Page 14 of Daddy

We both laugh at the sudden break in mood. I roll onto my stomach and stretch across the bed. Rory kisses along my hip and a ticklish spot on my side as I dig into the nightstand. I find it and victoriously pull it out. He takes it from me and slathers a generous amount over his length as I position myself on all fours for him to take me.

“Come here,mo rúnsearc,” he gently commands, pulling me toward him. “I want to stare into your gorgeous chocolate eyes.” I hesitate for a moment at the foreignness of his ask, and he grabs my hand, urging me to obey.

I lift my leg and slide over his thighs, only to be pulled higher the second my knee reaches the bed. He presses the tip of his cock into my ass and stares into my eyes. Cupping my face with one hand and pressing on my hip to slide me over him, he continues, “I want to watch them as you sink over my cock.”

A breathy moan rattles from him as he lifts his hips to meet my ass. He fills me, and I echo him with an airy grunt. My face distorts in pleasure, and I press my cock into his palm as I swirl my hips and leisurely ride his thick length. “And that…” Rory rubs his hand along my jaw, dragging it along my neck and over my pec. My chest shakes, rattling as I struggle to breathe through the pleasure of his touch. “Watching pure ecstasy on your face.”

I plant my hands on his chest—my fingers resting over the wounds he was afraid to show me—and my stare is completely fixated on the oceanic-blue pools gazing back at me. “I love the feel of your eyes on me.” Flexing my hands, I splay my fingers over his chest and kneed at the firm muscles I’m taking purchase on. “I fucking love feeling you inside me.”

He rolls us, quickly pinning me to the mattress beneath him as he buries himself deep in my ass. My knees against his sides, and my hands roaming over the flexing muscles of his back, he undulates his hips and presses his lips to mine. “Good,” he exhales, lifting his hips and driving every inch of his cock into me. “Because… you’re going to feel me… all fucking night.”

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

RORY

The faint light of dawn filters through the blinds, casting soft, golden streaks across the floor and wall. Jorge’s head is resting on my chest—his face nestled against my scarred skin, covering the bullet wounds. His breathing is slow and steady, and he looks so peaceful and content. I’ve shared a bed with him plenty of times, but I’ve never seen him quite like this.

I can’t pull my eyes from his messy, tousled locks, the occasional flutter of his long, thick lashes, or the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Even with the soft snore vibrating from him—the reason I’m awake—he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

Jorge stirs, a gentle groan rattling from him as he lifts his head. Trying to focus through the haze of sleep, he blinks up at me. His voice is thick with drowsiness as he mutters, “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No,” I exaggerate my answer, unable to fight the smirk that pulls at my lips. “I was lying here wondering how such an ungodly sound could come from such a gorgeous man.”

Jorge blinks in confusion, not quite awake enough to follow my insinuation. “What?”

I chuckle softly and run my hand along the rippled muscles of his back. “Has no one ever told you that you snore before?”

He sits up straight and rubs the sleep from his eyes, staring down at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I do not!” he exclaims defensively.

“Yes. You do,” I tease, unable to hold my chuckle. “I swear to God, it’s like a little freight train running through the room.”

Flopping onto the pillow with theatrics, he gruffly snarks, “I do not snore. I was probably just dreaming.”

“Nope.” I shake my head, rolling toward him and sliding my hand along his chest. “You definitely snore. Loudly.”

Jorge grumbles as he pushes himself out of the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

I grab his wrist and tug him back before he can slip from beneath the sheets. “You’re not going anywhere.” I deepen my tone and drag him across the bed. I pull him close and press my body against his. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“You can’t keep me hostage in this bed…”

Wrapping my hand around his cock, I stroke it lightly and enjoy the feeling of him growing hard in my palm. “Stockholm syndrome already?” I jest when he thrusts his hips toward my hand.

“I can’t,” Jorge timidly protests, biting his lip as I rub my thumb along the ridge of his tip.

“Are you sore?” I ask—knowing the answer—and continuing to run my fist along his length. We went two long, occasionally vigorous rounds last night. Even with lube and prep, I’m not surprised he’s hesitant this morning. “I don’t need to fuck your ass to make you come, but I’ll stop if you want me to. Do you want me to stop?”

Jorge slips his hand beneath the sheets, sliding along my stomach until he finds my semi-hard cock. “Is that a yes or a no?” I tease, and he tightens his hold, fisting me faster.

“No, Daddy,” Jorge exhales.

Pressing my cock against his, I wrap my hand around us both. We both work our hips, rubbing our lengths together as I stroke us. He meets my need, adding his hand to encircle us fully. Tightening the grip, he matches my rhythm and thrusts into our hands. Precum drips onto my hand, and I rub it over us, easing how we slip against each other.

My balls constrict, and I know my release is quickly approaching. I focus on Jorge’s sensitive tip, trying desperately to get him to come before me. His mouth gapes, and his back arches, pressing him harder against me—and I know he’s so fucking close.

“That’s it.” I lick along the side of his neck. “Be Daddy’s good boy and come for me. Come all over us.”

“Yes… Yes…” he pants, teetering on the edge. Gripping my chest, he grunts, “Oh… yes!”

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