Page 22 of Filthy Mouth (Obsessive Age Gap #2)

Poppy

The work was complete, and the floor was finally mine.

If I started from the far corner, the open wet room would come first, along with the matching tiled shelving for accessories and towels.

The hidden toilet would have its own partition, and the rest of the space would transform into a high-end sex dungeon.

If this worked out, it would be one more skill Iona Designs could flaunt in our portfolio.

I tapped my iPad, flicking through the sketches I ’ d already drawn up.

Benedict had given me the bare bones of the layout and a few essential furniture pieces, but he ’ d left the rest for me to decide.

He thought he was being clever, but I saw through him.

The last week had been filthy, yes—but beneath every depraved exchange, he ’ d softened in the aftermath.

When I scrolled through the furniture, I paused on the selection of sex swings, smiling at the thought of Delphina seeing such a room—let alone a swing. My stepmother had sucked the joy out of me. Mum had let me be a child, running wild, laughing, getting messy.

Those memories dulled against Delphina ’ s coldness.

With her, the old adage applied: children should be seen and not heard.

Of course, that never applied to dear, sweet Annabelle.

I’d once loved the park swings, snuck out to the one near our house, but Delphina disapproved of disobedience.

It didn’t matter that they kept me bound to the house.

I couldn ’ t wait to stick it to them this weekend at the Hadlow event.

First, I had to figure out the lighting on the floor.

With the dark colours I had planned, the three windows wouldn ’ t be enough.

I tapped on my iPad and opened the lighting tab, scanning the ceiling and walls for the current electrical points.

A black chandelier would be too much, but something moody and modern could work.

I pictured Benedict and me in here, his hands on me, my back against the cold tiles under dimmed spotlights.

God, it was impossible to design this floor without imagining us breaking in every inch of it.

“Ugh,” I grunted in the empty space.

It was hours before Baddy and his dick got home.

I paced the floor a dozen times, tapping my iPad, adjusting sketches and lighting plans, but every idea somehow circled back to how he ’ d use me in this room. Professional mode wasn ’ t easy when every corner I designed had me picturing my legs spread across it.

In the end, I ordered the paint samples and chose a gold and crimson Victorian-style wallpaper for the back wall. The furniture was being custom-made, with a few specialist pieces imported for extra flair.

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By the weekend, the samples were ordered, the furniture in motion, and I finally had to set my iPad down. Work was done. Tonight wasn ’ t about designs or sketches—it was about the Hadlow event, and walking into that ballroom with Benedict Lancaster at my side.

The dress I ’ d chosen was nothing like Delphina ’ s prim little gowns.

Black lace swept across one shoulder, cinching at the waist before falling in soft folds to the floor, a slit daring enough to bare the length of my leg.

Against the dark fabric, my auburn hair shone brighter, loose waves tumbling down my back.

For once, I wanted every eye in that room on me—not on my stepmother, not on Annabelle. Me.

And judging by the way Daddy ’ s stare dragged up my body when I stepped out of the bedroom, I ’ d already won.

The Phantom glided through the city, silent but for the engine's hum and my heartbeat rattling in my ears. Daddy ’ s hand slid higher up my bare thigh, the slit in my dress no match for his determination. His fingers pressed against me, and my breath caught—hot, mortified, desperate.

“ Panties would ’ ve been wise, Princess,” he murmured, though his tone said he didn ’ t mean it. “ But then again…” His fingers grazed me with slow, deliberate strokes, “…I prefer easy access.”

I shifted, stealing a glance at the driver. No partition. Just a clear view of my flushed face in the rearview mirror. My thighs clamped tight, but he pressed them open again, parting me with obscene ease.

He didn ’ t rush. His fingertips brushed, circled, teased until I was slick enough to coat him. Every stroke made my breath snag, every tiny curl of his fingers had my body begging for more—but he didn ’ t give me that release. Not yet.

