Page 10

He leans in, his tongue parting her folds, licking a slow, deliberate stripe that makes her arch in the chair.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Just like I knew you’d be.”

He eats her with a focus that borders on worship, his tongue circling her clit, then flicking it with increasing speed. She clutches the arms of the chair, hips rocking helplessly.

“Say my name,” he orders between licks. “My proper name.”

“Daddy,” she moans, heat coiling in her belly. “Daddy, please…”

He groans, sucking her clit hard, sending shockwaves through her. “You taste like heaven. Better than I imagined.”

He slides two thick fingers inside her, curling against her g-spot as his tongue works her clit relentlessly. She cries out, thighs shaking.

“So tight,” he praises, pumping his fingers, his mouth never leaving her. “Your little pussy is squeezing Daddy’s fingers.”

Her climax builds fast, overwhelming. “Daddy, I’m going to—”

“Come for me,” he commands, voice absolute. “Come on Daddy’s tongue.”

Her orgasm crashes over her, legs clamping around his head as she screams his name. He doesn’t stop, licking her through the waves until she’s trembling, gasping, begging.

“No more,” she pleads, pushing weakly at his head. “Too sensitive…”

He gives one last, slow lick, then stands. His chin glistens with her arousal. He wipes it away with his thumb, watching her with predatory satisfaction .

“Next time, you don’t tell Daddy when to stop,” he says, voice firm. “Understand?”

She nods, breathless. “Yes, Daddy.”

He helps her fix her skirt, but keeps her panties tucked in his pocket. He adjusts his tie, his composure absolute, but his eyes are wild, hungry.

He grabs his keys. “I’m driving you home. No arguments.”

The ride is tense, the air thick with unspoken desire. His hand rests on her thigh the entire way, squeezing occasionally, reminding her of his control.

The car’s engine purrs low as they pull up to Taraji’s building. The city’s pulse has slowed with the late hour, but inside the sedan, the air is thick with everything left unspoken. Nikolai’s hand rests on her thigh, his grip possessive, his thumb tracing idle circles that leave her skin tingling.

When he puts the car in park, he turns to her, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “Wait.”

She freezes, breath caught, watching him come around to her side. He opens her door for her, always in control, always dictating the rhythm of their night. She steps out, and his hand finds the small of her back, guiding her up the steps.

Rain glistens on the pavement, the world hushed except for the low rumble of thunder somewhere in the city’s distance. He walks her to her door, his body close, never quite touching, until they reach the threshold.

She stands with her back to the door, the key trembling in her hand. His presence fills the narrow hallway, his shadow cast long by the flickering light overhead.

He steps into her space, so close she can feel the heat radiating off him, his scent, spice and something darker, wrapping around her.

He doesn’t say a word at first. He just looks at her, eyes raking over her face, memorizing every tremor, every flicker of anticipation.

“Give me your hands,” he commands, his voice a low growl .

She offers them, palms up, her breath shallow. He takes them in his, raising them above her head to press her wrists against the door.

His grip is strong but careful, pinning her without hurting her, letting her feel the full weight of his control.

“Tonight, you listened,” he murmurs. “You obeyed. You let go.”

She nods, lips parting, her body strung tight with longing.

He leans in, his mouth hovering just above hers. “Good girl,” he breathes, the words a caress and a claim.

She closes her eyes, feeling the anticipation build, the ache between them swelling to something unbearable.

When his lips finally meet hers, it’s not gentle. He kisses her with purpose, with dominance, with the promise that even here, in the open night, she is his.

His hands tighten on her wrists, holding her in place. His mouth parts hers, tongue sweeping in, demanding and possessive. She moans softly, her knees weakening. He devours her, every movement deliberate, controlled, coaxing her to respond, to yield.

He presses closer, his body pinning hers to the door. She feels the hardness of his chest, the press of his hips, his heat branding her even through their clothes. He nips at her lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, a silent warning: he is in charge.

His free hand slides down, cupping her jaw, tilting her face up to his. He deepens the kiss, stealing her breath, her thoughts, her will. Every part of her surrenders, her body, her heart, her trembling self-control.

When he finally breaks the kiss, she’s gasping, her eyes glazed with need. He doesn’t let go of her wrists. He holds her there, looking down, his own breath uneven, his eyes wild.

“Remember this, Taraji,” he says, his voice rough. “Every time you walk through this door, know you are mine. ”

She shivers, nodding, her body still straining toward him. He releases her hands, but not before pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist, a silent mark, a reminder.

He steps back, straightening his jacket, regaining his composure with practiced ease. She’s still pressed to the door, trying to catch her breath, her lips swollen from his kiss.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out her red lace panties, holding them up with a wicked, knowing smile. “These stay with me tonight.”

Her cheeks flush, a fresh wave of heat rolling through her, but she doesn’t protest. She only bites her lip and nods, trembling with the memory of his touch.

He leans in one last time, his mouth brushing her ear. “Be a good girl and go inside. Lock the door.”

She fumbles with her keys, hands shaking, and slips inside. Before she closes the door, she looks back one last time. He’s still there, tall and imposing, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Goodnight, little one,” he rumbles, his voice a promise that tonight’s goodbye is only the beginning.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” she whispers, the words tasting of surrender and anticipation.

