Page 16 of Big Bad Daddy

My eyes roll back, and a groan of ecstasy escapes my lips. She looks so fucking good; I can’t keep my eyes off her pretty lips stretching as wide as they can to take her daddy’s cock.

Sybil’s free hand reaches beneath her skirt and slips into her panties. She strokes her tight little bud and squeezes her thighs shut, gaining momentum, the closer she brings me to ecstasy.

“Do you want Daddy to take care of that pussy, baby girl?”

She nods but continues to take me deeper, lapping at my balls every chance she gets. My greedy little girl wants it all.

With one yank, I pull her to her feet, spin her around, and bend her over the kitchen island. I lift her skirt over her ass, push her panties to one side, and thrust my cock all the way inside her.

Sybil holds her arms out and curls them over the sink, seeking purchase to hold her steady. She’s so wet, her thighs gleam with arousal.

“This is really what you wanted. Isn’t it?” I thrust hard, deep, angling my cock to hit the soft spot I discovered last night. It caught us by surprise, but when I hit it just right, my baby girl howls like a she-wolf.

“Yes, Daddy. You know I love when you use my pussy. It’s all yours to take whenever you want.” Her voice trembles as I watch her wipe a tear off her cheek.

Panic sets in, and I temper my pace, plunging slowly and relishing how perfectly her pussy sheaths my shaft. “Am I hurting you, baby girl?”

Sybil shakes her head. “No, Daddy. I just don’t want this to end. I don’t…I don’t…” Her words turn into tiny yips, then tumble into screeching moans. My girl’s beautiful ass bounces, her hips rocking to the rhythm of her clenching pussy. Her legs give out, but I hold her steady and pillage her tight channel one thrust at a time.

When it’s my turn to come, I keep my cock all the way in and spray her walls with rope after rope of hot seed, secretly hoping it’s enough to knock her up. If it doesn’t, I’ll keep trying tonight, tomorrow, and next week. I won’t be happy until I see my ring on her finger and her belly swollen with our baby.

When I've spilled every drop of cum inside her, I turn her around and seal my lips to hers. “This will never end, baby girl. I've waited my whole life to find you, and I’m not foolish enough to let you slip through my fingers.” I wipe the tears from her face and lean my forehead on hers. “I’m not here to play around, sweetheart. I’m here to win your heart and hand.”

Sybil nods and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “You have my heart,” she murmurs, then places my hand over her heart. “You stole it the moment we met.”

My throat tightens with emotions I know I’ve never felt before. “I want you to go home today and pack your things, little girl. Your Daddy needs you close. He needs you in his bed, on his lap, and especially on his cock. And he’s not taking no for an answer."

Chapter Fourteen

“You’ve lost your mind, Sybil Sheridan. Did you tell Boris Volkov I warned you to stay away from him?” Tasha appears out of nowhere to scold me, shaking her fist as she tries to catch up.

I know she's furious when she switches her rant from English to Russian. I can't believe it got back to her so fast. He only dropped me off an hour ago.

I open the door to our favorite coffee house and let her enter first. She wrinkles her nose and passes through, unraveling her scarf on the way to the front counter. Her scowl disappears and instantly becomes a fake smile when she greets the barista. She turns to me before she orders. “You’re buying my latte. That’s the least you can do after you put my mother in danger.”

My eyes nearly fly out of my skull. I don’t believe it. Why would Boris do something like that? He knows it would get back to me before the end of the day. Before I jump to her conclusions, I slide behind her and order a cappuccino, still too stunned to ask for an explanation. While I pay for our coffees,Tasha wanders off in search of a table. She finds one by the front window and settles in, glaring at me until I reach my chair.

“What happened? How did they threaten your mother? Did you call the police?” I ask, genuinely curious if her mother is okay. In my heart of hearts, I refuse to believe the man I’m falling for would hurt an innocent old lady. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Earlier today, Gaspar Malakhov, one of Boris’s henchmen, arrived at my mother’s home carrying freshpelminifrom her favorite restaurant in Brighton Beach. He also broughtborscht,syrniki,andblini.It was a feast, Sybil! The man is a known hitman and I found him chatting it up with my mother over a cup of hot tea. Do you how know odd it was finding giant Gaspar sitting at my mother’s breakfast table, sipping tea with his pinky in the air? He had to be there for a reason, and I think the Volkovs were sending me a message.” She lowers her voice, then leans back, making room for the server holding our coffees.

I take my coffee and sit quietly, silently reviewing everything she told me and trying to figure out what part appeared threatening.

“Are you going to say something?” she snaps while adding sugar to her latte.

I take a slow sip to buy some time, then lift my head and stare, still utterly confused. “He took food. He spent time with her. How does that translate to the kiss of death? Maybe he was hitting on her,” I suggest the most reasonable conclusion.

A loud gasp exits her slacked jaw. “What are you saying? My mother is almost fifty!”

“I’ve met Gaspar, and he’s not a hitman. Boris told me he’s a bodyguard. That’s a big difference in their world. And he’s a very handsome man, complete with icy-blue eyes and muscles like Superman,” I say, my eyes drifting to the ceiling as I remember his massive arms and broad shoulders.

Boris said Gaspar had his heart set on someone, maybe it’s Mrs. Pushkina.

“You’ve been screwing this guy for two days, Sybil. You don’t know all the ins and outs of the Bratva. I’m telling you, it’s a message!” Tasha bangs her fist on the table and spills coffee into her saucer. “Besides, my mother doesn’t date. I wish she would, but not Gaspar Malakhov. He’s bad news.”

I listen to the words coming out of her mouth but they don’t match her far-off expression. I think she’s hiding something but it’s always like pulling teeth to get her to confess the tiniest things.

“Fifty isn’t dead, Tasha. Boris is almost fifty, and nothing about that man is dead,” I reply with a long sigh, remembering the way he fucked me in the kitchen, hallway, and front seat of his car on our way home. I still can’t believe no one saw us parked on the side of the road. The man is insatiable. And he’s turning me into his willing love slave.

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