Page 47 of Daddy Knows Best

But he didn't stop. Kept the vibrator on my oversensitive clit, fingers still working inside me.

"Again," he commanded. "Give me another."

"I can't—"

"You can."

Through the overwhelming sensation, I found truth.

The second orgasm hit before the first finished, crashing over me like a tide. I thrashed against the restraints, against his hands, but he held me steady. Controlled my pleasure like he'd once controlled my spending—with absolute authority and devastating care.

When he finally lifted the vibrator, I was liquid. Bones dissolved, brain offline, existing only as sensation and breath in the perfect dark.

Light returned in stages—first as orange glow through silk, then shapes emerging like sunrise, finally Nate's face cominginto focus above me. His control had cracked completely, eyes wild and dark, cheeks flushed with exertion or want or both.

He smoothed hair from my face with trembling fingers. "You did so well. So perfect. How do you feel?"

"Like I got hit by a pleasure truck." I tried to lift my arms, remembering the binding. "And possibly ascended to another plane of existence."

His smile broke across his face—not the controlled therapist curve, but something raw and real. "That's my girl." He reached for my wrists, working the knots with careful fingers. "Let me get these off. Need to check circulation."

The silk slipped away, leaving faint marks on my skin. He massaged each wrist, watching my face for discomfort. Such careful hands. Even now, after driving me out of my mind, he stayed focused on my safety.

"All good?" he asked.

"Better than good." I flexed my fingers, enjoying the freedom. "Though I might need a minute before I can feel my legs."

"Take all the time you need." But his eyes dropped to where my cami had ridden up completely, exposing breasts marked with faint red traces from the vibrator. "We don't have to do anything else. You've already given me so much."

"Nate." I reached for his face, palm against his bearded cheek. "I want everything. If you do."

He turned to kiss my palm, lips lingering. "You sure? We can check in, see how you feel about—"

"The plug. Yes. And you inside me. Yes." I let my hand trail down his chest, feeling his heart race under soft cotton. "I've been dreaming about this for weeks. Please don't make me wait longer."

He exhaled shakily. "Okay. Yes. Fuck, yes." He shifted back, reaching for the velvet pouch. "But we go slow. Any discomfort, anything that doesn't feel right—"

"Sunshine," I interrupted. "I know. I'll use it if I need to."

The glass emerged again, catching candlelight like captured fire. He set it carefully on the tissue paper, then produced a bottle of lube from his duffel. Of course he'd brought the good stuff—probably researched brands for days, reading reviews and checking ingredients.

"Roll onto your side," he instructed, helping me move. "This angle's easier for first time."

I curled on my left side, right knee drawn up, feeling exposed and safe simultaneously. His hand rubbed circles on my lower back, grounding me.

"Such a good girl," he murmured. "So brave for me. Going to make this so good for you."

The first touch of lube made me jump—cold and strange. But he worked it in slowly, one finger barely breaching muscle, letting me adjust. The invasion felt foreign but not bad. Just different. New.

"Breathe," he reminded me when I tensed. "Just like earlier. In for four, out for six."

I found the rhythm, and my body softened by degrees. He took his time, working in more lube, gentle circles that made the strange become interesting. When he finally pressed the tapered tip of the plug against me, I was ready.

"Slow," he promised. "So slow. Your pace."

The glass was warmer than expected—he must have held it in his hands while preparing me. The stretch burned slightly as the widest part pushed past the ring of muscle, then sudden relief as it seated fully. I panted through the adjustment, aware of every millimeter.

"Color?" His hand hadn't stopped rubbing my back.

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