Page 11 of Katie 3 (Desires #6)

“Please, Daddy… fuck me—” I can’t finish the sentence. He thrusts, building a brutal pace, and I grip the desk, scattering pens and files everywhere. The slick sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, louder than my moans, louder than the slap of his hips.

He grabs my hair, yanks me up so my back arches and my pulse skitters. “Who owns you?”

“You do,” I gasp, dizzy on his cock and his hand in my hair. “Only you.”

He fucks me deeper, harder, one hand still twisted in my hair, the other holding my hip so tight I’ll feel the bruises for days. It’s more than I wanted, more than I remembered, and it’s everything .

His words go ragged. “Filthy girl, always so good for me, always so greedy, you’re never going to get enough.” I can feel the tremble in his arms, the want that nearly burns him alive.

It’s that loss of control, the unfixable thing in him, that makes me dissolve completely. He’s never needed me the way he needs me now, and it’s all in the sweat on his brow, the wild snap of his hips, the way he fucks me until my vision drowns in white.

He pounds into me, relentless, and I come, clenching down so hard he curses and nearly falls apart.

“That’s it, my good girl,” he pants, the words making me drunk. He fucks me through every aftershock.

He leans his weight on me, mouth at my ear as his thrusts linger. “You still want me, after all this?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“Always,” I moan.

He breathes in deep, like he’s memorizing the smell of my skin.

Then he starts again, slower, deeper, each thrust rolling through me like thunder.

Like he wants to fuck the doubt out of my body, every last piece of it.

Every time I think I can breathe, I shudder, clamp, and my pussy grips him tighter.

He groans, then goes ragged, and with two more deep thrusts, he breaks. I feel him spill inside me as he bites down on my shoulder, muffling his own moan. His heartbeat hammers wild against my back, matching my own.

With his face buried in my hair and neck, his breathing slows, and he whispers. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

Henry

I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t see a way out.

I still don’t. I never wanted her to get pregnant.

I still can’t believe she is. This changes everything for us, and I can’t shake the unease of not knowing if I’ll step into the role of a father or a grandfather.

My stomach churns at the thought and I inhale deeply, letting Katie’s sweet scent calm me.

She wouldn’t leave me, not daring to, and now she’s curled against me in my room.

I know she hates the separate rooms, but it’s better that way.

She needs a safe place from all of us. A place where she can be alone, free from the three demanding dicks around her.

She’s all hormones and stress, and we’ve all been taking turns ruining her body.

But as she lies there in my sheets, so small and soft, every part of me aches to touch her again.

The guilt is there, and the tenderness, but neither stops the pulse that picks up speed when I slide my hand across her hip and feel her warmth.

My palm is broad enough to cover her from navel to thigh, and she curls into it, mumbling in her sleep.

There’s a freckle below her collarbone, a mark I’ve memorized, and I watch it rise and fall as she breathes.

I could leave it there. I should. But I don’t.

I lift the blanket and look at her, at the outline of her hips, the subtle curve of her breast spilling from the edge of her bra, the soft lines of her stomach.

Her breasts are a tad heavier than before and I drag my thumb across the curve of one, slow and deliberate.

She shivers but doesn’t wake. The nipple hardens beneath my thumb, a perfect pink peak that calls to my mouth.

I fight for control, but I’m weak for her.

I lean down, pull the cup down, and let my lips brush her skin, then circle her nipple with my tongue.

She shifts, but it’s not enough, so I suck, careful not to hurt her, just enough to draw a gasp from her lips.

The sound electrifies me. I knead both breasts, greedy, and keep licking, keep teasing, until the softest whimper escapes her throat.

“Fuck, angel,” I breathe against her skin. “I need you again.”

I run my hands up her waist, then down, my touch feather light as I trace the border of her panties. She doesn’t move when I slip my fingers inside and find her already wet for me, and I groan, because my cock is hard and aching.

I tease her, one fingertip at a time.

She sighs, quiet, but her thighs spread a fraction, her muscles eager but still asleep. I go slow. I savor every twitch and flutter, breathing her in, the scent of her arousal mixing with the faint soap she uses and the bitter edge of my own need.

I circle her clit, gentle and patient, until her breaths stutter against my chest. She’s dreaming of me, I think—has to be, with the way her lips part and her tongue darts out, wetting them.

I ease two fingers in and out, shallow at first, then deeper, curling them until I feel the little spasm that means she’s close. She moans, barely a sound, and I slow, drawing her back from the brink.

Not yet, not without me.

I press my hand between her legs, just steady pressure, and draw my other hand down, palming my hard cock. I stroke once, twice, and have to grit my teeth so I don’t finish right there.

“So needy, even in your sleep,” I groan.

My thumb swirls over her clit, fingers rocking deep inside her. I keep her pinned tight until she shudders, then opens, soaking my hand. I watch her face—beautiful, ruined, content.

I feel her clench around my fingers, feel the pulse and flood of her orgasm even as she sleeps. God, she’s beautiful. Face flushed, lips parted, limbs trembling. I keep stroking, coaxing every last spasm out of her, my own hand working my cock in time.

I come as she does, silent but fierce, coating her hip with thick, hot streams. The sight of it, the mess I’ve made of her, the way she sighs in her sleep and curls her legs tight, makes me want to start over, to never let her come down.