Page 48 of Filthy Mouth
“How the fuck did you live with them this long and come out sane?” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Who said I’m sane?” I shot back, lips quirking as every filthy thing we’d done flashed through my mind.
His hand gripped my lower back, beard rasping against my cheek.
His hot breath filled my ear.“I love you exactly the way you are, Princess.”
Before I could react, his mouth was on mine—prying, demanding, feeding me the taste of him, of us, laced with sweet champagne. My heart lurched, my grip tightening so hard on the delicate stem that I swore it might snap.
Fuck me. This manwasgoing to wreck me.
And yet here I was wet and willing.
The deeper Daddy kissed me, the harder I melted into him. Soft whispers, scandalised gasps, and then Delphina’s screech carried across the garden. I caught a glimpse of her past his shoulder—her face tight with horror—and it only made me wetter. Glass shattered at my feet, but all I felt was him. His hand slid down the curve of my ass, over the lace, before gripping me hard and grinding his cock against my belly.
He tore his mouth from mine just long enough to mutter against my lips, voice low and filthy,“Let them watch. They don’t know you’ll be drinking this champagne from my cock tonight.”
My gasp slipped straight into his mouth as his tongue invaded again, deep and devouring. He kissed me like he wanted the whole world to choke on our obscenity. I clutched his jacket, hips arching helplessly, while Delphina’s screech rose another pitch.
Daddy didn’t even flinch. He kissed me harder, ravaging my lips.
Chapter 19
Benedict
I smiled against her mouth when someone cleared their throat. When it came to Poppy, nothing else mattered—and no one fucked with my Princess. Her eyes stayed closed, lips swollen and pink, her breath mingling with mine. The shattered glass glittered at our feet.
If nothing else, Lady Delphina and her precious brat of a daughter had just been treated to a show. The man who sired her deserved a horsewhipping.
Her lashes flickered, and her eyes opened—dazed, soft, without a trace of sorrow. My chest loosened. Every moment with her felt like a fever dream, too good to be true. The only thorn in my side was her refusal to let me into our fuck room.
“You’re a bad Daddy,” she whispered, sighing.“But I love it.”
The music drifted across the garden—slow, delicate strings that were meant for polite waltzes. Poppy pressed against me on the grass like we were in some dark club instead of Hadlow’s manicured estate. Her hips rolled, dragging over my cock, her hands locked behind my neck as though I’d ever let her go.
I let her grind, let every shocked murmur ripple through the crowd, my hand tight on her waist. She was grinning, shameless, her long auburn hair falling wild over her shoulders, green silk clinging to her curves. My filthy little Princess, turning this prim event into our own private sin.
“Keep moving like that and I’ll bend you over Hadlow’s fucking rose bushes,” I growled against her ear, smiling when she shivered and clung tighter.
The violins swelled. We didn’t waltz. We fucked each other standing, fully clothed, in front of her father, her stepmother, half the bloody aristocracy. And I couldn’t bring myself to care.
The music slowed, and I embraced her, allowing my fingertips to rest on her arse.
“She used to lock me in the linen closet,” Poppy whispered into my chest.
I froze. My jaw tightened as I tilted her chin up, searching her eyes.“That bitch?” I muttered low, careful no one else heard.“She put her hands on you like that?”
Poppy gave a small nod, eyes glassy but defiant. I kissed her temple, then pressed my mouth to her ear.“Princess, if I’d been there, I’d have broken that fucking door down. I’d have broken her, too.”
“You were too busy being married to wife number two,” she said with a sad little smile.“And I was only nine.”
We swayed to the music. The garden, the guests, even Delphina’s shrill voice in the distance—all of it disappeared. She was warm, pliant, alive in my arms.
“Not anymore,” I promised, dragging my lips along her throat.“You’re not that little girl anymore. You’re my Princess now—and Daddy will always have your back.”
I stared at her ageing father, his younger wife, and her simpering stepsister—the paupers of the party. The land no longer mattered—not when I could hire the best architect to reimagine the original plans.
“Nothing like spicing one of our parties up,” George said with a grin.
