Dear Daddy, Please Spank Me - Chara Croft Page 0,20

you can’t forget who you belong to. So you know you’re Daddy’s good boy. That Daddy takes care of you. That you—”

“I’m going to come,” he whispered, the words almost drowned out by the wet, obscene sound of his hand flying over his dick, so fast that it must look like a blur. “Daddy… Daddy… I’m going to come for you.”

“Not yet,” I gritted out, so close myself that I could barely think.

“Please.”

Heat rolled down my spine. He was asking. He wanted me in charge… and damn if that wasn’t exactly what I wanted, too.

“Not… yet,” I panted.

“Oh God, please. Please, Daddy. I have to, I have to, I have to.”

“Jordan… baby… Jesus, sweetheart,” I babbled, his face as clear in my mind’s eye as if he’d been right in front of me. I’d pictured it so many times. Watched him. Fantasized about him just like this, with my hand on my cock and his husky voice panting my name.

Except no, not just like this. This was better. This was real. I was his—

“Daddy,” he suddenly shouted. “I can’t—”

“Come, baby,” I gasped, shooting over my fist. “Come for Daddy now. Do it.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck oh holy shitting fuck,” he groaned, the sound of his satisfaction rolling through me and pushing my own orgasm even higher. So high that my knees went weak.

I staggered, almost tripping over Ellen, and forced my eyes open, still breathing hard. Cum soaked my fist as I clutched the phone in my other hand, tight enough that my knuckles were white, and blinked at my living room, almost shocked to see it instead of Jordan’s sweat-soaked, sated smile in front of me.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it for a second, half convinced I’d made the whole thing up, but nope. The call was still connected. That had actually just happened.

I brought it back to my ear, trying to catch my breath. “Jordan?”

“Damn, Daddy,” he said, his voice like slow syrup, satisfied and sleepy. “Haven’t come that hard in… fuck. Ever?”

“Language,” I said, holding my breath.

Was that it, then? Because he was back to cursing, and that “Daddy” he’d just given me hadn’t sounded… well, sincere.

Jordan chuckled, then audibly yawned. “I was hoping for an actual fuck tonight, but I’m all wore out now,” he said, yawning again. “But you want to hook up for real sometime, dude?”

“Yes,” I said, still holding my softening dick and sure of that answer, even if I wasn’t quite sure what else I was feeling.

Elated?

Disappointed?

Frozen in shock and awe?

“Can you host?” Jordan asked. “Because I live with someone, and it would be… ah, awkward?”

Ice skittered down my spine. “You… live with someone?” I repeated, my stomach clenching. “Jordan, are you already in a relationship?”

“Oh, hell no,” he said, instantly easing the pressure in my stomach. “Paolo is just my roommate. Plus, he’s straight.”

“Good,” I said forcefully, knowing it was ridiculous to feel possessive, but undeniably feeling it anyway.

“And I don’t do relationships,” Jordan added, making me freeze in place as I was wiping the cum off my hand onto my t-shirt.

I swallowed, then finished the job. I mean, I’d have to wash the shirt anyway. And… and the disappointment his last statement sparked inside me? The way Jordan had dropped all efforts at “being good for Daddy” the minute he’d come? I mean, what had I expected?

Well, I knew what I’d expected. No, what I’d hoped for. Definitely fantasized about… and it was more than just making him come, no matter how hot that had been. I wanted something real.

“So, can you?” Jordan asked. “Host, I mean?” Then, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice that instantly killed mine, he added, “Unless, I mean, if you’re not really into it…”

“I am,” I said firmly. “I want to.”

I wanted a lot more than a hookup, but we could start there.

“Great,” he said, sounding like was smiling again. Then he yawned. “Shoot me your deets then, ’kay? Just let me know when you want me.”

I laughed, then promised I would, then said goodnight.

But when I wanted him?

That one was easy.

Always.

6

Jordan

“Fuck,” I muttered, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel as I peered through my windshield at Andy Archer’s house. I’d been parked in his driveway for a few minutes already, but was still on the fence about whether to go in or just pull right back out and head home. I mean, seriously, what the fuck was I even doing with a guy like this?