He waits until the door clicks shut and the lock turns, then disappears into the night, her panties in his pocket, her taste and her submission haunting him all the way home.

Inside her apartment, Taraji leans back against the closed door. The quiet is a stark contrast to the storm of want still swirling inside her.

She presses her palm to her chest, feeling her heartbeat wild and uneven. The ghost of Nikolai’s hands, his commanding voice, seems to linger in the shadows, making the empty space feel anything but lonely.

She moves through her apartment as if in a trance, the city lights painting shifting patterns across the floor. Her heels are kicked off by the door, her jacket shrugged from her shoulders, her skirt left in a careless heap on the couch .

With every layer she removes, she feels closer to the memory of his touch, his dominance, his praise. She stands in the dim light, letting the cool air whisper over her skin, feeling exposed yet somehow safe.

The bathroom is warm and steamy by the time she steps inside.

She turns on the shower, waiting until the water is almost too hot before stepping beneath the cascade.

The sensation is immediate and overwhelming heat enveloping her, soothing the tension in her muscles, but doing nothing to quiet the ache between her thighs.

She closes her eyes, tilting her head back. The water streams over her face, muffling the world, cocooning her in sensation.

She lets her thoughts drift, untethered. She remembers the way Nikolai’s eyes had darkened, the roughness in his voice when he ordered her to say his name. She remembers the way he’d looked at her, as if he could see straight through to her secret, desperate need to be claimed, to belong.

She closes her eyes remembering his tongue. Her fingers find her clit. She circles it slowly imagining Nikolai watching.

“Daddy,” she whispers, the word slipping through her lips as easily as breath. It hangs in the steamy air, making her cheeks burn with longing and embarrassment and something deeper acceptance.

She hugs her arms around herself, swaying gently under the water. Every inch of her skin feels alive, hypersensitive. She can still feel the phantom press of his fingers on her wrists, the warmth of his mouth claiming hers, the wild, hungry look in his eyes as he pressed her to her apartment door.

She wonders what he’s doing now. If he’s thinking of her, of the way she moaned for him, the way she surrendered. If he’s remembering the taste of her on his lips, the feel of her body trembling beneath his hands. If he’s picturing her now, naked and wet, still desperate for him.

Her nails scrape lightly down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

She imagines his hands instead, large, sure, inescapable and reaching deeper inside her.

She pictures the way he would command her, the way he would watch her, every movement, every shiver, every gasp for air.

She founds her weeping pussy. Her clit out throbbing.

“Daddy,” she whispers again, a tremor in her voice.

The word feels different now, no longer a secret, shameful thing, but a thread connecting her to him, stretching across the city, binding them together.

"Daddy." She moans bracing against the shower wall.

Her fingers move faster. She pushes two inside mimicking his movements. "Fuck me Daddy." She pants working herself toward her orgasm. In. Out. Deeper. Nonstop.

She presses her forehead to the tile, letting the water pound over her back. She draws a shaky breath, trying to quiet the storm inside her, but every memory only fans the flames higher.

She wants him.

She wants his control, his care, the safety of his authority. She wants to give in, to let go, to be his good girl.

Her mind spins with what-ifs and maybes and aching, desperate hope. She wonders what it would be like to wake up with him beside her, to feel his arms around her as she drifts to sleep, to know that she is his and he is hers.

She thinks about the way he had held onto her panties, his possessive smile, his promise that she belonged to him. The thought sends another shiver through her, her whole body tightening with anticipation.

His mouth and her clit.

All of a sudden her climax washes over her suddenly. Her legs shake as she cries out his name.

The water finally begins to cool. She shuts off the tap and steps out, wrapping herself in a towel, her skin flushed and damp.

In the mirror, she sees herself, eyes bright, lips swollen from his kiss, hair wild from the steam. She almost doesn’t recognize the woman staring back: bold, trembling, alive .

She pads quietly to her bedroom, the city’s lights painting shifting patterns across her sheets. She slips beneath the covers, the fabric cool against her overheated skin. She buries her face in the pillow, heart still racing and pussy still throbbing, wishing he was beside her.

She lets herself linger in the memory of his voice.

Good girl.

Mine .

She hugs herself tighter, feeling his words wrap around her like a blanket, soothing and thrilling all at once.

Sleep comes slowly, but when it does, it’s filled with dreams of Nikolai, of his hands, his voice, his unyielding control.

His lips felt too good.

She wakes in the dark, reaching for him, and finds only empty sheets. So she grabs her teddy and falls asleep with a smile on her face knowing that she will see him soon.

…

At the same time across town, Nikolai sits in his darkened study. On his monitor Taraji writhes in her shower.

His cock stands rigid in his hand as he watches her pleasure herself. The cameras he installed capture every angle.

"That's it baby girl." He strokes himself matching her rhythm. "Make yourself feel good for Daddy."

When she comes calling his name he erupts. Thick ropes of cum shoot across his hand.

"Soon." He promises the screen. "Soon you'll be all mine."

He wipes his hand clean but doesn't turn off the monitor. He watches her sleep all night.