For Her Own Good

by Parker, Tamsen

  Oh.

  He scoops a hand behind my neck and bends down to kiss at the juncture of my ear and jaw.

  “Yes.”

  “And are you one and not the other?”

  His murmur is soft, as are the kisses he’s planting down my neck, and he’s reduced me to a quivering puddle of Starla jelly. I would give anything to this man.

  “Nervous. Not scared. I’m never scared of you.”

  “That’s good, sweetheart. I’d never want my—” There’s the briefest pause and my stomach clutches. “I’d never want my little girl to be scared of me. I’m going to take good care of you, make you feel good. Do you trust me?”

  Oh my. Sweetheart. Little girl. He’s going to take care of me. I’ve never felt like such a mushy ball of pleasure and arousal in my whole life. It’s confusing, this; I want him to fuck me hard, but also take me in his lap and tell me I’m pretty. We’re making up the rules, though. Who says I can’t have both of those things? Doesn’t sound like it’s going to be Lowry—he’s moved down to my collarbone, kissing and nipping at me, outright licking when he gets to my suprasternal notch.

  “Yes, I trust you.”

  “Hmm? Who do you trust? Tell me, sweetheart.”

  I’m so wet between my legs, I want to squirm until he’s seated deep inside me, but my role is that of the shy ingenue and so far it’s as good as I hoped it would be. Maybe I lied when I said we wouldn’t do this often. It’s really fucking hot, stoking a fire in my belly and making my nipples ache. It’s all I can do to not buck my hips into his, grind myself against him.

  “I trust you, Daddy.”

  He groans and sinks his teeth into my trap, forcing a squeak from my throat. Also, if I thought I was a quivering puddle before, it had nothing on now. There’s something about saying those words. Out loud. To him. It sets me on fire, burning my own candle until I’m slippery, malleable hot wax. He releases my flesh, and licks where his teeth had sunk into me, loving away the sting. But fuck me, he could do anything other than take a bite out of me and I’d enjoy it. I hope, in fact, that he’s left a mark. An outline of his teeth marking me or a half-moon of bruises that I can pull down my shirt and admire in the days to come.

  “That’s a good girl.”

  The man is trying to kill me for sure. He said he’d be an amateur, but he’s proving himself willing and eager, and best of all, a quick study. I do want to be his good girl, more than anything.

  He nuzzles at my shoulder, his beard tickling the sensitive skin, and I’m trying to breathe. Which is harder than it sounds. Lucky for my prospects of not passing out, he pauses and looks up at me.

  “I want to touch your beautiful tits. Kiss them, maybe suck on them. Is that okay?”

  Jesus. Is that okay? There is a very short list of things I would like better than that, and I suspect many of those are on his list of Things to Do to Drive Starla Mad.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  I don’t know whether to hate him for this, or love him, but I think it’s the latter. It’s just difficult. Will it get easier or will there always be this delicious sense of taboo that has me squirming? I’m not totally sure what to hope for.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “What a good girl you are, and how I’m going to enjoy eating you all up.”

  He puts his weight onto one elbow and leans to the side, cupping my breast in his hand and giving it a squeeze that takes my breath away. I wasn’t expecting it to be so hard, but I’m not sorry at all. And then he’s dipping his head and taking my nipple in his mouth, tonguing the stiff peak and then, holy Mary mother of god, suckling. Drawing on me as though he might actually get something out of me if he tries hard enough. It feels fucking phenomenal and sends a burst of want straight to my pussy. And I nearly orgasm when he closes his teeth around the taut little bud.

  “Ah!”

  He lets up the slightest bit and strokes my ribcage. He’s waiting, I think for me to object if I want to, but I don’t want to. I actually wish he had two heads or at least two mouths so he could do the same thing to the other breast simultaneously. But maybe it’s best he’s only got the one since my brain is practically melting out my ears as things are.

  He squeezes my neck softly, rubbing his thumb below my ear, and it makes me purr. Also makes me feel pliable and supple, more so when his hand that’s been cupping my breast circles my wrist and pins it to the bed.

