Page 56 of Wings
"These too," I growled against her skin, hooking fingers in her pajama pants. "Off."
She lifted her hips eagerly, helping me strip her. The yellow panties were absolutely drenched, clinging to her. When I peeled them away, she was bare and glistening and Christ, the scent of her—
"Beautiful," I said roughly. "My beautiful, perfect girl. So wet for Daddy."
"From the spanking," she confessed breathlessly. "Got so—when you were—God, I'm sorry, I know it was supposed to be punishment but—"
"Shh." I kissed her hip bone, her inner thigh, everywhere but where she needed. "Nothing to apologize for. You took what Daddy gave you and made it yours. Such a good girl."
She keened when my mouth finally found her, back arching completely off the bed. I had to hold her hips down as I worked, her body trying to chase more contact, more pressure, more everything. She was already so close—had been since the spanking ended—that it only took minutes before she was shaking apart.
"That's one," I said against her sensitive flesh, making her whimper. "But we're not done. Not even close."
My own clothes disappeared in record time. When I covered her body with mine, skin to skin, we both groaned at the contact. She felt like fire beneath me—all that cool control burned away, leaving pure need.
"Please," she whispered against my mouth. "Need you inside. Need to feel—"
I pushed in slow, watching her face. The way her mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut, fingers digging into my shoulders. She was impossibly tight, impossibly wet, impossibly perfect. When I bottomed out, we both stopped breathing.
"Daddy," she gasped when I started to move. "Oh God, Daddy—"
The pace I set was demanding, claiming. This wasn't sweet lovemaking—this was possession. Marking. Making sure she felt me in every cell, remembered this moment every time she thought about hiding from me again. My hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise as I drove into her.
"Mine," I growled with each thrust. "My baby girl. My responsibility. My everything."
"Yours," she agreed brokenly, meeting me thrust for thrust. "All yours. Always yours."
The headboard knocked against the wall with our rhythm. Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me deeper, and the angle—fuck. I could feel her clenching already, another orgasmbuilding. My responsive, perfect girl who got wet from discipline and came apart from being claimed.
"That's it," I encouraged, one hand moving between us to find her clit. "Come for Daddy again. Show me how good you can be."
She screamed when she came, no longer trying to muffle anything. I felt it everywhere—the rhythmic pulse of her around my cock, the way her whole body locked up then released. Beautiful. Mine.
I didn't let her recover, just kept the pace steady, driving her up again. She was beyond words now, just sounds—whimpers and moans and broken attempts at my name. Her nails raked down my back, probably leaving marks. Good. I wanted to wear her marks like she wore my collar.
"One more," I commanded, feeling my own control fracturing. "Give Daddy one more."
"Can't," she sobbed, even as her body responded. "Too much—"
"You can," I insisted, thumb circling her clit with precision. "My good girl can do anything. Come on, baby. One more for Daddy."
She broke apart with a wail, this orgasm different—deeper, fuller, pulling me over with her. I buried myself deep as I came, her name a prayer and a curse and a promise all at once. The intensity of it whited out my vision, left me shaking like I'd run miles.
We collapsed together, still joined, both breathing like we'd nearly drowned. Her arms stayed locked around me, holding on like I might disappear. I pressed kisses to her temple, her cheek, anywhere I could reach without moving too much.
"My girl," I murmured when I could form words again. "My perfect, beautiful baby girl."
We lay there, comfortable, but my mind was racing. After three years of wondering and wanting, she was actually here in my arms.
The words had been building since I'd found her in that parking garage. Maybe longer—since a seventeen-year-old girl drew purple butterflies on my cast and changed my understanding of beauty. They pressed against my teeth now, demanding release.
But how did you tell someone they were your entire world? How did you explain that watching them sleep had become your religion? That their trust was the most valuable thing you'd ever been given?
"I can hear you thinking," she murmured against my chest, voice drowsy and satisfied. "Loud thoughts."
"Sorry, baby girl." I tightened my arms around her. "Didn't mean to disturb you."
"Not disturbed." She pressed a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "Just wondering what's got my Daddy's brain working so hard."
