Page 58 of Second Chance Daddy

Every stretch.

Every time he ruins me so good, I forget my own damn name.

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking slowly, teasing.

“Eyes up, Cassie,” he rasps, dark and low. “If you’re gonna misbehave, at least look me in the eye while I take you apart.”

He lowers himself beside me, the heat of his body scorching against my skin like a goddamn furnace I can’t crawl out of. His hand slides down my stomach.

I can feel him—hard, heavy, throbbing against my hip—and it does nothing but make the ache between my legs worse.

His fingers dip lower, finding the slick heat already pooling there.

“Fuck, Cassie,” he groans, thumb circling my clit in slow, brutal strokes. “You’re dripping for me.”

Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t look away. His hands are already working me open, teasing the edge of my sanity.

“Such a mess already,” he rasps, sliding one thick finger inside me, curling slowly. “And I haven’t even started.”

A whimper claws up my throat, hips rolling helplessly against his hand, chasing the pressure that builds like a ticking time bomb under my skin.

He adds a second finger, stretching me wider, teasing me deep, thumb grinding tight circles over my clit.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, voice rough enough to scrape bone.

It takes everything I’ve got, but I force my eyes open, locking onto his as he pumps his fingers deep, relentless, thumb still torturing me with slow, punishing circles.

It’s almost too much—the intensity in his gaze, the filthy possessiveness in every stroke, the way he watches me fall apart like he’s been starving for this.

“That’s it,” he urges, low and lethal, sliding in a third finger, stretching me wider, rougher, making me feel every inch of it. “Take it, baby. Take everything I give you.”

My back arches, hips rocking up to meet every brutal thrust of his fingers. The pressure builds, tight and unbearable, the kind that snatches the air right out of my lungs.

My hands grip the sheets, nails biting into the fabric, breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.

“I’m—” The words catch, tangled in the pleasure ripping through me. My body clenches, shuddering, chasing the edge so fast I can’t see straight.

“Come for me, Cassie,” he growls, thumb grinding harder, fingers pumping faster, relentless, merciless, his. “Now.”

And I do.

I splinter apart, the orgasm crashing through me like a damn wrecking ball, spine bowing off the bed, every muscle locking tight as the pleasure detonates under my skin.

His hand doesn’t stop—not until I’ve ridden out every last aftershock, until I’m trembling, wrecked, sprawled beneath him.

His eyes are dark, hungry, and dangerous as sin.

“We’re not done,” he promises, voice all rough edges and filthy intent.

Before I can recover, he’s moving, positioning me how he wants me. Flipping me onto my knees, guiding my hands to the headboard.

“Hold on.”

I grip the wooden railing, heart hammering, body still twitching from my orgasm. I feel him behind me, the heat of him, the curve of his cock.

His hand slides down my spine, a reverent touch that ends with a sharp smack to my ass. I gasp, the sting blooming into pleasure.

“You like that?” he asks, smacking the other cheek.