Page 35 of More, Daddy (Bluebell Bruisers #3)

Briar leans back, blinking up at me with saliva and pussy sticky on her lips.

“I don’t know how much of this is our roleplay,” she whispers conspiratorially, trying to both take us out of our scene and keep us in it, respectively.

“But I’m on the pill. I started two years ago to regulate my cycles.

That’s why I don’t need that,” she says, nodding to the Plan B box on the ground.

“And when you asked me before, if I was on the pill, I said no, but you know, for the moment.” A soft smile. “Just wanted to clarify.”

I shove her mouth down my dick, and despite the fact that she’s just broken the moment, slipping back into our sinister little world has never felt easier, or more natural either.

It scares me how easy this is with her, and how good it feels with her. I can easily see myself committing, the way I did with Pris.

“Tell me, babygirl, do you want to swallow all of Daddy’s sweet, thick milk? Or do you want me to paint your face with it?” I jack my cock into her mouth as she rolls her tongue over my slit and around the head, making my spine jerk.

Saliva drips from her chin as she bobs on my length again, our souls tethered between locked gazes.

My airway narrows as my orgasm swims down my spine, the pressure forming in my groin at an all time high.

She sucks, she slurps, and I rough my palms through her hair, watching her recoil in surprise as the first rope of cum splashes against the back of her throat.

“There,” I coax. “My perfect, sweet girl,” I hear myself say, love and adoration pumping between my ears.

She moans her pleasure at my verbal reward, preening as she sucks me down another few inches.

I come again and again. I hold one hand on her throat, feeling her ragged little swallows, and the way she works so diligently to take every drop of me.

After I’m through, she suckles on me as I grow soft, adoring me in a way I’ve never experienced.

“C’mon, baby,” I coax, patting her cheek a few times. “Spit it out. Time to give it back.”

Reluctantly, she opens her mouth and lets my cock fall out, but tucks me away, lifting her eyes to mine for approval. I nod, and she moves her hands to my belt. Another nod, and I let her struggle a little until, finally, she has me zipped up and belt buckled.

She gets to her feet, twisting her hands in front of her, cheeks still pink. “I deleted Cadence’s profile. I know I don’t have my phone but—if you go to her profile on your phone, you’ll see, it’s gone.” Her eyes search mine, looking desperately for approval.

Except, in the post-coital light, it’s not just about making sure Cadence isn’t dragged into any of this.

This cannot be.

I want this woman so badly that being a responsible, smart, level-headed adult makes me physically ill. But as I glance at her bicycle, I know the truth, plain and simple. I also know the cruel irony of it all.

I look at my floor, searching for the courage to look her in the eyes. Finally I do, and I hate that she’s already on the verge of tears.

“You rode your bicycle to my house, Briar. If that isn’t symbolic of what I’m trying to tell you, I don’t know what is.” I reach out, and swipe at her tears, because I hate seeing them fall; my chest aches at the sight of them .

I think about Cadence Caine just then, with Briar’s cheek in my palm and her tears staining my flesh.

Would I physically ache if I saw Cadence crying?

I try to picture it, soft tears spilling down her cheeks, her freezer meal sitting coldly in front of her as she blots at the corners of her eyes, a little wrinkle in her nose.

My chest does not ache. My stomach does not lurch. I do not get antsy at the idea of it.

My lips part, but I can’t find the words, not yet. Because I’ve fallen for Briar, and despite my anger and pain at her lies, truth be told, I want her every bit as much as I wanted her when we were on Veiled.

It’s real. Everything I feel is real. And I do believe her, I do believe that what she feels is real, too.

“I have a car,” she argues, as we both park our gazes on the bicycle. “My dad needed it this week. At first it was just a day, then it was the week. But…” Her voice drops an octave, becoming so quiet I can hardly hear her. “I have a car.”

She tips her head toward my kitchen. “Let’s have something to eat. Let’s relax. Let’s just talk.” Briar extends a hand to me, wiggling her lean fingers. My stomach flutters, but I force my gaze back to the bicycle, then to the Plan B on the floor.

“You’re too young for me, Briar. I’m ready to start the rest of my life.

” I hold up my hand, pointing to the empty spot on my finger.

“I’m ready for marriage. I want children, okay?

I own this home. I own my truck. I’ve been working at my career for…

years. I’m divorced for Christ’s sake.” I hate how each word only solidifies the logic, and the fact that things between us have to end.

“I’m too old for you, Briar.” I meet her eyes again. “It was wrong of me to have you in my office and again tonight. It was wrong of me to get lost in the moment, and to let it all run away with me. And I’m sorry.”

“Lost? We didn’t get lost, West. I was never lost. I was finally exactly where I needed to be.

With someone who knows me, someone I feel comfortable with, a person who can see my kinkiest, neediest side and respects me all the same.

When I messaged you on Veiled, it was the first time I stopped feeling lost. And every day we talked, and every day since you found out that I’m DaddysGirl , even with challenges, my life has had more meaning than ever before.

So do not tell me that it was a mistake, do not tell me I don’t know what I want, and don’t you dare try to tell me there’s nothing between us. ”

There’s everything between us, and it’s absolutely terrifying to walk away from. Now I know that we both know it.

I keep my face impassive as I walk past her, grabbing her bike. “I’ll put it in the bed of my truck and give you a ride back.”

She grabs my wrist and tries to pull my arm off her bike but is unsuccessful due to her size. “West,” she argues, “don’t do this. I’m younger, yeah, but I’m not a child. I’m an adult. Please.” I lower the bike to the ground to look at her as she says, “I love you.”

“Stop.” The first time she said it, it made me mad. It still makes me mad, but it hurts to hear it now, too.

“Fuck me then send me packing,” she mutters, collecting her things.

“That’s not—that’s not how it is,” I decide, even though it sounds fucking ridiculous, because that’s exactly what I’ve done to her every time. Maul her sexually then yell at her to leave.

Fuck.

I drive her to her house in silence, and I ignore the kiss she places on my cheek before she gets out. I do not respond when she tells me she loves me, and that she won’t quit on me.

When I get home, I open my computer and log on to the intranet, and in the student records bar, type the name brIAR MATTHEWS.