Page 24 of His to Watch
"Yours," she agrees breathlessly, pushing back against each thrust, her body accepting my claim without hesitation. "All yours, Daddy."
The supply closet fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin, of her muffled moans as she bites her lip to stay quiet, of my possessive growls as I reclaim what's mine.
"No one else gets to stand that close to you," I tell her, one hand gripping her hip bruisingly tight, the other tangled in her hair. "No one else gets to look at you like that. No one."
"I wasn't—he didn't—" she tries to explain, but I cut her off with a particularly deep thrust that makes her whimper.
"Don't care. Daddy doesn't fucking share." I can feel my release building rapidly, the adrenaline of jealousy and the risk of being discovered pushing me toward the edge faster than usual. "Going to fill you up right here, right now, so you remember who you belong to while you're sitting at that desk."
She moans at my words, her inner walls clenching around me in that way that tells me she's close too. My hand slides from her hip to between her legs, finding her sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it roughly.
"Come for me," I command, my voice a harsh whisper in the small space. "Come on Daddy's cock while I mark you again."
She obeys instantly, her body convulsing around me as she buries her face against her arm to muffle her cry. The tight clench of her pussy triggers my own release, and I drive into her one final time, emptying myself deep inside her with a muffled groan against her neck.
For several moments, we remain frozen in that position—her bent over the shelf, me buried inside her, both of us breathing hard in the confined space. Reality slowly filters back in—the risk of discovery, the fact that we're at work, that her colleagues are just down the hall.
I withdraw reluctantly, watching with male satisfaction as my seed immediately begins to trickle down her thigh. Mine.
I drop my knees, grab a paper towel and gently clean her up before fixing my own clothing. “Remember who you belong to for the rest of your shift."
She turns to face me, cheeks flushed with exertion and embarrassment, but eyes bright with something like satisfaction. "I never forgot, Daddy," she whispers, reaching up to touch my cheek with gentle fingers. "I wouldn't let anyone else touch me."
I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm that's surprisingly tender given the rough claiming of moments ago."Good girl," I praise, the tension in my chest easing slightly. "My good little girl."
She smiles up at me, somehow looking both thoroughly debauched and sweetly innocent at the same time. "Always yours," she promises.
And as I slip out of the closet first, resuming my security rounds with the scent of her still on my fingers and the knowledge of my seed inside her, I know it's true.
She's mine. And I'll make damn sure everyone in this museum knows it.
fifteen
. . .
Tatianna
I've becomeaddicted to Jerald's praise. Two weeks since that locked-in night at the museum, and I crave his "good girl" like others might crave coffee or cigarettes. My body physically aches when too many hours pass without his touch, without his possessive growl of "mine" against my skin. It should terrify me, this sudden dependency. This complete rewriting of who I thought I was. Quiet, bookish Tatianna—the woman who preferred ancient artifacts to human interaction—now lives for the moment Jerald's massive hand settles on the small of my back as we walk to his truck after our shifts end. For the way he calls me "little girl" in that deep voice that makes heat pool instantly between my legs. For the safety and surrender I feel when he pins me beneath him and fills me so completely I can barely breathe. I've tried analyzing it like one of my artifacts—examining this transformation from all angles, searching for rational explanation—but logic fails in the face of this primal connection that's consumed us both.
We've fallen into a routine that feels both scandalous and right. During work hours, we maintain a veneer of professionalism—though everyone has noticed the change. Theway Jerald's security rounds always bring him past my desk. The way my cataloging work mysteriously takes me to whatever wing he's stationed in. The shared glances, the slight smile that now occasionally cracks his usually stern expression, the blush I can't control when he looks at me with that heat in his eyes.
Dr. Hayes commented on it yesterday—"Nice to see Security actually engaging with the curatorial staff"—oblivious to how close he came to physical harm as Jerald's massive hands flexed at his sides. I've learned to recognize the signs of his jealousy, to defuse situations before his possessiveness boils over into something that might jeopardize his job.
But after hours—God, after hours we're insatiable. I leave my car at the museum most nights now, riding home with him to his surprisingly tidy apartment in a converted warehouse downtown. The moment his door closes behind us, all pretense falls away. I become his "little girl," his to command, to praise, to possess in every way possible.
"Such pretty panties," he growls tonight, his massive fingers hooking into the waistband of the lacy underwear I've started wearing for him. "Did you wear these for Daddy?"
"Yes," I admit, my voice already breathless as he backs me against his kitchen counter. "Just for you."
"My good girl." The praise washes over me like warm honey, making me melt against him. "Always so perfect for me."
He lifts me effortlessly onto the counter, pushing my skirt up around my waist, spreading my thighs with those huge hands that make me feel so delicate by comparison. Two weeks of constant attention from him should have diminished the thrill, should have made this routine. Instead, I find myself just as eager, just as desperate for his touch as I was that first night.
"Please," I whisper, already knowing the response I'll get.
"Please what, little girl? Tell Daddy exactly what you need."
The words fall from my lips without hesitation now, the shyness of those first days long gone. "Please fuck me, Daddy. Please fill me up."
