Page 41 of Bossh*le Daddy
His belt whispered free of its loops, and I took my time with his zipper, teasing us both. When he was finally as bare as me, I lay back, pulling him down with me into a kiss that spoke years of promise. Our bodies knew each other now, fitted together with practiced ease that somehow never diminished the intensity.
"I love you," I breathed against his mouth as he settled between my thighs. "Love you, Daddy. Love our life. Love everything we've built."
His control fractured at my words, always did when I combined love and his title. He entered me with one smooth thrust that had us both groaning, the connection feeling like coming home and flying apart simultaneously. Three months of practice had taught us each other's rhythms, but familiarity bred intensity rather than complacency.
He moved within me with devastating precision, angle perfect to hit that spot that made me see stars, pace calculated to build me higher without letting me tumble over. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more of everything he offered.
"Look at me," he commanded when my eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by sensation.
I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he drove into me with increasing force. The intensity there—possession and adoration and raw need—made my inner muscles clench around him. He groaned, pace faltering for a moment before he regained control.
"Close already?" he taunted gently, thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy. "My sensitive girl. So responsive. Do you know what you do to me? How fucking perfect you feel?"
I could only moan in response, words lost to the building pleasure. He played my body with the same skill he brought to everything, reading every response, adjusting pressure and pace until I was balanced on the finest edge. My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks he'd wear tomorrow under his suit with secret satisfaction.
"Please," I gasped when the tension became unbearable. "Please, I need to come. Need you to come. Need us to—"
"Together," he finished, understanding as always. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, that final abandonment of control that meant he was as close as I was. "Come for me, Isla. Come for Daddy. Show me you're mine."
The permission shattered me. My orgasm ripped through me with violent beauty, back arching off the bed as I cried out his name, his title, incoherent pleas and promises. I felt him follow me over, his groan of completion mixing with mine as he pulsed inside me, marking me internally as thoroughly as he'd marked my life.
We clung to each other through the aftershocks, both trembling with the intensity of what never seemed to diminish between us. When he finally shifted, it was only to pull me against his chest, our bodies still intimately connected, neither willing to separate just yet.
"Mine," he murmured against my hair, the word carrying different weight now. Not just possession but partnership. Not just claiming but choosing, again and again, to build this life together.
"Yours," I agreed, pressing a kiss to his chest where his heart still raced. "Always."