Page 46 of Filthy Mouth
I tapped my iPad, flicking through the sketches I’d already drawn up. Benedict had given me the bare bones of the layout and a few essential furniture pieces, but he’d left the rest for me to decide. He thought he was being clever, but I saw through him. The last week had been filthy, yes—but beneath every depraved exchange, he’d softened in the aftermath.
When I scrolled through the furniture, I paused on the selection of sex swings, smiling at the thought of Delphina seeing such a room—let alone a swing. My stepmother had sucked the joy out of me. Mum had let me be a child, running wild, laughing, getting messy.
Those memories dulled against Delphina’s coldness. With her, the old adage applied: children should be seen and not heard. Of course, that never applied to dear, sweet Annabelle. I’d once loved the park swings, snuck out to the one near our house, but Delphina disapproved of disobedience. It didn’t matter that they kept me bound to the house.
I couldn’t wait to stick it to them this weekend at the Hadlow event.
First, I had to figure out the lighting on the floor. With the dark colours I had planned, the three windows wouldn’t be enough. I tapped on my iPad and opened the lighting tab, scanning the ceiling and walls for the current electrical points. A black chandelier would be too much, but something moody and modern could work. I pictured Benedict and me in here, his hands on me, my back against the cold tiles under dimmed spotlights. God, it was impossible to design this floor without imagining us breaking in every inch of it.
“Ugh,” I grunted in the empty space.
It was hours before Baddy and his dick got home.
I paced the floor a dozen times, tapping my iPad, adjusting sketches and lighting plans, but every idea somehow circled back to how he’d use me in this room. Professional mode wasn’t easy when every corner I designed had me picturing my legs spread across it.
In the end, I ordered the paint samples and chose a gold and crimson Victorian-style wallpaper for the back wall. The furniture was being custom-made, with a few specialist pieces imported for extra flair.
??????
By the weekend, the samples were ordered, the furniture in motion, and I finally had to set my iPad down. Work was done. Tonight wasn’t about designs or sketches—it was about the Hadlow event, and walking into that ballroom with Benedict Lancaster at my side.
The dress I’d chosen was nothing like Delphina’s prim little gowns. Black lace swept across one shoulder, cinching at the waist before falling in soft folds to the floor, a slit daring enough to bare the length of my leg. Against the dark fabric, my auburn hair shone brighter, loose waves tumbling down my back. For once, I wanted every eye in that room on me—not on my stepmother, not on Annabelle. Me.
And judging by the way Daddy’s stare dragged up my body when I stepped out of the bedroom, I’d already won.
The Phantom glided through the city, silent but for the engine's hum and my heartbeat rattling in my ears. Daddy’s hand slid higher up my bare thigh, the slit in my dress no match for his determination. His fingers pressed against me, and my breath caught—hot, mortified, desperate.
“Panties would’ve been wise, Princess,” he murmured, though his tone said he didn’t mean it.“But then again…” His fingers grazed me with slow, deliberate strokes, “…I prefer easy access.”
I shifted, stealing a glance at the driver. No partition. Just a clear view of my flushed face in the rearview mirror. My thighs clamped tight, but he pressed them open again, parting me with obscene ease.
He didn’t rush. His fingertips brushed, circled, teased until I was slick enough to coat him. Every stroke made my breath snag, every tiny curl of his fingers had my body begging for more—but he didn’t give me that release. Not yet.
When he drew his hand back, my lips parted in protest, but he only smirked. I expected him to wipe his hand with a tissue. Instead, he traced the wet fingers across my mouth, painting me with myself.
My pulse stuttered. His gaze burned as he slid his fingers past my lips. Instinct took over—I sucked them clean, grazing my teeth, my tongue swirling like I was starving for it.
“Filthy little mouth,” he growled under his breath, low enough for only me to hear—though the driver couldn’t have missed the wet sound.“My dirty Princess. I can’t wait to get this party over with.”
And then, shameless as ever, he licked the last of me from his knuckles, eyes locked on mine while my whole body trembled in the back seat.
“Because I’ll make you beg for mercy tonight before I’m done with you,” he vowed, his eyes full of dark promise.
His hand closed around my throat, firm but unhurried, pulling me closer. I braced, closing my eyes for the kiss. But it didn’t come—not yet. Instead, his tongue traced the seam of my lips, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.
Only then did he press his mouth to mine, sliding his tongue between my lips, tasting me with filthy reverence.
I leaned into him, uncaring of what the driver saw. My dress might have blown him away, but Daddy was fucking devastating in his tux. My hand slipped between his legs, settling on the thick line of his cock. I squeezed until he hissed and broke our kiss.
“Bad girl. You’re fucked if the Hadlows have a quiet spot in their garden.”
“You know them?”
“Why do you continue to underestimate me, Princess?” he smirked.
I sighed as the driver turned into the estate. Daddy reached down to tug my dress into place, smoothing the fabric over my thighs. But I knew it wasn’t for my modesty. He just didn’t want anyone else getting a glimpse of what was his.
Daddy gripped my hand as he helped me out of the car. He knew my family would be here—along with the possibility of Edmund lurking behind a hedge like a greasy gargoyle.
