“My baby likes it when I do her rough,” he whispered.
No question, no response required. Still, I whimpered at his words. Yes yes yes.
“Is my baby wet for Daddy?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered back, my eyes drifting hazily shut as his fingers manipulated my willing flesh.
His hands stopped immediately. “Eyes,” he snapped sharply.
I refocused on him immediately and was rewarded with the return of his fingers. One of his hands cupped my breast and held it up for his mouth. His other hand was busy toying with my nipple, pinching, tugging, rolling, pulling. I breathed hard.
I stood nude before him. He was still wearing his leather jacket and white tee, jeans and scuffed boots. Through his clothes, I felt his heat pressed all along my front.
I bit my lip as his fingers slid down my hip, between my legs, and slid up. “Always wet for my Daddy,” I breathed.
“Good baby. Spread.”
I shifted my legs apart. His fingers knifed higher inside me.
His voice was hard. Stern. “Wider.”
I did. Anything for Daddy.
“You can hold onto your Daddy, baby.”
My hands went to his lean hips and I held on as he made me come apart on his fingers.