Dear Daddy, Please Spank Me - Chara Croft Page 0,27
was rock hard, but also felt like I’d melted inside, like my dick could wait and his hold on me was the only thing keeping me from sinking down to the ground.
Except, shit. I probably should do that, right? Because so far, I’d reciprocated exactly jack.
“I can, uh, blow you,” I said, starting to drop to my knees. And I shit you not, the minute the words were out of my mouth, it literally fucking watered.
Fuck.
Yes.
I suddenly wanted to blow him. Wanted to get down on my knees for him. Wanted to let him stuff that cock he’d been grinding into my back as deep as he wanted down my throat, and then have him keep… keep petting my head or whatever. Holding me there. Saying shit to me. Making me look at him while he fucked my throat, and—
“No,” Andy said, stopping me before I made it down to my knees. “Did you forget who’s in charge here, Jordan?”
I swallowed. “No, but—”
“You can tell me if you want me to stop doing something,” he said firmly, talking right over me. “And I will. And you can also tell me if you want something. But I decide what you actually get.”
Shit. yes. That.
I didn’t know what I’d been doing with my life before now, but this was what I needed. Sex after Andy was going to suck.
I pushed that last thought away hard. I felt too damn good right now to start missing what I hadn’t even gotten yet.
“Please, Daddy,” I said, wetting my lips. “I want to blow you.”
Not want. I was suddenly desperate to.
Andy smiled. “No.”
“What?” I asked, brought up short. “But you just said to tell you what I wanted...”
“And you did. But the answer is no. We have something else to take care of first.”
I stared at him, feeling weirdly shaky and totally horny and completely tongue-tied.
Oh shit, not just feeling shaky. I was actually shaking.
“Shhhh,” he said, rubbing my arms like he had on the porch. Then he took my hand, lacing our fingers together like we were a couple about to have a romantic walk on the beach or some shit. “Come on, baby. Daddy’s got you.”
He took me back to his bedroom and took my pants off. Took off the sexy little briefs I’d worn that clung to my ass like a second skin. Sat me on the bed and took off my socks—down on his knees for me not six inches away from my hard, leaking cock without giving it any attention at all—and I just… let him. Which, I mean, sure, I usually let guys who wanted to fuck me take the lead and do it the way they wanted, so that part wasn’t so much weird. The weird part was that, usually, guys who wanted to fuck me actually did fuck me. Or sometimes blow me. And definitely never said no to me blowing them.
Except none of what Andy was doing actually felt weird. Or at least, not bad-weird.
“Stand up, sweetheart,” Andy said once he had all my clothes off, his voice totally steady even though I knew how good I looked naked. Not being a douche here, but I’d been eating right and working out on the daily for half my damn life, and it was just hashtag-fact. Still, the way he was so fucking calm about it would have made me self conscious or some shit—like, wondering if he was even into this—if it hadn’t been for the way his eyes were eating me up, pupils all blown to fuck as they scorched me with a molten, possessive heat that seared right through me.
Or the fact that no matter how steady his hands were, his cock was straining against his pants, a wet spot forming near the tip as it pressed against the material so hard that I could tell he was cut.
Or... shit. Just the way he had all his attention, like all of it, completely focused on me. Like I was the only thing he could see. The only thing that mattered to him right now. Like he didn’t just want to fuck; he wanted to fuck me.
I stood up like he’d just told me to, almost feeling drunk on all that attention, and... Andy sat down.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my tongue feeling thick and my brain slow. He was seated on the edge of the bed, patting his lap. “Aren’t you, uh, going to get naked, too?”