Page 88 of My Big Fat Daddy Issues

She's still trembling when she grabs my jaw and hauls me into a kiss. Deep and filthy, tasting of her cream. "I need you inside me," she says against my teeth. "Now. Please."

"Turn around."

"I'm the size of a parade float. I don't turn around. I execute a three-point turn."

"Then execute it. Hands on the table."

She huffs, but she's smiling then sliding off and bracing her palms on the edge. The flannel clings to one shoulder, her back bare, her ass canted out to make room for the belly. Seven months pregnant, barefoot in our studio, milk dripping, her bio textbook probably still open upstairs with a highlighter holding her place — this woman is pulling a master's degree while pregnant while running a business while keeping a two-year-old alive and she still marched downstairs to fuck me on a Wednesday afternoon.

I don't deserve her. I wake up every morning certain of it and every morning I choose to keep her anyway.

I free my cock and line up. She shoves back, trying to take me.

"Ask properly."

"Please, Daddy." Not a shred of hesitation. She said it shy once, five years ago in my kitchen, and every time since she's said it like a woman who knows exactly who she is. "Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad."

I give it to her. Her words dissolve into a sound with no consonants in it.

Christ. Tight, then yielding, then tight again, like her body can't choose between dragging me deeper and bracing for the next thrust. I lock both hands on her hips and hold, buried. My jaw clenches so hard my molars ache.

"Move." She pushes back against me. "Daddy. Move."

Her palm slaps flat on the table. I bottom out, the way her spine dips to shift the angle. Five years of studying this body and I still catch details that wreck me.

I gather her hair in my fist and pull her upright against my chest and she whimpers, reaching back to grip my neck. I palm her breast and squeeze. Milk arcs in the light landing on the walnut table in front of us.

"That's going to stain the wood," she says, and immediately comes.

The clamp, the shudder, the way her breath cuts dead for three seconds before the panting starts. It's all familiar but never gets old. I hold her up and catch her face in the reflection of the dark monitor across the room.

Always the best thing in the frame.

"Good girl. So good for me. Daddy's little secret. Remember, you can't tell anyone what I do to you when I climb in your bed at night, right?"

"Right." She hums, soaking me with a warm gush.

She takes my hand and guides it down. Past her hip. Over the curve of her ass. Presses my fingers against the tight pucker between her cheeks and holds them there. "This. I want you here."

My cock kicks inside her so hard I see spots. "Yeah?"

"You know it's naughty to ask Daddy to fuck your ass. But, I won't tell."

I spread her ass cheeks and gather the saliva in my mouth and spit, reaching under her and cupping her opening with my fingers, gathering her slippery nectar and rub it all on her tight little hole. I slick my cock with more spit and her natural lube and line up, press the head against her. "Breathe for me, baby girl."

She inhales. The head eases past that tight ring and she gasps, knuckles bleaching on the table's edge.

Another inch and she lets out this low, desperate exhale of relief.

"God, your ass is fucking heaven little girl. You shouldn't make Daddy do these things to you. Now, you have to take it all. You started this, now you're gonna finish it."

"All the way," she whispers. "Give me all of it, Daddy. I can take you."

I bottom out.

"You have no idea what you do to me."

"Show me."