Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
He smells like danger and dominance, all the things I’ve craved since I walked through that door for the strangest job interview ever.
“Look at you,” he rasps, his fingers digging into my hips as I straddle him. His voice is a growl, all raw edges and heat. For a brief second, one hand leaves me, grabbing a remote from the arm of the sofa and hitting a button. I hear the door click, then click again as he makes sure we’re not going to be disturbed. “Little thing. You gonna ride this, princess?”
I bite back a groan when the crown of his cock brushes between my legs, swollen and impossibly thick. My core clenches, nervous and greedy. He’s a tower of muscle—broad shoulders, hands like tongs—but this… I’ve seen men shirtless before, but never anything like this. Like him. And never what I see standing up, weeping, purple, swollen and ready to split me open.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, thumb grazing my lower lip—a silent command not to bite it in fear. “You’re gonna feel me everywhere, kitten. Daddy hates to hurt you, but it’s time.”
Daddy kink wasn’t exactly on the menu when I dreamed of losing my virginity, but his pet names and when he calls himself Daddy, it all feels a bit like shackles, and I don’t mind. Not at all.
“Ready?” he asks, voice low, but there’s a tremor beneath it. He’s nervous too. A terrifying thought.
I nod, arching slightly. His head nudges my entrance, stretching taut skin. White-hot pain flares the moment he pushes upward, while guiding me down.
Pushing on my hips.
My body battles against the physical impossibility of our parts fitting together.
“Let me in, baby. There’s a nice prize for you waiting at the end of the pain, I promise.”
His length splits me open inch by burning inch. I claw at his chest, nails scoring through his dress shirt to dig into flesh.
“Christ,” he curses, stilling inside me. “You’re tight. Too damn tight.” His voice cracks, and for a heartbeat, I think he’ll pull back—some tender guy move—but then he’s groaning, teeth gritted. “Don’t you dare flinch away. You’re mine now. Take it.”
Mine.
The word coils around my ribs like a snake. No other hands have touched this body—not that there ever were any—but the idea of him marking me here, first and only, hardens my resolve.
“I’m not breaking,” I snap, though my voice wavers. I sink down another inch, muscles screaming in protest. His hips buck instinctively, and a tear slips free as he fills me deeper than I knew was possible, the double pressure of his cock and the cat-tail butt plug almost too much to bear.
“Breathe,” he growls again, hands gripping my waist like anchors. “Let it burn, princess. That’s the good part.”
He’s wrong. It hurts more than when Butterbean clawed me when I tried to give him a bath.
But there’s something electrifying about this pumping need moving through my veins—the way his fingers bruise my skin, the way he fills me until I’m nothing but a vessel for him. The pain becomes a thrill, a testament to how much he’ll own me afterward.
“Move,” he urges when I finally settle around him. “Show Daddy how you ride.”
I rise up shakily, then sink back down, muscles straining against his thickness. It’s agony and euphoria in equal measure, like riding a wave of fire. His chest rises beneath my palms as I find a rhythm—slow, deliberate—and the burn eases into something else: heat, pressure building low in my belly.
“You feel that?” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges now. “That’s me marking you. You’ll feel me for a week. With every step, every breath, that pain will remind you who you are now. Daddy’s possession.” His words are primal, a hunter boasting of his kill. And I’m all too eager to be claimed.
I lean forward, palms flat on his shoulders, and take him deeper still. He growls—a sound ripped from some feral underworld—and his hands slip between us. A single finger circles my clit in tight, ruthless circles while he thrusts up to meet me, driving harder now that the initial sting’s faded.
“Come for me,” he orders, and there’s no arguing with that tone, but the pain is tugging me backward, the pleasure fighting to come forward.
The sofa cushions dig into my back like velvet-coated stones as his hips slam against me. His fingers bruise my hips, pulling me harder onto each thrust.
The slowness is gone. The easing inside me is long forgotten.
Hard. Hard. Hard.
It’s all I feel. All I can think about.
Salt and musk flood my nose—the tang of his cologne mixing with the sharpness of sweat. It’s all raw, feral, all him. “Fucking going to strangle my dick, kitten. Easy now. Ride and breathe,” he growls, teeth scraping the pulse at my throat. His voice is a rasp like grinding stone. “Feel like a goddamn vise.”