Page 21 of Daddy's Girl

And fuck, it's the most perfect puzzle I've ever solved—her body the most valuable prize. A prize I'd kill to keep.

"Feel how perfectly we fit, baby girl," I growl against her ear, my voice dropping to a register I barely recognize. "Like you were fucking made for me. Like you've been walking around with a piece missing until now." I roll my hips, hitting a spot that makes her gasp. "No one else will ever know how to fill you like this. No one but Daddy."

Her eyes squeeze together as she starts to beg. “Daddy… Daddy, it’s too much. I’m going to explode. Daddy, please…”

“Good girl,” I tell her. “Daddy’s good girl. That’s your body telling you it needs to come.”

“Yes, Daddy. Ineedit.”

“Then come, baby girl. Do it for Daddy. Show me what a big girl you can be.”

Her body goes into overdrive, taking what she wants, what she needs, and when she comes—writhing and wrecked beneath me—her body grips mine like a vise, setting off a chain reaction I couldn't stop if I tried. It's not just the physical sensation that destroys me—that slick, tight perfection—it's the way she looks up at me through those tears of pleasure. Like I'm her fucking salvation. Like I'm worthy of that trust I see shining in her eyes.

My own orgasm rips through me with a violence I've never felt before. Not just my body releasing—my soul fucking cracking open. Each pulse feels like I'm pouring more than seed into her. Like I'm giving her pieces of me I never planned to give anyone.

I follow her over the edge. Deep. Full. Final. Spilling inside her with a possessiveness that shocks even me.

"Mine," I snarl, grinding deeper even as my cock quivers and blasts with overwhelming sensation, making sure she feels every pulse, every claim. My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to break free and join hers. "Feel what you do to me, baby girl? That's never happened before. Never lost control like this." My voice drops to a rough whisper. "Already imagining that little womb getting rooted with me."

My hand spans her lower belly, pressing gently as I continue to pump inside her.

She’s hazy with sex happiness as I let her lay there and I have my self a little titty fuck as afterglow. “So many places to play on my toy.” I say, slipping up and down, sqeezing her little mounds together as her eyes start to roll back.

She’s had enough. Fucking girl could make me go at her twenty-four seven, but she’s really just a brush beyond being a child and I need to let her catch up now and then.

“Okay, baby. Sleep. Now.” My hand slides down to grip her hip possessively as she nods, her eyes already closing.

She nuzzles into me, spent and trusting. I kiss the crown of her head and let my eyes close just long enough to memorize this: her weight against mine, the tang of sex lingering, her pulse still synced to mine.

And when she falls asleep against my chest, breathing even, skin warm and scented with me, I whisper into her hair:

"You're not going anywhere, baby girl. You're mine now. Daddy's forever." I press my lips to her temple, already thinking of rings and cradles and forever. Of ways to keep that smile on her face every fucking day for the rest of our lives. "And I'm gonna give you everything."

Seven

Delaney

Jack's hand wraps around mine, repositioning my fingers on the fishing rod with the same calculated control he uses when he pins my wrists above my head with one hand while the other maps every inch of my body—claiming territory no one else has ever touched.

"You grip it too tight," he murmurs, voice pitched low enough that it vibrates directly from his chest into my spine. "Gentle. Let it breathe."

My brain instantly flips the script—my fingers wrapped around his thickness last night, his growled instructions to "squeeze harder, baby girl."

Jesus.

Just like that, I'm wet again.

Eighteen years of life and no one told me it could be like this—that a man's voice alone could make me clench between my legs, that my body could be so stupidly eager for someone more than twice my age. That calling him "Daddy" in the dark would rewire my entire nervous system.

Two days since I woke up in his bed for the first time. Thirty-six hours since I almost packed my bags, before he caught me with one hand in my duffel. Since then, the rules have trickled out one by one: You eat three meals a day. You sleep when I sleep. You tell me where you're going, always. You answer me honestly when I ask what you need.

Easy rules to follow—soft suggestions wrapped in that voice that expects obedience. But I've wondered if they have teeth. If "there will be consequences" was just something he said, or a promise he intends to keep.

What I haven't asked—what I'm afraid to ask—is what happens when the novelty wears off. When the thrill of fucking his dead friend's daughter loses its edge. When he remembers why he chose this mountain in the first place: to be alone. Will it be a gentle nudge back down to civilization, or just a locked door one morning when I've gone to collect more of those damn rocks he pretends to find interesting? My traitorous heart has taken root here—in his bed, his cabin, his rules. But this can't be forever. Nothing ever is.

"That's not a fishing rod—that's a goddamn torture device," I grumble, struggling to untangle the line for the third time in twenty minutes. "Why are there so many... parts?"

Jack's laugh rumbles through the clearing, low and private like he saves it just for me. His eyes crinkle at the corners—a rare softening of his usually stern face. That dark beard that feels so good against my skin. His flannel sleeves are rolled to the elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms, dusted with dark hair and marked with the faded ink of his military tattoo.

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