Page 107 of Painted Scars
Daddy’s grip on my hip tightens. Power coils in his body, an unspoken promise that he’s about to prove exactly who’s in control. Let him think that. The tight knot in him is unwinding, and I’m the one winning this battle.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Fuck. Look at you, baby. This is my safe space, and I want it to be yours too.”
I used to think intimacy was something I’d survive, not enjoy. Endure, not crave. Here I am, arching into him, drinking down his kiss, clutching his shoulders, like I’ve been starving for this kind of closeness my whole life. This isn’t just the stalker fantasy I romanticized to take back my power, it’s real. He doesn’t just take my body, he holds my trust, and he has no idea how rare that is.
His rhythm on my clit quickens, and I’m so wet, so turned on, my brain turns to glittery soup. The pressure is maddening, yet not enough. Pleasure winds hot and sharp through my belly and explodes between my legs.
“That’s my girl, come all over the machine,” Daddy praises. “I want you dripping all over it.”
He drags the joystick over my heat right through my aftershocks, then puts it next to me. A dark rumble shudders in his throat as he lifts me to the floor, holding me still while I wobble and get feeling back in my legs. He fastens my blindfold, and I lean on his shoulders. Carpet fibers compress under his weight as he kneels at my feet, and threads one of my legs over his back.
“Messy little thing.” He drags a finger through my slick and tastes me.
I jerk against him. His other hand grips my thighs, keeping me open for him, right where he wants me. He pulls my hips to his mouth and feasts on my juices, his tongue moving with cruel precision, cleaning me up. When he finishes, he kisses the space between my thigh and hip before releasing me.
“Use your words, Glitter Bomb. What do you want?” His palms track the length of my legs as he lifts into a stand. “Where do you want to be fucked?”
“Pinball.” My breath comes in short bursts, and I can’t think past anything but him touching me and feeding me his cock.
His hand snaps out and cracks me on the side of my ass. “Greedy little brat. What are you supposed to say?”
Oh, I love it when he gets all Daddy and unforgiving. “Please, Daddy. I want you to fuck me on the pinball machine.”
“That’s better.” He places me back on the pinball machine and gives me his mouth. “You know what I want to do?”
“What, Daddy?” I grind against his cock.
“I want to ruin you.” He gives me a taste of the meaning, nudging his tip into my entrance and pulling back.
“Then do it, Daddy.” I grab hold of his arms, knowing this is going to be rough and wild.
Boy, is it ever. We’re tangled, my legs around his hips, his hands clawed on my thighs, his mouth bruising mine. There’s nothing patient left in him. He’s frantic and feral, and I fucking love it. His cock stretches me and fills me. Teeth latch onto my neck hard enough to make me whimper. The feet of the machine scratch the floor as he pounds into me.
The edge of the machine digs into the back of my thighs with the sweetest bite. I don’t care. Not with his breath hot against my cheek, his growl buried in my throat, his mouth sucking on the flesh under my ear. A flurry of lights flash underneath the blindfold as he grinds into me and attempts to reach the highest score this machine has ever seen.
Dirty words spill from him in broken whispers. “So tight… fuck… you were made for this, baby.”
The machine hits the wall with a thud, prompting chiming bells and rapid-fire beeps. I whimper, not wanting to leave evidence of what we did.
Daddy doesn’t care and drives me closer to Hell with each plunge. “You take me so well.”
And I don’t care if we’re going to burn for an eternity or get arrested for this because it feels so fucking good.
“Do I—” I gasp at his pace. “Get bonus points if I make it light up?”
His lips brush my jaw. “Keep going, and I’ll give you a high fucking score and another plushie.”
A strangled sound escapes me, half laugh, half moan, and I bite his shoulder to stop myself from coming too early. He doesn’t flinch, just shoves into me harder.
His fingers are punishing on my thighs. “Fuck, Kate. I’m not gonna last if you clench me like that.”
I can’t help it. I’m lost to every punishing thrust. I lose track of words. Of time. Of anything that isn’t the delicious drag of hiscock, the slapping of our bodies colliding, the filthy praise in my ear.
He picks up the pace, slamming into me harder, and I swear the plaster on the wall gives. I cry out, loving his rough and relentless ferocity. One hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back so he can lick and bite my throat, marking me as his. His other hand shifts from my hips, clutching the joystick and slipping it between us, stroking my clit in time to his thrusts.
I break with a cry that should shatter all the glass and plastic in the place. The sound echoes off every machine and wall. My legs shake. I moan his name again and again, until I forget how to say anything else.
“Fuck.” He follows with a growl, hips jerking as he spills inside me, heat flooding my core.
