Page 84 of Monster Daddies
A low humming sound caught her attention, and giddy excitement caused her to clench around his tongue. Just the sound nearly tipped her over the edge. She knew what he was going to use on her, and it was better than any battery-operated toy. The cuffs rattled as she squirmed.
Her body pulsed in demand, desperate for the pleasure only her mate could bring. Something soft and feathery, and part ofhim, brushed across her swollen pussy lips. It sent vibrations straight to her hungry clit. She cried out and tried to lift her hips higher. “Please, Daddy. Please.”
Another touch, this time lasting several seconds. The longer it maintained contact, the more intense the vibrations became, and her body tightened as she clawed her way closer. He pulled back just before she climaxed, but this wasn’t about teasing anymore. It was about extending the pleasure.
While his tongue continued to play inside of her, the delicate touch returned, ghosting across her soaked folds and leaving her a quivering mess of need. Her back arched, begging without words. His tongue suddenly moved up to stroke right across her g-spot, pressing and working it until her breath caught in her throat.
And that was when the vibrating touch returned, but this time it settled against her clit. The nerves went into overdrive, and she shattered into a thousand pieces with a wail that was bound to be heard halfway across town.
It wasn’t enough for him. It came through the bond so clearly, this feral hunger of his. He wanted to devour her pleasure, wring every drop from her body until there was nothing left. His tongue worked the spongy bundle of nerves on the roof of her pussy, while the vibrations mercilessly teased her clit.
Another climax hit her, dragging her under like a rip tide. She was drowning in pleasure. Her pussy gushed, and he slurped it up with a wet sucking sound. Before him, she hadn’t realized squirting was real, but he could make it happen whenever he wanted. She was long past being embarrassed about it, especially when it so obviously pleased him.
She whimpered and trembled through the aftershocks as he drew his tongue from her, freeing his mouth to talk again. “That’s my good girl,” he crooned as he sat up to free her wrists.She barely noticed; too blissed out to move. A second later he was rolling her over and pulling her up onto her knees. He held her hips and drove his cock into her with one long thrust.
Ellie had to bury her face in the quilt to muffle the sounds she made. Every stroke was an act of claiming. He fucked her senseless while she trembled and babbled incoherent nonsense. At one point she flopped forward, unable to stay on her knees any longer.
“None of that, bad girl. You’ll stay up until I’m done.” As he scolded her, he slapped her ass a few times, and then laughed when she pushed back for more. She was deep in pleasure land, and everything felt wonderful. He pulled her back up, took a tighter grip on her hips, and then went back to plowing into her body with single-minded purpose.
She knew when he came, not just because his shout announced it, but because his pleasure echoed through the bond and triggered another orgasm for her as well. Bonded mates could never be selfish lovers, not when they felt the echo of every climax as shared pleasure. It was just one of the gifts the mate bond had brought them.
Every muscle in her body trembled. Her skin felt swollen and tight. Overstimulated nerve endings were so fried, she couldn’t separate pain from pleasure, or hot from cold for that matter.
He gave her a few minutes to remember how to breathe, and then gently arranged her body, so he could curl up behind her. “I love you, Ellie.” Saying it was unnecessary. He knew she could feel it with every breath she took, but he said it anyway, because he wanted her to hear it.
She wiggled back against him, groaning as her muscles ached. “I love you too, but I think you melted my bones. Too many orgasms.”
“Well, if you like I can just deny you next time. No orgasms for you.” He could do it too. He had once, all night, just to prove it.
“I retract my complaint,” she said quickly.
“Excellent.” He nuzzled the back of her head. “You’re incredible. You know that? How did I get so lucky to have you as my mate?”
“Well, you kidnapped me.”
He groaned. “When are you going to stop bringing that up? It was an accident.”
“I don’t know why you’re complaining. It worked for you, so I guess I must be into that sort of thing.”
A laugh burst from him, ruffling her hair with the force of it. He gave her a tight squeeze. “Smart ass.”
It was true though.
It had been six months of mind-blowing pleasure. Six months of feeling loved, and safe, and cared for every moment she was in his presence. Six months of being his bonded mate… and it had all started when she’d been kidnapped.
Someday it was going to be a hell of a story to tell their kids, if they decided to have any. If not, it might just make a good book.
Chapter One
Six months earlier
A large drop of rain splattered against her cheek. She looked up just in time to catch another. “Dammit. Not again!” She dropped the empty laundry basket and hurried to start pulling clothes off the line.
“West Virginia is greaaat, they said! You’ll looove it there, they said.” She snorted as she yanked at the mostly dry jeans and T-shirts, pulling them down as fast as she could. Wooden pegs went flying in every direction. She’d regret that later when she had to crawl around on her knees looking for them, but just then she was too annoyed to care.
When the dryer broke and she couldn’t afford to fix it, she’d been weirdly excited about the idea of using the clotheslines in the yard. With a life lived mostly in city apartments, she’d never had one of her own. It took her a while to get the hang of it, but it hadn’t been so bad.
She’d put on a long skirt and a floppy sun hat and carried the basket outside on one hip, picturing herself as a frontier woman. She’d even found an old-fashioned apron that had pockets for the clothespins. That had been the thrifted star of the month, and she absolutely loved doing housework in it. There was something about pretending to be a laboring peasant, ora homesteading housewife that made the chores feel less like chores.
