ankles,” I jest with a smirk, trying to mask my discomfort.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

JORGE

ABOUT A WEEK LATER

I wake up to another empty bed. The cold sheets brush against my skin as I slowly sit up, and the familiar ache in my chest tightens. The first few nights we were together—the blindfolds and half-undressed sex—were fun and exciting. But it’s become a pattern. No matter how close I think we’re getting to one another, I can’t ignore the facts. After two weeks of sleeping here every night, I still don’t know what Rory actually looks like naked. I also have no idea what it’s like to fall asleep with my head on his bare chest or wake up in his arms. I don’t even know what it’s like to wake up with him in the bed with me.

I take a deep breath and try to tamp down my emotions as I climb out from underneath the comforter and quickly dress before looking for Rory. Stepping into the hall, I hear the faint sound of running water from the kitchen and the distinct clink of a mug against the granite counter.

Following the sound, I make my way into the kitchen and find him standing by the counter, his back to me as he stares into his cup of coffee, deep in thought. As though I have no control over my tongue, I frustratingly blurt, “Why aren’t you ever in bed when I wake up?”

With his back to me, he lifts his cup and takes a slow sip before turning around. His jaw is clenched, and it’s clear I’ve hit a nerve.

“Is it the same reason you’re always half-dressed or I’m blindfolded every time we have sex?” I ask, my tone harsher than intended. Apparently, I’ve been harboring these feelings a little longer than I should have. Rory doesn’t answer, and it only causes my annoyance to grow. “If I’m just a fun place for you to stick your cock, just tell me. And I’ll just stop spending the night and letting myself think this is more than it actually is.”

His race reddens, and his jaw twitches from clenching it so tightly. “Don’t talk like that,” he barks.

“Then show me I’m wrong.” My voice cracks. “Iwantto see you, Rory. Tofeelyou. I can’t keep pretending this is going somewhere when you won’t even let me in.”

I wait, expecting him to say something—anything. He sets his mug on the counter with a sharp clink. When he looks up at me, his face is a series of hard lines and pained, cold blue eyes. “Well, I don’t,” he exhales, his tone somehow harsher than his words. “I don’t want you to see me. I don’t want you to feel me.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, and I stagger backward, almost losing my balance. I know he’s guarded—he has been since I met him. But this… This feels like he’s building a wall between us, brick by brick, to shut me out.

I try to fight it, but I can’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes or the lump growing in my throat. This—whatever we are—isn’t what I thought it was. What I wanted it to be. He doesn’t wantme.

“What I’ve given you is all I can offer,” he confesses. His posture tense, he stands on the other side of the room, waiting for me to respond.But I can’t…“If that’s not enough…” His words trail off, leaving the ultimatum hanging between us. I can be okay with being a fuck toy that stays overnight. Or I can go.

I tentatively walk forward and, with shaking fingers, lift my phone from the counter. “Okay,” I mutter, barely a whisper, realizing I can’t accept being less than I deserve. Closing my eyes, I turn on my heel and walk from the kitchen. My chest constricts with every step I take. By the time I leave the apartment, I’m nearly suffocating.

I hope he’ll—no, I need him to—chase after me. I need him to chase after me. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t call after me. He doesn’t follow. There are no hurried footsteps to keep me from walking out of his life.

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