Page 243 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
He does and makes me howl through a hard, fast orgasm before he leads me back out to face the grinning crowd around the kitchen island.
Emily’s organized the salad Mac was working on in our absence. She hands the wooden serving bowl to me along with a towel. When I lift an eyebrow at her, she gives me a wink. A step behind me, Mac chuckles.
“Too bad it’s not my come leaking outta you onto that towel,” he whispers in my ear, shooting a hot shiver down my spine to pool in my tender, pulsing ass. “Next time.”
I somehow manage to wobble my way to the dining table and plonk the bowl down. I flap the towel across a chair and am just about to collapse onto it when Mac collars me by the back of my neck.
“Do you have permission to sit?” he growls in my ear.
Fuck. Normally I’d snark, but he plug-fucked all the snark out of me and now I’m just a pile of submissive goop.
“Sir, may I have permission?”
“Mmm.” He tips my head to the side with his grip on my neck and runs his teeth along the edge of my ear. My knees buckle and I grab the back of the chair to keep from landing on my knees. “You may, this time. Next time you’ll be wearing some stripes. Furniture’s a privilege, not a right.”
Good thing Emily’s given me the towel because there’s a freaking swamp puddling between my legs.
“Yes, sir.”
He nips my ear hard enough to sting before he guides me into the chair by my nape. Have I ever felt this controlled? Have I ever wanted to? Shivering, I slump in the chair until a twinge in my ass reminds me uncomfortably of the plug. I straighten my spine.
Emily sits down across the table from me and catches my eye. “You okay?” she mouths.
I nod. I’m sure I look glazed. I feel glazed. And tingly. And, fuck me, happy.
Mac folds his big frame down into the chair next to me. He reaches out and cups my chin in his hand and looks deep into my eyes. He winks before letting me go and slinging his arm across the back of my chair.
He leans in and murmurs in my ear, “Enjoy your meal, girl. I think you need another orgasm for dessert.”
Fuck, yeah.
“Thank you, sir. Can I give you a little dessert, too?”
He chuckles, his lips brushing my ear and slipping down my neck. “You could definitely persuade me.”
eight
MAC
I can’t keepmy hands off this girl. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll have my test results and know whether it’s safe to fuck her but keeping my cock out of her in the meanwhile is proving harder than the seven years of self-imposed celibacy while Amy and I were separated.
Brenna’s curled against me as we lie in Logan’s guest bed. There were orgasms after we watched a movie, more orgasms after we got into bed, and now I’m lazily moving my fingers in her sopping, swollen pussy, heading for a fourth screamer in as many hours. She whimpers softly, her face in my shoulder, her body trembling as I anchor her across me with one hand on her nape and the other in her cunt. She has her hand between us, wrapped around my cock, which is showing only casual interest after two orgasms of my own, and I’m still deciding whether I’m going to let her jack me again.
“And then,” I say, over the squelching noise of my fingers in her, encouraging her to continue the story she’s been telling me about the gang of girls she got drawn into while in foster care and the rivalry they had with another gang.
“And then ... oh, fuck, please can I come, sir?”
“Not until I’ve heard the rest of it.”
She whines and shudders but doesn’t try to wriggle away from my stirring fingers. “And then she kicked me with her steel-toed boots and crushed my hip. Please, sir!”
“And then,” I say.
She grinds her forehead into my shoulder. “Ruby and my girls found me and got me to a hospital. Please?—”
“What happened to the girls who ambushed you?” I ask.
“My girls kicked their asses back to Yonkers. Sir?—”
