Page 17 of Praise Me: Pilot (Praise Me Daily #6)

Haylo

Ten Years Later

I sit in my cushy leather wingback office chair, legs crossed, the air conditioner blowing down from the vent above to stiffen my nipples.

My last client just left for the day, and the sun is setting, bathing the office of my psychology practice in a hazy glow.

Knowing my husband is probably taking the stairs two at a time to reach me, I set aside my notebook and tug the elastic band from my hair, shaking out the blonde waves that have grown long over the summer, nearly tickling the small of my back.

Joel loves it.

He loves everything about me and tells me every chance he gets.

I’m twenty-eight now. He’s forty-two.

People don’t stare at us with disapproval over our difference in age anymore. No, they stare in disapproval because we can’t keep our hands off each other in public.

Or private.

Anywhere, really.

I hear footsteps in the reception area, and my pussy clenches, anticipation prickling the hair follicles to attention on my arms. I lift my hips and slide off my panties in preparation for Daddy to walk through the door, which he does a moment later, rugged and sexy as ever in worn-in jeans, boots and a navy blue T-shirt that boasts the logo of his flight school, which he opened a decade ago just outside of Nashville, where we still live.

“My God, just look at you,” he says now. “My wife is so fucking perfect.”

“You should see my husband.”

“You’re about to see a lot of him.” He stops in front my chair and I tilt my head back obediently, waiting for instructions.

Joel’s support and encouragement have given me freedom from the bonds of my past. Freedom to pursue who I want to be professionally.

He’s made me the mother of two little boys, who look just like their father.

But I’m most fulfilled when I submit to him.

That’s my choice.

He makes sure to balance that decision by praising me, showing me gratitude, reinforcing my safety, loving me authentically. And so I am at his command in moments like this. Exactly where I want to be.

“Unzip my pants and put my dick in your mouth.”

I squirm with excitement in my chair, my toes digging into the area rug. I can’t get his fly undone fast enough, hiccupping a sob when his beloved length springs out, demanding attention. “Should I suck on it until you come?”

He closes his eyes, visibly enjoying the question in itself.

The options I’ve given him. “Not today, young lady.” He threads his fingers in the back of my hair, drawing me toward his lap until I have no choice but to open my mouth and accept his big, salty weight, the enormity of him that still never fails to strain my jaw. “Look at me while you service it.”

I nod like a good girl, using both my hands to twist and stroke his trunk of flesh, rubbing my lips where they meet his balls, my choking noises briefly filling the room.

“Just like that, angel. Yes. Yes. Yes. Ohhhhh shit. Yes. My favorite corner of this earth is that little curve in your throat. Take me there. Take…me… there . Oh God. Oh God .”

His praise has me scooting to the edge of the chair to get closer, closer to my man, and he correctly interprets my actions as a green light to thrust harder, to make use of me, and that goes on for several minutes.

Joel going for broke, then stopping with a wince, because he’s on the verge of ejaculating. Regrouping. Resuming the panting pumps.

I’ve left a mess on my leather chair by the time he pulls out, my chin shiny with spit, my hair is tangled from his fingers. “How do you want me?” I gasp in between drags of breath.

He fists my hair and draws me to my feet, turning us and sitting down.

Leaning back with his arms on the sides of the chair, his sex protruding from his lower body, fat and veiny, his eyes are a storm of obsession. With me.

“Where does Daddy go?” he asks, thickly.

“Inside me,” I manage, squeezing my thighs together. Trembling. “Deep.”

“Good girl. Do what you’ve been taught.”

I hike my skirt up and straddle him on the chair, taking him inch by incredible inch until I’m fully impaled, the ten inches of throbbing male sending rhythmic ripples from my tummy to my sex.

Oh. Oh my goodness . He stretches me in a slow melt that is almost enough to bring me to climax, but I squeeze tight and hold on, wanting to savor him.

This. I’m almost acclimated enough to move, but I cry out when he rips my blouse down the middle, sending buttons clicking all over the ground.

“I’m hungry, Haylo. Fuck me like you’re trying to get pregnant.

” He wrestles back my head, using his teeth to drag my bra down my breasts, exposing them to the cool room.

Spitting on them one by one, before leaning in hard to bite the meat of my right breast, sending a wave of sharp longing to the deepest recesses of my core.

“You know the kind of fuck I’m talking about. I want to feel your little womb.”

His tone, a unique combination of demanding and vulnerable, brings into focus why he’s acting like this. Why he wants our lovemaking to be even more intense than usual.

My father is coming to dinner tonight. It’s a rare occasion, though our relationship with him and his new wife is warm.

We might never be close, but our rapport is improving all the time.

There’s just a little something in the past, something that was exorcised in a hotel room in Barcelona a decade ago, that puts my husband in a mood to be reassured.

Bottom line, Joel will want me to sit at the dinner table tonight looking sated.

Which won’t be difficult, because that’s how I spend my life.

“You make me so happy,” I whisper against his mouth, beginning to move, lifting and scooting my hips up and back, balancing on the steel length of him, plunging down and rolling my lower body.

“You make me so hot,” I confess breathily, finding a bouncing pace, throwing in a filthy twist of my hips every time he’s fully buried, making his jaw unhinge, his grip turning bruising on my butt cheeks.

“Atta girl,” he grits out, a sweat already building on his forehead. “ Atta girl .”

He hasn’t seen anything yet.

Surging forward I bury my teeth in his neck and grind my hips down, “Please,” I whine, rotating my hips in slow circles, his groans of bliss only encouraging me. “I want your sperm, Daddy. Please . I need it in my pussy.”

He shouts a triumphant epithet at the ceiling. “I’ve got two balls full of it for you, angel,” he says, hoarsely. “Keep riding.”

“I can’t stop,” I whine through my teeth. “I’ve never been able to stop.” I fuse my mouth to his in a frantic kiss that I mimic with my body movements. “Not since you showed up and taught me how a real man treats a young lady.”

His head falls back on a full body roar, his hips starting to pump up, up, up, bouncing me up and down with loud slaps of our laps, our thighs.

There it is.

This is what he needs.

“I needed my real Daddy,” I pout, baby talking while I lick his neck collarbone to jaw, bathing his ear in my labored breaths, wondering if he hears my pulse pounding out of control for him.

Only him. Until the end of time. “Now I’ve got you deep inside of me.

In my body. In my heart. You’re all I need. ”

“Say that again,” he says, raggedly, lunging out of the chair, taking two strides and slapping my butt down on the desk, his peak streaking toward us like a comet.

I feel it. I feel it in the swell of his sex as it frantically finds its home inside of me, cramming to the hilt, his sex already beginning to leak and jerk like a live firehose. “Again.”

“You’re all I need.” I start to chant what he needs to hear, purring happily when his thumb rubs my clit in gentle circles that gradually become firmer. Faster. “You’re all I need. You’re all I need.”

He must feel the truth of those words, or see the utter dedication to him in my eyes, because he stiffens and climaxes with a roar of my name, filling me full of his hot seed, that final revolution of his thumb shooting me into outer space where I float, float, reaching for Joel, knowing he’ll always be there to hold me. Ground me. Love me.

“You’re all I need, too, angel,” he says thickly into my hair, kissing my face in several different spots, like I’m his precious treasure, running his hands over every inch of my body. “My love. My life. My Haylo.”

“Your Haylo,” I say, kissing his lips. “Forever.”

THE END