Page 33 of Father Christmas

“Yes, please.” Astrid moans as I bury my cock inside her heat. She feels so fucking good and tight from this angle, and undeniably right.

Water splashes over the sides of the tub as I thrust. The extra curves she’s added make it easier to grip her hips. It feels like I’ve been waiting a lifetime to be with my baby again, and now that I’ve got my hands on her, I find it impossible to hold back.

Just when I think I might be going too rough, too relentless, she looks over her shoulder and says, “I love your big, fat Daddy cock so much.”

Sinful words from an angel’s lips.

I groan as heat and pleasure rises up and out of my dick. I come so hard, it hurts—sweet, blessed agony—and the only thing that can ease the pain is my love for this girl. She pushes back as I drive forward, getting herself off. I let her ride me for as long as she needs, until she’s so tired she can barely hold herself up.

As we slide into the steaming water, and I gather her in my arms, there’s one thing I know for certain: I can’t stay away from this girl. It’s not enough to slip outside for a quickie. I want to be there to kiss her good morning. Even a few nights without my baby girl is too damn many.

I’m either gonna have to break my promise to her mother, or find my own loophole.