Daddy Crush - Adriana Anders Page 0,35

can from his words and touch, his crude, demanding presence.

He won’t let me move, though, won’t let me be anything but his tool. Or his student, I guess. Or something else that I can’t quite grasp.

Oh, but isn’t that a lie? Because, yes, I understand it. I get it on a cell-deep level and this thing explains why he’s the one I want, the only one who can be this for me.

With a low warning growl, he scrubs his gruff hand up my inner thigh and my brain shorts out, leaving nothing but the knowledge that, finally, it’s happening.

Daddy’s home.

Karl

I’m a terrible mentor, way too into it. Way too selfish. I should fire myself.

Not gonna happen, though. Not when she’s warm and willing, wriggling in my lap. Not when her breathing’s gone all wild again, like last night, only right fucking here. Not when I can smell that sweet pussy in the air and, soon, so damn soon, on my fingers.

I’m drawing this out for her, but if I had my way, I’d be back against the couch cushions with her right where I need her—sitting on my face.

This torture’s good, although I can’t say who’s learning the lessons here; her with my hands on her body, or me, holding myself back, cock pounding like a pulse in my brain.

“Good,” I whisper, feeling so pervy and sick and fucking loving every second. “Good.”

My finger hits the edge of those cute panties and even breathing’s a chore—something I have to consciously think about, while every essential brain cell rushes south.

“Gonna touch your pussy,” I whisper in her ear. “You want that?”

“Oh, yes. Yes.” The words are shaky and breathy and I love that, too. Christ, I love the way her whole body’s trembling.

Slower than syrup, I let my finger trace the thin cotton. My eyes slam shut as I outline the dips and rises of her feminine flesh. Even though I stared at the screen, Indiana Jones disappeared from my consciousness ages ago, but suddenly the voices are back—dudes yelling something, vague and excitable. It’s a weird soundtrack to what’s happening here.

Her mound’s so plump, I can’t help but squeeze it. Her response—a gratifying grunt—makes me do it again, and again, when she arches back, driving her head into my shoulder.

“Good.” My hand pulls away long enough to make her squirm for more. “Shhhhh.” I press into the side of her face and then—fuck I can’t stop—I slap her cunt, light and quick.

She’s writhing now, her body alive and hungry, while she expels a low, constant moan. It’s so honest and open and real that I lose a part of myself.

Another shushing does nothing to quiet her, but I continue the charade. For her? For me? In the name of all that is horny and filthy and wrong in the world, I take in the wet spot on her plain little panties and tut, like some goddamn professor.

Like I’m her mentor for real and I’m disappointed at her brazen responses, when we both know—hell the family living next door must know by now—that I’m eating this up.

At this point, it’ll take a fire to stop me from sliding my fingers beneath the fabric and, when I do… Ah, hell. That first touch of dry skin to slick pussy shoots my blood pressure sky high. All I can do is slide between her slippery lips and ride it out, my chest contracting like a bellows, my breath a storm in my ears.

“You’re fucking soaked.” My left arm lets her go to pull the panties aside for my hungry right hand.

“I know, Da—” She gulps and stops moving.

I freeze.

“What’s that?” I say, aiming for light. It comes out rough and grim.

“I…” Shaky exhale “I know.”

“The other word. The one you started to say.”

“I…”

“Say it.” My left hand grips her soft pubic hair, eliciting a gasp that lifts her tits and presses her ass to my cock even harder than before. “Say it, Jerusha. Say the word.”

“It’s… I don’t know if—”

I open my mouth, ready to beg.

“Daddy.” Her whisper’s so low I could almost be mistaken, but my dick knows what it heard.

I tighten my grip, bowing her body, lifting her hips from my lap, while my other hand slides down her creamy slit. “Say that again.” I circle her entrance and let my knuckles ease back up to where her clit’s pulsing, hard and sweet and eager.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Fuck.” I flick her clit, edge my fingers down and let a thick knuckle penetrate her,