Daddy Crush - Adriana Anders Page 0,39
his shirt the rest of the way off, then drags his pants off entirely. I lap up the show. This could be the last time is my tragic inner anthem.
There’s no time for me to think before he’s kicked off his pants and climbed back on top, his underwear still in place. It’s an interesting decision, but I like it, the way I like still wearing my bra. Fantasies rush in as he stretches out on top—us in his restaurant office, against the door, only this time, he pulls himself from his underwear, tugs mine to the side and shoves that fat cock inside me.
I moan at the reel in my head, and at the heavy bulk of him, pinning me in place as solidly as his hungry gaze.
He rises up onto straightened arms, giving me space to breathe. I’m still taking him in, memorizing every square inch of this powerful body. His ink, his scars, the rippling muscles I’d only guessed at.
“You okay?” he asks, concern diluting his desire.
“Oh, yes.” I nod. “You?”
He dips his hips, rubbing his cotton-clad erection between my splayed thighs.
I whimper. He grins evilly. The balance is restored.
“I’m good.” He lifts up again, clears his throat. “As long as this is what you want and you don’t—”
“It is,” I rush to say. “I want this.” I want you.
His gaze sharpens as it skims over my face, like he’s considering, after everything, if maybe we’re about to go too far.
We’re not! I want to scream. Do it. Do it all, Karl. Do it, Daddy.
Instead I watch him with steady eyes, hoping he can’t feel the wild tripping of my heart, only partially in reaction to his hard penis. Most of it, though, I have to attribute to him and my feelings. Which was not part of the deal.
“Come on, Daddy,” I whisper, as flirtatiously as I can. “I want to feel you down there.”
His eyes lose focus as he groans and gives in, dipping low, with nothing but underwear between us.
Back and forth, he strokes, the pressure wonderful, but the fabric not ideal. It doesn’t take long for my hands to roam, raking through his coarse hair before stroking his flank. His belly’s hard abs ripple when I reach down to skim him there.
His rhythm is measured until I reach around to his butt, tuck my fingers in his boxer briefs, and tug.
“I want you bare. Against me,” I venture, hoping I’m not going too far.
“Oh, fuck, you’re so dirty.” With his weight on one arm, he wrenches the shorts partway down. I help him, tugging until they’re almost to his knees. Without the fabric’s restraint, his cock strains up to his belly. He amends that with a quick, downward tug and then—
I’m sunk, swimming in sensation.
All I feel is his heat, his hardness. It’s so much more than I imagined. So real it’s a little frightening.
Being me, though, the fear ramps things up, makes my nipples point so high they hurt. I can smell myself and him and the cocktail of our bodies together and it’s absolutely magic.
“That’s it, use me. Use it,” he mutters.
I’m so wet he slides right between my lips. We both jump like live wires, as if our nerves are centered right where our bodies meet.
His butt flexes under my hand, full of power. The potential makes me go weak. If he shifts, just enough, he’ll be in me, breaching me for the first time.
“I want you to do it, Karl. I want you inside me.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, drawing back, his eyes glued to where so much is happening. “Yeah, I’ll fuck you so hard.”
“You seem big. Are you… Are you sure?”
He slows his back and forth motion, narrows his eyes. “Sure of what?”
“That you’ll fit?”
His sordid chuckle sends a fresh wave of lust from my core to my limbs. Recklessness takes over.
“I’ll fuck you. Don’t you worry,” he threatens. “I’ll stretch that tight little cunt and you’ll take it. You’ll take what I give.”
“Oh, gosh.” As soon as I say it, the word sounds silly mixed with the sex in the air. I stutter out a broken yes.
“Say my name.”
“Karl.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll take it, Karl. I want that.”
“Good.”
The talk from last night, but face-to-face, skin to skin, flips every switch. The heat’s almost unbearable. The pressure too much to take. His shaft presses and slides, his ass clenches, his arms so tense that they’re shaking and all of it—every little twitch, every bit of effort—is for me. For me.
He rears back,