When he drew his hand back, my lips parted in protest, but he only smirked. I expected him to wipe his hand with a tissue. Instead, he traced the wet fingers across my mouth, painting me with myself.

My pulse stuttered. His gaze burned as he slid his fingers past my lips. Instinct took over—I sucked them clean, grazing my teeth, my tongue swirling like I was starving for it.

“ Filthy little mouth,” he growled under his breath, low enough for only me to hear—though the driver couldn ’ t have missed the wet sound. “ My dirty Princess. I can ’ t wait to get this party over with.”

And then, shameless as ever, he licked the last of me from his knuckles, eyes locked on mine while my whole body trembled in the back seat.

“ Because I ’ ll make you beg for mercy tonight before I ’ m done with you,” he vowed, his eyes full of dark promise.

His hand closed around my throat, firm but unhurried, pulling me closer. I braced, closing my eyes for the kiss. But it didn ’ t come—not yet. Instead, his tongue traced the seam of my lips, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.

Only then did he press his mouth to mine, sliding his tongue between my lips, tasting me with filthy reverence.

I leaned into him, uncaring of what the driver saw. My dress might have blown him away, but Daddy was fucking devastating in his tux. My hand slipped between his legs, settling on the thick line of his cock. I squeezed until he hissed and broke our kiss.

“ Bad girl. You ’ re fucked if the Hadlows have a quiet spot in their garden.”

“ You know them?”

“ Why do you continue to underestimate me, Princess?” he smirked.

I sighed as the driver turned into the estate. Daddy reached down to tug my dress into place, smoothing the fabric over my thighs. But I knew it wasn ’ t for my modesty. He just didn ’ t want anyone else getting a glimpse of what was his.

Daddy gripped my hand as he helped me out of the car. He knew my family would be here—along with the possibility of Edmund lurking behind a hedge like a greasy gargoyle.

“ You ’ re sure about this, Daddy?” I asked as we started up the drive toward the manor.

“ What did our contract say?”

The farcical fuck contract was the shortest one I ’ d ever signed.

“ Daddy will spoil, protect, and fuck me,” I murmured, cautious now that we were approaching a cluster of guests.

His smirk deepened, grip tightening around my fingers.

I relaxed as we stepped inside. The simmering stress melted when he slipped his hand from mine to circle my waist. For the first time at one of these blasted functions, I wasn ’ t walking in alone. I finally had someone in my corner.

We were ushered toward the gardens, laughter and chamber music spilling through the open French doors.

The air outside was thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and the faint scent of roses.

Designer gowns swished past, cufflinks caught the light, and the usual crowd of stuffy old men puffed themselves up like peacocks.

I had no idea why my father and Delphina insisted I attend these things—they belonged to them, not me.

I scanned the garden as we descended the marble steps past the pretentious water fountain. No sign of the dragons yet.

“ Benedict, how the devil are you?”

I didn ’ t recognise the man, but I recognised Daddy ’ s switch—the smooth, polite mask he wore for society. I bit back a smile. Beneath that veneer lay the indecent bastard who ’ d had me panting in his car less than an hour ago.

The Hadlows ’ garden really was a marvel.

Not a leaf dared stray from its place—towering trees and clipped hedges framed paved walkways, miniature mazes curling in useless patterns.

Beyond the fountain, long tables gleamed with crystal glasses and polished cutlery, centred around an extravagant floral display.

The warm spring evening hummed with chatter, champagne flutes, and the clink of silver trays.

At the far end, a winding path vanished into shadows.

My mind wandered. Would Daddy be up for some outdoor sports later?

Fingers clawed into my arm, and I swung around to see Delphina.

“ I ’ d like a word with you,” she hissed, nails digging like she thought she owned me.

Her blonde quiff stood so high it practically needed scaffolding. She ’ d used half the city ’ s hairspray supply for that monstrosity. Behind her, Mini-Me Annabelle was glued to my father ’ s arm like gum on a shoe.