  I’m being held and cradled, but also controlled and turned on. It’s about as perfect as I could ask for. He bites me once more and I gasp. As much as I’d like it, he doesn’t switch immediately to the other breast, but studies my expression. Can he see how turned on I am? What he’s done to me? Or do I merely feel as though “Daddy’s Horny Little Slut” is written across my forehead?

  “Do you like this, little girl? Does it feel good?”

  “Yes.”

  He raises his brows expectantly, and I choke on a half laugh, half cry.

  “Yes, Daddy. That feels good.”

  “What feels good?”

  “When you suck on my tits and bite my nipples.”

  Oh god, my face is going to burn off. And then I won’t have a face. That would be really unfortunate. Because I kinda like my face. Lowry also seems to like my face. He’s smiling into it now, like I’m the best, prettiest, and most important thing he’s ever seen. It’s kind of embarrassing, but also an incredible feeling. Like maybe that could actually be true?

  “You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  He kisses me then, pressing his lips to mine, first softly and then not as softly, but still gentle, seeking permission to lick into my mouth, and I open for him because what else could I possibly do? I want to give myself over to him. I want to be as good as he thinks I am, as special, as remarkable, as precious.

  I take his kiss, receive it like an offering, and sacrifice myself to it. He can set me on fire, burn me all up, but I don’t think he will. I’m not a candle, I’m a phoenix.

  His fingers tighten on my wrist and I groan into his mouth, feeling almost delirious with it. Feeling out of sorts and like this is a fever dream, like it can’t possibly be real because it’s too perfect.

  When he finally sees fit to draw away from me, he looks a bit dazed himself.

  “Have you ever played with yourself, Star? Rubbed your clit, pushed a finger or two inside yourself? Made yourself come?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “That’s good. A girl should know her own body, what makes her feel good. Would you like it if I touched you like that too?”

  My response this time is more of a whine than a sentence, but he lets me get away with it, perhaps sensing that there’s not much left in my head besides wanting and feeling.

  “Then spread your legs, pretty girl. Let your daddy make you feel good.”

  I’ve never thought of myself as shy in bed. Hell, a guy I dated broke up with me because he said I was too “aggressive” sexually. I think what he actually meant was he didn’t have a clue how to get a woman off and wasn’t open to suggestions, but whatever.

  My point is I’m not a nervous, wide-eyed, inexperienced, or prudish woman. But playing this way feels so good, and even better when Lowry slips a hand over my knee, because I haven’t moved fast enough for his liking, and pulls, drawing my leg out and exposing my very core.

  “There now, that’s not so bad, is it?”

  I roll my lips between my teeth and shake my head, even though I’ve never felt so naked in my life, like I’m naked in front of a room full of people.

  He slips his hand down the inside of my thigh and something inside me pulls tight. My interior muscles are almost fluttering with need, craving something to hold onto, something to clamp down on. I feel empty and I want to be full. Which is what I say to Lowry, who is taking his sweet time tracing blue veins toward the apex of my thighs.

  “Daddy, please. I need you. Please touch me, I want you to—”

  In a single smoo
th movement, Lowry parts my labia and runs a finger over my clit before delving farther back and gathering moisture from where it’s pooled at my entrance, only to slick his fingers back up to my clit and start making leisurely circles, barely touching that wildly sensitive bundle of nerves. Oh, I’m dead, dead, dead, dead. I am going to die here in my apartment from sexual frustration and that will be difficult for him to explain, indeed.

  “Like that, love?”

  “Oh, no. Daddy, please.”

  “Tell me how. I’ll think about you tucked in your bed at night and spreading your legs while you think about me, touching yourself. Tell me how you’d do it, Star.”

  “Smaller circles, tighter. Don’t even lift your finger. Just rub it around, make my… Oh yes. Like that.”

  Wanton, that’s how I feel as he touches me the way I told him I do when I think of him at night. I won’t tell him I’ve done this for years. Like, a person old enough to vote’s worth of years. Maybe he knows anyway?

