Page 26 of Cinderella and the Daddy
"I hate you," I pant, even as I use his body to chase another climax.
"I know." His hands grip my thighs, helping me move against him. "Hate me all you want. You're still mine."
The words should infuriate me. Instead, they push me over the edge again. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, my body shuddering with the force of the orgasm.
He holds me there, my legs still wrapped around his waist, my back pressed against the wall while the aftershocks ripple through me. Slowly, so slowly, he loosens his grip on my thighs, letting me slide down his body until my feet touch the floor.
My legs are shaky, trembling like a newborn colt's. I keep one hand braced against the wall, the other clutching his shoulder for balance. The hallway light casts shadows across his face, but I can see the hunger still burning in his eyes.
"Now tell me you're mine," he says, his voice rough. His palms rest against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in but not touching, giving me space to breathe, to choose.
I look up at him, this dangerous man who's turned my world upside down. His hair is messed from my fingers; his suit wrinkled from our encounter. But his eyes are still that cold hazel, still unreadable.
"This doesn't change anything," I whisper, but even I can hear how hollow the words sound.
"It changes everything." His thumb traces my swollen lower lip, and I fight the urge to suck it into my mouth. "You came on my fingers, screaming my name. You think you can go back to hating me after that?"
The truth sits heavy between us. I can still feel him inside me, my body clenching around the memory. My underwear is destroyed somewhere on the floor. His cum is sliding down my thigh.
"I still hate you," I say, but my arms are around his neck, my fingers threading through his hair.
"Good," he murmurs against my throat. "Hate me all you want. Your body knows who it belongs to."
Maybe he's right. Maybe I am his.
The thought should terrify me more than it does.
"Again," he says.
He spins me around, pressing my chest against the wall as he rips off my panties.
I’m glad he’s buying my clothes because I’m guessing he has a propensity for destroying panties. He positions himself at my entrance through his open pants.
He pushes into me slowly, filling me completely. The stretch is intense, overwhelming. I cry out, my fingers curling against the wall.
"Look at me," he orders and grabs my chin.
I twist my head and look into his intense gaze as he begins to move. Each thrust drives me higher, building toward another peak I didn't think was possible.
"Mine," he says again, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust.
This time, I don't argue. I can't. I'm lost in sensation. The feeling of him moving inside me while he's watching me like I'm the only thing that exists in his world drives me wild.
I whimper and moan. Pleasure spreads over me. My toes curl. My body vibrates with ecstasy.
His mouth covers mine. It’s angry and demanding.
The third orgasm hits me like lightning, arcing through every nerve ending. I bite down on his lip to muffle my scream. His groan of pleasure rocks through me.
He follows me over the edge with a low growl. His body shudders against mine as he empties himself inside me.
He slides out of me and turns me to face him. I slump against the wall. My legs feel like jelly.
Then he's pulling me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. His breathing is still ragged, his heart pounding beneath my cheek.
"Next time you disobey," he murmurs into my hair, his voice carrying that familiar edge of danger, "I won't be so gentle."
I want to tell him there won't be a next time. Want to remind him that this changes nothing between us. But the words stick in my throat, because some traitorous part of me is already wondering what "not gentle" would feel like.
