Page 63 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
Chapter eighteen
Kyra
"Merry Christmas Eve," Victor murmurs against my ear, his voice still rough with sleep. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me back against the solid warmth of his chest.
I stretch luxuriously in his arms, feeling deliciously sore in all the right places. The lamplight has been replaced by pale winter sunlight streaming through the windows, casting everything in soft gold. Outside, fresh snow blankets the mountains in pristine white—a perfect Christmas Eve morning.
"Mmm," I hum contentedly, pressing back against him. "It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful." His hand trails down my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I can feel him hardening against me, his interest unmistakable even in the early morning light.
"Already?" I tease, though my body is already responding to his touch.
"Can you blame me?" His lips tace along my neck. "Waking up next to you, feeling your naked body against mine... I'll never get enough of you."
His hand slides around to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until it peaks under his attention. A soft moan escapes my lips as arousal builds between my thighs.
"Victor," I breathe, already arching into his touch.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, his hand trailing lower, skimming over my ribs to rest on my hip. "Tell me how you want Daddy to start Christmas Eve."
The word sends a familiar shiver through me, and I arch against him. "I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me until I can't think about anything else."
"Such filthy words from my sweet girl," he says with dark approval, his hand sliding between my thighs to find me already slick with need. "Still sore from last night, but already soaking wet for me."
I gasp as he slides two fingers inside me. "I can't help it. You've made me insatiable."
"Good," he growls, his fingers curling inside me in a way that makes my back arch off the bed. "I want you to crave me every second of every day. I want you to need my cock like you need air to breathe."
"Please," I beg, my hips moving against his hand. "I need more. I need you to fill me completely."
"Greedy little slut," he says with satisfaction, withdrawing his fingers and positioning his cock my entrance. "But I love how desperate you get for me. Love watching you fall apart the moment I touch you."
He pushes inside without warning. "Fuck, you're tight," he groans, starting to move with slow, deliberate thrusts. "No matter how many times I take you, your perfect little cunt always grips me like a vice."
"Harder," I demand, my nails digging into his shoulders.
His thrusts become more forceful, more punishing, taking me with the kind of raw possession that makes my toes curl. The bedcreaks beneath us. Living in my apartment, I was never brave enough to be loud like this. Here in the cabin in the middle of nowhere, I could scream Daddy until I lost my voice and no one would hear. And I planned to.
He snarls against my throat, his teeth scraping my skin. "Every inch of this body belongs to me. Say it."
I gasp, my body already climbing toward release. "God, Daddy, I'm yours. Only yours."
"That's right." His hand slides between us, finding my clit and working it with ruthless precision. "My perfect little fucktoy. Taking everything I give you and begging for more."
The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless rhythm of his cock sends me over the edge faster than should be possible. I scream his name as the orgasm tears through me, my body convulsing around him.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, his rhythm faltering as my climax triggers his own. "Come on my cock like the good girl you are."
He empties himself inside me with a growl that sounds purely animalistic, marking me once again as his. We collapse together, both breathing hard, my body still pulsing with aftershocks.
"Perfect way to start Christmas Eve," I murmur against his chest when I can finally speak.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he presses a gentle kiss to my temple before pulling out of me, his come leaking in a warm gush. "Though I should probably make you some actual coffee before you waste away to nothing."
"In a minute," I say, curling against his side. "I'm not ready to leave this bed yet."
"Actually," he says, a strange note entering his voice, "there's something I want to show you downstairs. Something special for Christmas Eve."