  As I’m panting and heaving and trying to hold off, he leans down to whisper in my ear, and I think he’s going to tell me to go on, come for him, and I likely could. Instead, he says, “I want to fuck your sweet little pussy with my finger. Maybe two or three. Would you like that, sweetheart? My fingers pumping in and out of your cunt until you come all over my hand?”

  What a dirty talker. I had no idea he was capable of such things. Which is probably a good thing because I would’ve left a wet spot every time I saw him in his office if I’d known.

  “Yes, Daddy. Fuck me, please. I want your fingers in me.”

  He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t wait for any more begging, but slides his fingers back until he can press one into my entrance. Almost immediately, I know it’s not enough. Better than nothing, yes, because god, I love penetration, but there’s not nearly enough. I get the urge to dispense with this game altogether so we could go straight to the fucking part, but I won’t do that. Especially since he’s curled his finger just right and is rubbing the tip against my inner wall, searching for my G-spot, and heaven above, finding it.

  “Oh.”

  One corner of his mouth kicks up and he looks very pleased with himself.

  “Do you want more, sweetheart? We’ve got all night and I’m in no rush. I want to make sure you’re good and ready for me. I’m going to use my fingers to stretch out your pretty pink pussy before you take my cock. And you’re going come for me before I fuck you because I want you all slick and ready. So, tell me, can you take another finger? Is there room for it in your sweet, hot cunt?”

  “Yes, Daddy, please. More, I want more.”

  “What a greedy little thing. Don’t worry, Daddy’s going to take care of you. I’m going to make you feel so full.”

  “Yes, please. Fill me up, please.”

  He drops a kiss on the tip of my nose, which ought to be at odds with the filthy way he’s plunging a finger in and out of me, but it feels right, the mingling of sweet and filthy, of tender and dirty. And then there’s a second finger sliding into me alongside the first and it feels so good, so very very good. He’s still stroking my G-spot but moving a little faster, more aggressively now, and I want to beg him to get this over with and fuck me.

  Lowry fucks me for a few minutes like this, my hips bucking up to meet each thrust of his fingers, and if I angle my pelvis just right, I can rub my clit on the heel of his hand. I’m close, so close. My orgasm is gathering like a storm in my belly and my body tenses all over. At which point he slips a third finger inside me and pumps into me, harder now.

  “That’s right, little girl. Take it all. I love finger-fucking you, your sweet honey getting all over my fingers. After you get off, I’m going to push these fingers into your mouth so you can see what you taste like. Come on. Rock your hips, take me all the way inside like the greedy little thing you are. Get your pussy ready to take my cock.”

  Apparently that’s what it takes to get me off: some enthusiastic finger-banging and a bunch of wicked daddy kink dirty talk.

  I clench around his fingers and he keeps thrusting through the rhythmic pulses of my climax until they slow and then he does as well. Plus, he’s holding me like I need to be eased through this incredible orgasm. Like it’s too much for me to take. I’d be okay if he weren’t sheltering me in this way, but I like that he is, and I take the opportunity to burrow into his shoulder and let my fingers scramble for purchase they won’t find because there’s no place for them to dig in without hurting him and I don’t want to hurt him. What I do want is to taste him, have his faintly sweat-salty tang on my tongue, so I lick and suck at his skin. It’s nice, settling after I have been so thoroughly unsettled.

  My heart is still beating hard and fast and Lowry’s fingers are still buried inside me. I like them there, but I’m also curious. He said he was going to put his fingers in my mouth and I’ve never done that before. I have an idea of what my arousal smells like, but not tastes. Will it be as consistent as onions which smell and taste so much the same it’s almost difficult to determine how you’re experiencing it? Or will it be like vanilla with one sort of scent and a dissonant taste that rattles your brain?

  I think I’m about to find out, because Lowry is finally easing his fingers out of me, after I’ve milked every last pulse out of coming.