“ You utterly humiliated my brother.”

“ I suggest you take your claws out of Poppy before I do it for you,” Benedict said, calm but sharp enough to cut glass.

Delphina blinked, loosened her grip, and went for her necklace instead, like that string of pearls was a comfort blanket.

Her eyes skimmed over Benedict from head to toe, calculating.

They were close enough in age that I saw the flicker of interest spark.

Great. Just what I needed—Delphina eyeing up my filthy Daddy.

I slid my hand into his and smiled when her eyes narrowed as Daddy tightened his grip on my hand.

That’s right, he’s mine, bitch.

“ And who might you be?” she asked, voice pitched so high that half the garden turned to look. I was honestly surprised the champagne glasses didn ’ t shatter.

By then, Father and Annabelle had joined us. Father looked as clueless as ever, his triple chin wobbling while he tried to figure out what was happening. Annabelle looked smug, like she was starring in some debutante drama.

“ I need a drink,” I muttered, pulling free from Daddy and heading for the bar across the garden. My arm throbbed where her nails had dug in, but that was nothing new. She ’ d done worse when I was a child.

“ I told you,” Delphina ’ s shrill voice carried after me. “ She ’ s severely lacking in discipline and manners. Thank heavens she didn ’ t rub off on my Annabelle.”

After all these years, she still couldn ’ t find anything original to say.

I spied the champagne tower and abandoned the bar. A clever stand propped it up, but from a distance it looked like a free-standing miracle.

I swiped two glasses from the middle, because why not tempt fate, and turned to see how Daddy was faring.

His eyes were locked on me, but my father ’ s bulk sat between us like some pompous gatekeeper.

Delphina and Annabelle huddled together as always, their heads tilted in the same conspiratorial pose. Again, nothing new.

I sipped from my first glass while raising the second towards Daddy in a silent toast, grinning when he frowned. My father looked like he was boring him to death. All the ex-politician had to do was open his mouth, and half the guests would rather drown themselves in the fountain.

Daddy must ’ ve thought the same, because he muttered something to my father before pushing past the trio and cutting a straight line through the garden.

His dark hair slipped forward over one cheek, his white shirt blazing against the black like sin wrapped in silk.

Each step across the grass was unhurried, deliberate, and when he hit the path, the click of polished shoes echoed like a countdown.

By the time he reached me, my thighs were damp. I should ’ ve worn knickers.

He plucked the glass from my hand and downed it in one go.

“ How the fuck did you live with them this long and come out sane?” he muttered, shaking his head.

“ Who said I ’ m sane?” I shot back, lips quirking as every filthy thing we ’ d done flashed through my mind.

His hand gripped my lower back, beard rasping against my cheek.

His hot breath filled my ear. “ I love you exactly the way you are, Princess.”

Before I could react, his mouth was on mine—prying, demanding, feeding me the taste of him, of us, laced with sweet champagne. My heart lurched, my grip tightening so hard on the delicate stem that I swore it might snap.

Fuck me. This man was going to wreck me.

And yet here I was wet and willing.

The deeper Daddy kissed me, the harder I melted into him.

Soft whispers, scandalised gasps, and then Delphina ’ s screech carried across the garden.

I caught a glimpse of her past his shoulder—her face tight with horror—and it only made me wetter.

Glass shattered at my feet, but all I felt was him.

His hand slid down the curve of my ass, over the lace, before gripping me hard and grinding his cock against my belly.

He tore his mouth from mine just long enough to mutter against my lips, voice low and filthy, “ Let them watch. They don ’ t know you ’ ll be drinking this champagne from my cock tonight.”

My gasp slipped straight into his mouth as his tongue invaded again, deep and devouring. He kissed me like he wanted the whole world to choke on our obscenity. I clutched his jacket, hips arching helplessly, while Delphina ’ s screech rose another pitch.

Daddy didn ’ t even flinch. He kissed me harder, ravaging my lips.