Page 22 of Daddy Knows Best

"Like I got hit by a pleasure truck." I tried to lift my arms, remembering the binding. "And possibly ascended to another plane of existence."

His smile broke across his face—not the controlled therapist curve, but something raw and real. "That's my girl." He reached for my wrists, working the knots with careful fingers. "Let me get these off. Need to check circulation."

The silk slipped away, leaving faint marks on my skin. He massaged each wrist, watching my face for discomfort. Such careful hands. Even now, after driving me out of my mind, he stayed focused on my safety.

"All good?" he asked.

"Better than good." I flexed my fingers, enjoying the freedom. "Though I might need a minute before I can feel my legs."

"Take all the time you need." But his eyes dropped to where my cami had ridden up completely, exposing breasts marked with faint red traces from the vibrator. "We don't have to do anything else. You've already given me so much."

"Nate." I reached for his face, palm against his bearded cheek. "I want everything. If you do."

He turned to kiss my palm, lips lingering. "You sure? We can check in, see how you feel about—"

"The plug. Yes. And you inside me. Yes." I let my hand trail down his chest, feeling his heart race under soft cotton. "I've been dreaming about this for weeks. Please don't make me wait longer."

He exhaled shakily. "Okay. Yes. Fuck, yes." He shifted back, reaching for the velvet pouch. "But we go slow. Any discomfort, anything that doesn't feel right—"

"Sunshine," I interrupted. "I know. I'll use it if I need to."

The glass emerged again, catching candlelight like captured fire. He set it carefully on the tissue paper, then produced a bottle of lube from his duffel. Of course he'd brought the good stuff—probably researched brands for days, reading reviews and checking ingredients.

"Roll onto your side," he instructed, helping me move. "This angle's easier for first time."

I curled on my left side, right knee drawn up, feeling exposed and safe simultaneously. His hand rubbed circles on my lower back, grounding me.

"Such a good girl," he murmured. "So brave for me. Going to make this so good for you."

The first touch of lube made me jump—cold and strange. But he worked it in slowly, one finger barely breaching muscle, letting me adjust. The invasion felt foreign but not bad. Just different. New.

"Breathe," he reminded me when I tensed. "Just like earlier. In for four, out for six."

I found the rhythm, and my body softened by degrees. He took his time, working in more lube, gentle circles that made the strange become interesting. When he finally pressed the tapered tip of the plug against me, I was ready.

"Slow," he promised. "So slow. Your pace."

The glass was warmer than expected—he must have held it in his hands while preparing me. The stretch burned slightly as the widest part pushed past the ring of muscle, then sudden relief as it seated fully. I panted through the adjustment, aware of every millimeter.

"Color?" His hand hadn't stopped rubbing my back.

"Lavender," I said honestly. "Just . . . give me a second. It's a lot."

"All the time you need." He pressed kisses to my shoulder, my neck, murmuring praise between each one. "So proud of you. Taking it so well. My perfect girl."

The discomfort faded to awareness—full in a way I'd never experienced. When I shifted experimentally, the plug moved inside me, sending unexpected sparks of pleasure.

"Oh," I breathed. "Oh, that's—different."

"Good different?"

I rocked again, feeling how the fullness made everything more sensitive. "Yeah. Good different. Really good."

"Ready to move?"

I nodded, letting him help me onto my back. The position change made the plug shift, drawing a gasp that turned into a moan. Everything felt heightened, connected, like my whole body had become one nerve ending.

"The cane," he said, lifting it from its place. "Under your hips. Helps with angle."

The rattan pressed against my lower back as I arched, lifting my hips. The position opened me up, made me feel displayed and wanting. Nate stood at the foot of the bed, still fully clothed, just looking at me.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You're perfect." His voice came out rough. "Spread out on your bed, marked from my cane, full of my plug. Do you have any idea what you look like?"

"Like yours?"

"Like mine," he confirmed, already pulling his sweater over his head.

I'd imagined him naked so many times, but reality exceeded fantasy. Swimmer's build had been accurate—lean muscle, defined without bulk. A trail of dark hair led down from his navel, disappearing into his chinos. His hands shook slightly on his belt, the only sign this affected him as much as me.

"Let me," I offered, sitting up despite the awkward angle.

But he stepped back. "If you touch me now, this'll be over before it starts."

"That sensitive?"

"Emily." He pushed his chinos and boxers down in one motion, and my mouth went dry. "I've been hard since you answered the door in those fucking socks. I'm hanging on by a thread here."

He was beautiful. Not just his cock—though that was impressive, thick and flushed and already leaking—but all of him. The vulnerability of standing naked while I studied him. The trust in letting me see his need.

"Still okay?" He positioned himself between my spread thighs, one hand braced by my head.

"More than okay." I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please. Need you inside me."

He notched himself at my entrance, then paused. "I need to tell you something first."

My heart stuttered. "Now? Really?"

"Now." He pressed just the tip inside, enough to make us both gasp. "I'm falling in love with you. Have been since you drew that monster. Maybe before."

Tears sprang to my eyes. "Nate—"

"You don't have to say it back. Just needed you to know. Before this changes everything." He pushed in another inch, stretching me around him. "Needed it said with words, not just—fuck, you're tight."

"The plug," I panted. "Makes everything—oh god—"

He slid home in one smooth thrust, filling me completely. The fullness was overwhelming—him inside me, the plug pressing from behind, everything connected and pulsing. I could feel my heartbeat everywhere, and he must have felt it too because he went still.

"Breathe with me," he said against my neck. "Match me."

We breathed together, bodies learning each other's rhythm. Then he started to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that seemed timed to my pulse. Like he was fucking me to the beat of my heart, using my body's rhythm as a metronome.

"You feel." He paused to gasp as I clenched around him. "Incredible. So perfect. Made for me."

I wanted to respond, to tell him about falling in love in his office, about drawing strength from his voice during midnight spirals. But words were beyond me. All I could do was hold on as he took me apart with systematic precision.

The angle was perfect—the cane under my hips tilting me just right for him to hit that spot inside with every thrust. Combined with the plug's pressure, each movement sent lightning through my nerves. I was climbing again, impossibly, despite two earth-shattering orgasms.

"Touch yourself," he ordered. "Or—"

"Vibrator," I gasped. "Please. Use it on me."

He reached for the toy without missing a stroke. The buzz against my clit was almost too much, oversensitive from before. But he knew my body now, started on the lowest setting, building me back up carefully.

"That's it," he encouraged as my breathing changed. "One more for me. Can you do that? Come on my cock while I'm inside you?"

"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes, Daddy. Please. I'm so close."

He increased the vibrator's speed, thrusts getting harder, less controlled. I could feel him pulsing inside me, close to his own edge. The knowledge that I affected him this much, that careful Dr. Whitlow was losing control because of me, pushed me over.

I came with his name on my lips, body clenching around him and the plug in waves. He groaned—a broken, beautiful sound— and followed me over. I felt him pulse inside me, hips stuttering as he found his release.

We stayed frozen for a moment, both panting, bodies still connected. Then he carefully set the vibrator aside and kissed me—deep and thorough and grateful.

"Don't move," he murmured against my lips. "Let me take care of you."

He eased out of me slowly, one hand staying on my hip to ground me. The condom disappeared into tissue, then he was back, carefully working the plug free. The empty feeling made me whimper, but he soothed me with kisses and praise.

"So good," he kept saying. "So perfect for me. My brave, beautiful girl."

This. This was exactly what I needed.