  He nudges the top of my head with his nose. “You’re so gorgeous when you come, Star. I loved watching you and knowing I’d had a part in it. And you’re so wet for me now. I’ll give you a minute, but now that I’ve had my fingers stuffed inside you, I can’t wait to slip my cock into your perfect little pussy. Before I do, though, I told you you’re going to taste yourself. Don’t hide your face, little girl. Let me see you, and open wide.”

  I do as I’m told and it’s so viscerally carnal and filthy. Not that Lowry treats me this way and not that I’d want him to, but the occasional insinuation that I’m only good for my holes and that he’s going to use every one of them as he sees fit… Well, it might feel threatening and demeaning in a not-fun way in real life, but in this situation, with him, in my head, it keeps my arousal at a simmer.

  Yes, I’m Daddy’s good little girl, and I’m going to do as I’m told—and he’s told me to open my mouth wide. It’s nearly as dirty, and in some ways more so, than being told to spread my legs.

  And then his fingers are in my mouth, and I automatically lick them and then suck. That’s a knee-jerk reaction to something pushed into your mouth, right? I find that I actually prefer the taste of my slick fluid to the smell. It tastes less musky, less earthy than the scent and a touch sweeter than I expected.

  I’m so absorbed in trying to discern the small details of my flavor that it takes me a second to realize Lowry is staring at me. More specifically my mouth, and to be precise the way I’m laving the fingers that were inside me moments ago.

  “Did you know you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen? You take my breath away.”

  I try to smile at his compliment but my blush will have to do the talking because he’s still got his fingers pushed inside my mouth, and is now fucking my mouth with them, slow and filthy, an echo of what he’d been doing to my sex mere moments ago.

  I’d been a little skeptical that he would be able to make me come again when he fucks me, but I can feel it gathering again—that slow burn of a line of gun powder straight to my core, and Lowry is the match that will set me alight.

  Lowry pulls his fingers from my mouth and I chase them. It was nice to have something in my mouth and I didn’t mind that they were covered in my essence. But he replaces them with his mouth, so I’m not too distraught.

  He fucks my mouth with his tongue, an echo of how he was using his fingers, and it makes me feel empty. Not in a depressed, desolate kind of way, but in a “fill me up, Daddy,” kind of way. I want that motion, that plundering, between my legs again. And I wouldn’t be sorry if he could keep kissing me like this when he settles his hips between my thighs and presses his cock where his fingers used to be.


  Fill me up, Daddy.

  Chapter 18

  Lowry

  There are approximately ten hours until I need to be back at work tomorrow morning, and frankly, that is not enough time. I need more. It seems cruel that I’m only now getting to have my wicked way with Starla, and I’ll have to stop before I really get to know her body. I’d like to call in sick tomorrow and keep her in bed through the weekend, but Lacey’s been looking at me as though she knows what’s going on, so I won’t be taking any chances.

  I hadn’t been prepared for Starla despite my fantasies. All the dirty talking I’ve done to Starla in my dreams is certainly coming in handy and I’ve been trying not to hesitate before I say the words aloud though they make my skin burn hot. Yes, I’d sometimes say dirty things to Maeve, but not like this. No, never like this. Aside from the filthy things falling out of my mouth like I’ve rehearsed them, I hadn’t been prepared for her body, all her sweet flesh that’s now mine to feast upon. For planes of smooth skin, for how soft she is, for the stark delicacy of the scars across her pale skin which I haven’t remarked upon. Won’t. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t look. I have, many times.

  I’ll treat her as fragile not because she is, but because life has already tried to shatter her on the floor one too many times, and wouldn’t it be nice if someone cradled her for once? Plus, I fucking love having my hands on her, in her. I could touch her all day and not be satisfied. And hearing the way she calls me daddy is like shooting up with heroin. Or so I’ve heard, wouldn’t know for sure; that shit scares me to death. So I’ll indulge in another vice: Starla Patrick.

  So sweet she ought to be able to give me a toothache by looking at her, this Starla before me is so different from the snarky, snappy, aggressive woman I encountered on the plane a handful of months ago. She’s pliant and shy, vulnerable, and while I wouldn’t trade the other Starla for anything, I like her very much like this as well.