Page 62 of Cinderella and the Daddy
"Please," I breathe, and I hate how desperate I sound.
"Please, what?" His thumb traces circles on my hip, so close to where I need him, but not close enough.
"Touch me."
"I am touching you."
I want to scream at his smugness.
He’s still holding my wrists, but I have my mouth. I kiss him, taking his tongue into my mouth and showing him what I want.
I feel the control slip.
He drops my wrists and yanks me off the table. My jeans are gone seconds later.
He spins me around and without warning, he’s driving inside me.
I cry out. The invasion was painful in the best way.
His hand fists in my hair as his body pumps into mine.
I can barely catch my breath as he sets the brutal pace. Each thrust drives me higher on my toes, forcing me to grip the table for stability. The edge bites into my palms, but the pain only adds to the overwhelming sensation of being completely consumed by him.
"This is what happens when you leave me," he growls against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "When you make me think I might lose you."
His words are punctuated by deep, punishing strokes that reach places inside me I didn't know existed. My body respondsdespite the roughness—or maybe because of it. The coil of pleasure builds impossibly tight in my core.
"I came back," I gasp, barely able to form words.
"Not fast enough."
His hand slides around to find my clit. I nearly scream at the contact. The combination of his fingers and his relentless rhythm pushes me toward the edge faster than I can process. My legs shake.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice dark with possession. "Show me who you belong to."
The orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave. I bite down on my own arm to muffle the cry that tears from my throat, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure destroys any coherent thought.
He follows me over with a low roar, his grip on my hips tightening as he empties himself inside me. His forehead drops to my shoulder as he sucks in ragged breaths.
"I was afraid," he admits against my shoulder, his voice barely audible.
"Of what?"
"That I pushed you too far. That you'd finally had enough."
I reach back to touch his face, feeling the scratch of stubble against my palm. "Not going anywhere."
He slowly pulls away and turns me to face him. He grimaces as he looks at me.
“Hold on.”
He grabs one of the bottles of water and a towel. I watch as he opens it and pours water on the towel. He gently cleans my face and then lower.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No." I catch his damaged hands in mine, pressing kisses to his raw knuckles. "But you hurt yourself."
He shrugs like it doesn't matter. This man, who faces down armed enemies without flinching, is undone by gentle touches.
