Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Clarke stares at me in heat and wonder for a beat, before guiding his erection to my untried entrance, his fist unsteady as he positions the bulging head of his sex, sneaking just the tip of it into my hole. “We were born to give each other pleasure, angel,” he says, hoarsely. “And I will. My life is about satisfying you now. But God help me, I’ve waited so long for you.” He sinks a single inch into me and I whimper, my back arching on its own. “I’ve waited years and my body isn’t listening to my heart. Forgive me for what I’m about to do.”
Daddy’s body flattens me on the bed, knocking the wind out of me—and I’m filled in one savage thrust of his hips. My mouth opens to scream against his shoulder and no sound comes out. I’m flooded with rightness, a sense of homecoming, even as pain blooms in my middle. There’s no time to grow accustomed to Clarke’s girth stretching me past capacity, because he’s rutting me into the mattress with great, heaving drives of his body.
It’s the greatest moment of my life.
I’m Clarke’s pleasure vessel. He’s a man of strict discipline and I’ve snapped it. Thoroughly. There is nothing more gratifying than listening to his strangled growls or the groan of the bedframe as he fucks into my womanhood with his long, thick inches. He’s a snarling, possessive beast and I’m the prey he’s been seeking. His open mouth drops to the crook of my neck and he feasts on me, sucking until my skin bruises and dragging his teeth over me in every direction while his hips pump, pump, pump.
“Your taste did this, little girl,” he shouts into my neck. “Daddy was going to be sweet with his angel. But you dripped that virgin juice all over my tongue and made my cock impatient. Knew you’d be so tight for Daddy, and I was right. Just like fucking a soft, little keyhole. And I’m the only one who gets to turn my cock in this cunt and unlock you.” His teeth sink into the curve of my shoulder. “Aren’t I, angel?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whimper, my view of the ceiling beginning to blur as a climax races closer. Desperate to feel the floor of his satisfaction inside me first, I work my hips to meet his bone-shaking thrusts. “No one else will ever touch me. Just you.”
“Fuck touching you. I’ll kill anyone who looks.” I only have a second to revel in his words when Clarke reaches between us and begins to circle my clit with his thumb. “Jesus Christ. You’re tightening up even more. Daddy can’t hold on to his come when you’re strangling his cock, little girl.” His hips increase their pace and his jaw goes slack, his moan mingling with the sound of his sex smacking into mine. “God, Emery. Your pussy is begging for a load. My little girl is good and fertile, isn’t she? I’m a lucky man.”
I can barely speak around the pressure in my throat, in my middle—everywhere. I’m lost in the grind of our bodies and the bad words he says into the darkness. If what we’re doing is bad, that’s what I am. I’m a bad, bad girl and I want my Daddy to get me pregnant. “Fill me up, Daddy. I want everyone to know I’m yours.”
Clarke’s mouth lands on mine and our lips begin a frantic dance of teeth and tongues. They’re mating as much as our lower bodies are. Hot breath, moisture, grunting, moaning. A quickening begins in my belly and I cry out, undulating beneath the unstoppable force of Clarke’s pounding body. His teeth snap at my lips when I start to orgasm and he plunges in his tongue deep, so deep, as if to absorb my climax in every way possible. My sex shakes and squeezes around his thrusting manhood, slicking the pathway for an extra-violent drive—
“Emery. My angel. Goddamn it, the taste of you. The tight, little suck of your pussy is driving me insane.” He shakes the bed with another ramming blow of his body into mine and I feel the hot rapids of his seed spew forth inside of me. My body is only capable of accepting a fraction of what he drains from his loins into mine, and the excess goes creaming down my thighs, splattering onto the comforter—and still he bellows into the opulent bedroom, shaking the chandelier that hangs above us, pumping his powerful hips in uneven movements, before eventually collapsing on top of me, big body shuddering with the power of what we’ve done.
I’m shaking, too, trying to breathe around the weight of Clarke on top of me. Not that I want him to move. I would rather suffocate than lose the perfect, glorious weight of Clarke on top of me, but I swallow my protests as he rolls to one side, gathering me against him and crooning words of praise into my hair.