Page 65 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

"Oh, I'm jealous alright." I bark. "I'm gonna put my dick inside you and check that you're telling Daddy the truth about those other boys."

"I am telling the truth." She wiggles as she says it. "Like right now. I'm hot and sticky and that feeling in the center of me makes me want to feel you rubbing on me like you did that night."

"Well, Daddy needs to check on that." I seethe, my knuckles dragging over the hard nub of her nipple. Up and down, up and down watching her tongue trace her bottom lip.

"You can check whatever you want."

I kiss her and there is nothing gentle about all the denial breaking at once. Both hands on her face, fingertips crushing into her cheeks, taking her mouth apart with mine. She tastes like bourbon and velvet sin and I am fucking gone for this girl.

She fists the front of my shirt and hauls me in and the sound she makes against my teeth I feel at the base of my spine.

I send one hand to tangle in her hair. I pull her head back and take her mouth deeper and she gasps and arches into me and my cock strains against my zipper hard enough to white out my peripheral vision.

Her hips grind forward and the noise that comes out of my chest would embarrass me if I had room for anything besides the feel of her — small and fierce and pressing into me like she's trying to crawl inside my fucking soul.

"Tell me to stop," I manage against her mouth. Not that I could, but the tension that gives her a moment of choice builds, turns up the volume on everything.

"No. I love you. I've been needy for so long."

"Wren. You're my sweetheart. My beautiful little girl." I grip her jaw, force her eyes to mine. "If you don't stop me, I'm going to put my mouth on your pussy and make you come and then I'm going to fuck you on this couch. And I won't be sorry. Or gentle. Or fast."

She reaches between us and presses her palm flat against my cock. "I don't want you to be sorry. And I'm going to do it more than once."

I drop to my knees, pushing her down as I go, feeling like this is all some fever dream but I never want to wake up.

I've got my hands on her hips, pushing her back onto the cushions. She lands with a gasp and I hook my fingers in the waistband of those ridiculous shorts.

"Unbutton and unzip these. I'm going to check if you're telling me the truth about this little pussy still being pure."

She works the front of her shorts until they're open and I drag them down her legs revealing the little light blue cotton and lace fabric with a fucking little white bow that's underneath.

She lifts her hips for me to take them but I shake my head.

"No, the panties stay on." The idea of pushing her panties aside just enough to get inside that virgin heaven she's saved for me drives me to the edge of sanity. Seeing her willing and spread on my couch, there's no turning back.

I've pictured this. In the shower. At my desk with my cock in my fist and her name in my teeth. The reality guts the fantasy and leaves it bleeding on the floor.

"Grant." She's trembling.

"Lift up your shirt, then hold these to the side so I can see." I pepper kisses down the inside of her calf as she does as she's told, popping off her little white sneakers as she lifts the hem of the sweatshirt above her tits. "That's my good girl."

She fucking hums as she glides the tip of her fingers between the apex of her thigh and the elastic around her leg and pulls it aside.

"Christ." I choke as her breathing stalls. On my knees, admiring the landscape of her body from this angle, I'm breathless.

Her pussy is nearly bare. Just a little dark runway of curls at the top and her tits, Jesus. Seeing them in her bathing suits, I thought I'd be prepared for this, but I'm not.

I'm so fucking not.

Her breasts are more womanly than the rest of her body. She's always been lean, athletic by nature but the curve of her tits sitting on the tightness of her ribcage is a juxtaposition in sin.

I let my gaze linger there before running down the concave dip of her abdomen, then feast my eyes back on the ultimate prize.

"Please…" She arches her back, her little toes curl as I lift them to the edge of the sofa cushion and position her wide.

"Please what?" I drag my thumb up the center of her and her whole-body jerks. She's fucking soaked and the knowledge that she's this wet for me, for the man who hoisted her onto his shoulders at Fourth of July parades so she would have a better view, should stop me dead. It makes me drag my thumb back down, slower, watching her hips chase the pressure. What a genuinely fucked-up man I am. "Tell me what you need."

"What you're doing, more. Please — " She whimpers, those pupils taking over her eyes, like something is clawing up her throat she didn't know lived there. "Please, Daddy."