Page 92 of Painted Scars
Oh, I plan on it. I’ve given up a lot of control for this man, only because I feel safe. The longer he lets this stretch out, the harder I dig my heels in. I’m not just here for a good time anymore.
My mouth brushes his neck as I whisper, “You can’t hide forever, Grumpy Daddy. One day, I’m going to see all of you. That’s my rule.” If I say it out loud, I’m not just playing fantasy anymore.
I drag my nails down his chest, getting off on the tremble rippling through him.Good.I want him to feel how much power he’s given me, how much I crave the man under the armor. His free hand crushes into a fist by his side. Restraint isn’t a challenge, it’s a warning that he’ll resume control once I’m done. I trail a kiss down his throat, tasting soap, warm skin, and his natural woody cinnamon flavor. My hands wander lower as I lick my lips. His thick arousal pulses against my pussy.
I don’t bother with undressing him. I want raw and in the moment. Him beneath me. I unbuckle his belt, tug his zipperdown, and he lifts his hips enough for me to pull his pants down enough to free his cock.
“Hold still for me,” I tease, curling my hand around his length and giving him a slow, agonizing stroke.
“Yes, Glitter Bomb,” he croaks, his throat working.
I test him with a firmer pump, flicking my thumb over his slick head, and he groans, leaning his head back like I dismantle his armor bolt by bolt. The sexy sound shoots right between my legs. I reach down and shift aside my panties, letting his length slide against my wet flesh without taking him in. His hips involuntarily twitch for me.
I cluck my tongue. “Careful, Daddy. That felt like moving.”
His fist uncurls. “You’re going to pay for that, brat.”
“Maybe I want to,” I murmur into his neck.
When I sink over on him, no condom this time, we both groan, the stretch sharp and perfect.
He jolts up into me. “Protection?”
“Not tonight,” I whisper, giving him more of me, hoping it encourages good faith from him.
I roll my hips over his length, and he fists the sheets instead of my hips, knuckles white, letting me ride him at my pace. I don’t need to see his face to know that this is torture for him. Every sway of my body makes his neck muscles strain, and the power in it nearly undoes me.
“You’re trying to kill me, Glitter Bomb,” he rasps, sweat beading on his chest from his self-discipline.
“Then at least you’ll die happy.” I lick his throat. “I know I will.”
He breaks our contract and thrusts up instinctively, and I gasp, my nails biting into his shoulder. He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t have to. I’ve got all the control in the world here. We find a rhythm, my slow, teasing grind, and his barely restrained pulses filling me with even more command of him.
“Please, baby, I can’t take it anymore,” he begs. “I need to come.”
The coil in me snaps, and I grip his shoulders and rock over him harder, bouncing on his cock and thighs.
“Fuck, baby, yes,” Grumpy Daddy encourages.
I come with a sharp cry, shuddering over him, and he finally breaks, lifting his free arm to grip my hips and drive up into me hard enough to see stars.
“More!” I cling to him as his release follows, a groan tearing from his chest like I’ve cracked him wide open.
When it’s over, I collapse against him, breathless and spinning in a haze.
“You’re undoing me, Glitter Bomb,” he whispers to me, voice rough with spent desire and something heavier.
“Then stay undone,” I murmur.
He yanks the silk tie free and crushes it in his palm, lifts me into his arms, and carries me from the bed into the bathroom, just as he promised. He sets me on the edge of the porcelain, twisting the faucets, and the bathroom fills with the sounds of running water and the scent of the lavender bubble bath he drops into the spray.
“Stay there. It’s my turn to play spa attendant.” He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip and goes hunting for my candle lighter.
Upon his return, he ignites four candles, placing two on my windowsill above the tub, and two at the end of the bath. If I’m going to live in this fantasy, I’m doing it scented like heaven.
Grumpy Daddy crouches by the bath and swirls the water, encouraging it to bubble. Steam hazes the room and mists his visor. My body sags with fatigue, and I brace against the bathtub’s sides.
“Come here, baby.” He flicks off the water, reaches for me, and I stand and step in front of him. Rough hands makes quickwork of my clothes and his own, the whisper of fabric hitting the floor sweet to my ears.
