Page 26 of Daddy's Girl

I expect him to pull away, to declare the punishment complete. Instead, his fingers slide beneath the elastic of my underwear, tugging them down with deliberate slowness. Cool air brushes against my heated flesh, drawing a shiver from deep in my core.

"So wet," he murmurs, one finger tracing the evidence of my arousal. "Punishment gets you this worked up, baby girl?"

I bury my face in the couch cushion, embarrassment warring with desire. "I don't know why."

"I do." His touch becomes more deliberate, circling where I'm most sensitive. "Your body understands what your mind is still figuring out—you need this. Structure. Boundaries." His finger slips inside me, drawing a gasp from my lips. "Someone who sees all of you and still wants to keep you safe."

"Jack—" My voice breaks as he adds a second finger, stretching me with careful precision.

"Daddy," he corrects, free hand coming down in a light tap on my still-sensitive backside. "What do you call me when I'm touching you like this?"

"Daddy," I whimper, hips rocking back against his hand. "Please, Daddy."

"Please what?"

"More," I beg, beyond shame now, beyond anything but the need building between my legs. "Need more."

He withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and aching. Before I can protest, he's lifting me, turning me to face him. His eyes burn dark and hungry, but there's something else there too—a careful assessment, checking that I'm truly with him in this.

"On your knees," he commands softly.

I sink down before him, my injured ankle carefully positioned to avoid pressure. He unbuttons his jeans with unhurried movements, freeing his cock—already hard, the tip glistening with evidence of his own arousal.

"Open," he says, thumb brushing my lower lip.

I part my lips, letting him guide himself into my mouth. He starts slow, one hand tangled in my hair, controlling the depth and pace. His other hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking the spot where he stretches my lips.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, voice strained. "Now, use your mouth and show me how fucking sorry you are for not listening to Daddy. Suck, little girl. Don’t make me say it again.”

Pride blooms warm in my chest at his praise, spurring me to take him deeper, to hollow my cheeks around him. His grip tightens in my hair.

"That's it, baby girl. Just like that."

I lose myself in pleasing him, in the weight of him on my tongue, the soft groans I draw from his chest. When he finally pulls away, I make a sound of protest that earns me a dark chuckle.

"Greedy," he says, lifting me to my feet. "But we're not done yet."

He carries me to the bedroom, laying me on the mattress with careful attention to my injured ankle. He strips methodically, revealing the expanse of muscled chest and stomach that still makes my mouth go dry. The tattoos that mark significant moments in his life. The scars I've learned not to ask about.

When he covers my body with his, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress feels like coming home. He enters me slowly, filling me inch by inch until I'm gasping, clinging to his shoulders.

"This is mine," he growls, grinding deep. "You understand? This body. This pleasure. Mine to protect. Mine to punish when necessary. Mine to worship always."

"Yours," I agree, the word broken by a moan as he hits a spot inside me that makes my vision blur. "All yours, Daddy."

He takes me with measured strokes, building a rhythm that has me arching beneath him, chasing the peak I can feel building. When it crashes over me, I cry out his name—"Jack!"—earning me a sharp slap on my still-sensitive backside.

"Daddy..." I correct myself immediately, the pain blending with pleasure to heighten my orgasm. "Daddy, please!"

He follows me over the edge with a growl that vibrates through my bones, spilling hot inside me. For long moments afterward, he stays buried deep, forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged.

When he finally withdraws, it's only to gather me close, tucking me against his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear, gradually slowing as he strokes my hair.

"Wait here," he murmurs after several minutes, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

He returns moments later with fresh antibiotic ointment and a new bandage, carefully cleaning my skinned knee with practiced efficiency. His touch is tender, so different from the controlled strength he showed during my punishment.

"You did well today," he says, smoothing the last piece of tape into place. "Took your punishment without complaint."

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