Filthy Daddy

My gaze dives to her wet pussy. Fuck yeah, that’s all mine, no doubt about it.

Mine.

I look up at her, quickly dismissing the thought. Sure, she’s mine for the moment, in our roleplay, but nothing more than that.

Not even close, I tell myself, but my gut doesn’t agree. Need stirs, shutting out all rational thought. I’m itching to say something reckless. To tell her she’s been mine since the second I laid eyes on her. To claim her outright.

But I can’t.

Death to love.

Those are the words written over my heart in the most permanent way possible.

In ink.

My tattoo reminds me that this heart beating in my chest is not meant to tangle with emotions.

It serves one purpose.

It beats to give me life.

Nothing more.

Ignoring the urges that tingle at the tip of my tongue, I close my eyes and slip both hands on either side of Molly’s head, touching our foreheads together. Her eyes search my face, brows furrowed when I meet her eyes again.

Fuck, I’m addicted to this woman. But I don’t care to show that side of me. Not at a time like this. Not ever. Molly doesn’t need to see me vulnerable or needy. It’s not sexy. Not even a little bit.

I search for some distraction to pull me far from this intense moment, and reach for the riding crop. My fingers skim the well worked craftsmanship of the leather. I glide the tool through my palm, giving it a nice whack that leaves the spot near my fingers rosy and slightly stinging. The noise cracks through the air when I do it again. I watch the line of Molly’s back curve as she reacts to the sound. She arches as though I’ve hit her with it, but it’s nowhere near her. She shivers along her arms and tries to move her legs. As she realizes that her ankles are bound to the stool legs, her eyes close and she bites her lip, twisting and writhing her upper body in anticipation of pleasure and pain.

I shake my head when she pleads for me to use the crop on her back. A small whimper comes from her tempting lips with my next strike into my own palm.

“I’m going to fucking enjoy denying you of all this. Fuck, do you even realize how hot you are when you beg this much?” I chuckle, teasing her as I slowly slide the leather handle of the crop down her back in light strokes. Molly keeps begging for me to at least let her have one sharp sting to her shoulder blade or lower back. “No dice. Next time, think twice about making rash decisions like keeping important shit from me.”

“Baby, we’re not playing anymore, are we?” she asks.

I pull back slightly. Learning about her ex has really killed the tone of our play time. All I want to do is find the idiot and make him pay so I can get back to enjoying her.

“Maybe it’s not the same game, but let this denial be a lesson.”

She idly lowers one hand and strokes my cock, using her other hand to push aside the fabric of my jeans as far as they’ll go. I’m done holding back. Crushing my lips onto hers, I kiss her urgently then pull away, leaving her breathless and trembling. She looks up at me with a heady mixture of stubbornness and arousal. The line of her mouth dares me. Her wide eyes beg me to get her off so the teasing can be over. I step back and plant my feet wide. Her stare immediately zeros in on my groin.

“You want it that bad, don’t you?” I tease, my throat tight as I trace the end of the riding crop along her slick folds. “You need me inside of you so much I’m half-tempted to make you keep begging for it.”

Indecision flickers across her face. I slide the crop up past her toned stomach and across her right breast. She hisses out a few choice words. She’s writhing in her seat, using the little bit of wiggle room I’ve given her around her ankles. Another slight touch against her breasts and her hand wanders down to her pussy. She’s reached her boiling point. A nice little spot, somewhere between brimming over with need and so close to her peak, I swear I can taste it in the air. She’s beyond ready, unable to handle not getting what she wants most in the world.

The sweet, sweet power is all in my hands—exactly the way I enjoy it best.

I drop the crop, take two steps forward and bury my hands in her hair. Molly sucks in a breath as I tilt her head backward to meet my hopefully sobering gaze.