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He grunts awake, eyes snapping open. One hand tangles in my hair, and for a moment, I think he’s going to take over. Or stop me. Demand I ask for permission.
But he doesn’t.
He watches instead. Silent. Letting me set the pace. Letting me pretend I’m in control.
And gradually, his breath is ragged, hands clenched at his sides like if he moves, he’ll lose whatever grip he has left. “You trying to kill me, my filthy little brat?” His voice is morning-rough and ruined, like gravel laced with sin.
I pull back, letting his cock fall from my lips with a wicked pop. I lick my lower lip slow, deliberate. “Not kill. Just weaken. Tear down a few firewalls. Maybe.”
His jaw ticks. “Then you’d better finish what you started, and finish good, or I’ll flip you over and fuck that smart mouth until you forget your own name.”
I hum innocently and stroke him with both hands. “Promises, promises, Sir.”
His growl vibrates through the air. His fingers tighten in my hair. Cruel with intent. “Hands off, knees spread, mouth open,” he snaps, voice all Dom steel. “You want to play, let’s see how well you take cock down your pretty little throat.”
I obey, heart pounding, arousal pooling between my thighs.
My quick compliance makes his belly clench, his eyes flare.
Fist clamped in my hair, he drags me onto his cock. Pushes deep and relentless until I’m fully gagged. Eyes watering and breath gone.
He stays, stays, stays, a growl working up his throat. He releases me with a rough exhale. “Is that what you’re begging for, little brat?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then take it. Again. Hands behind your back. Better yet, hands on that luscious ass. Part yourself. Feel how empty you are as you take me down your throat. Now. Let’s see how cocky you are without them.”
He surges deep. Deeper.
Again. And again.
Until I’m bruised and breathless. A mess of tears and emptiness.
Only then does my Dom release me. Tucks his arms behind his head. “You wanna ride, pet?”
My head is bobbing before I wipe away the drool from his taste. “Please, Sir.”
“Bring that cunt over here then,” he commands, threading his fingers into my hair. “Fucking ride. And don’t stop until I say.”
The power—fleeting and ephemeral—may look like mine, but we both know who’s really in control. His eyes darken, but before he can change his mind, I climb on top and straddle him. No teasing this time—I slide down slow, taking him inch by inch, until I’m seated flush against his hips.
His mouth parts on a breath. “Fuck.”
I ride him hard. Slow. Deep.
My fingers splay across his chest, nails dragging down the perfect lines of muscle. The bed creaks beneath us.
Every step of his Jacob’s Ladder is like climbing into heaven. His cock hits places inside me that make me see stars, but I bite down on my pleasure. Not yet.
I lean over him, lips brushing his. “Can I come whenever I want, Daddy? I promise it’ll be worth it.”
His dick jerks inside me and I want to crow with triumph. I don’t. The tables turn far too easily around here.
He laughs, and it’s husky and low and addictive. And I allow triumph’s dance. “Is that a promise or a threat? For you or for me?”
“Both. All of the a-above!” I yelp when his crown brushes a sublime place, deep inside.
“Come here.” Gruff. Commanding. The kind of tone that strips me bare without even touching me.