* * *
Starla
I should maybe be embarrassed by exactly how tightly I’m clinging to Lowry’s shirt, but I can’t be. If he weren’t holding me so tight, I have no doubt that I would be breaking into pieces and tumbling all over the grass.
Exhilaration and exhaustion from learning to ride the bike earlier have made my skin thin. It didn’t take much for me to slip into this headspace where I want nothing more than to be cuddled and coddled and yes, okay, given orgasms at his hand. This is my reward for all my hard work, and also for…I don’t know, being me? That’s never something I thought would ever be looked upon favorably. But here we are, his hand between my legs while I sit on his lap after having been taught to ride a bike. When the fuck did I get a genie who grants wishes?
Lowry’s thick finger runs along the cleft at the apex of my thighs, and I want to beg him to push it into me already. I want to feel him inside me, but I can be patient, I can be a good girl. For a little while, anyway. I can still wriggle a bit and be considered well-behaved, right?
I rock my hips forward, trying to get firmer contact, begging with my body for him to stroke my clit or fuck me with his finger, or do something other than keep up this maddeningly slow, sensuous stroke.
“Don’t be greedy,” he murmurs into my hair, and it makes me all the more desperate.
“Daddy, I am greedy.”
Which of course makes him laugh. It’s not mean, and even in my fragile state I don’t feel it that way, but it does dial my feelings and arousal up even higher, to the point I think I might burst. At least that’s my excuse as to why my clinging has turned to clawing.
“Oh, oh. Easy, love. I’ve got you.”
He strokes me and envelops me as I lose my goddamn mind, squirming in his lap, licking and biting at his neck where he tastes salty from his earlier exertions, and digging my nails into the soft cotton of his shirt.
“You’re okay. Come on, settle down for Daddy. I want to fuck you with my fingers but I don’t want to hurt you, so you’ve got to be still for a minute. Long enough to stuff my fingers into your tight, hot cunt.”
And now I’m a sex-crazed lamprey, having latched onto his neck with my mouth. Good thing he can rock the Mr. Rogers look, because the man is going to need some high-necked cardigans or some shit to cover up the hickey I’m going to leave him with.
I do, however, manage to quiet my body enough for him to part my labia with his finger and skate over my clit before delving back to my entrance to gather up some of my copious wetness, and come back to slick it over my clit and start rubbing in small, tight circles.
I gasp and moan against his neck, the tension inside me building until I feel as though it’s going to spill out of me and gush all over the flagstones. That would be embarrassing; don’t need anyone on what I guess is now technically my staff cleaning that up.
“Please, Daddy, please, please.”
Have I ever been this desperate? I don’t think so. It’s something about him that makes me able to hand over control, to entrust him with my pleasure that I’ve always held so tightly with both fists because I know he’s not going to let me down. Lowry has the capacity, and perhaps more importantly, the desire to provide for me, to care for and nurture me, and yes—as he slides two fingers into my very core—fulfill me.
I cry out and press my heels to the edge of the seat we’re in to get better leverage.
“Yes, Star, yes. Just like that. I want to you to ride my fingers till you come. Think about how when we get home, I’ll peel you out of these clothes and fuck you. You’re going to sit on my lap and ride my cock like this, aren’t you, little girl? Hmm?”
“Yes, Daddy. Oh, god.”
That’s what finally launches me into the throes of orgasm, is thinking about straddling Lowry with his big cock stuffed inside me and rocking up against him, my hard nipples grazing his coarse chest hair, his hands gripping my freshly spanked bottom as he urges me up and down on his thick, hard shaft.
I come hard around his fingers, bite his shoulder, and get a stranglehold on the cotton between my fingers. He’s lucky I haven’t ripped the thing to shreds. No, that’s just how I feel, clinging to him with my legs splayed, buzzing on the downslope of my climax while still clad in my darling outfit, complete with knee socks and Mary Janes: shredded.
He’s torn me into a million pieces with his patience, understanding, acceptance, and dare I say, love. It’s the making me come like the Fourth of July fireworks over the Charles, sure, but it’s more than that. He’s right in this with me, not doing it solely to please me and otherwise grimacing while we play these games.
And while it’s kind of fucked up—okay, very fucked up and I would never admit it, not even to him because he’d be horrified—I like to think we could’ve always been like this. It would’ve been wrong no doubt, and it’s better this way, but god, I could’ve saved myself so much torture and angst over the things I wanted if I’d known there was a man like Lowry who would want them with me.
Chapter 31
Lowry
On the ride home, I’ve been thinking about Starla riding my cock.
“You’ve been quiet,” she says, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
Her hands are folded neatly in her lap and I’m gripped by regret because she must have been fretting. I need to be careful. Not that she isn’t an incredibly strong and capable person—she is—but when she’s allowed herself to sink into that little girl headspace, it renders her more vulnerable. And I’ve asked that of her, encouraged it, coaxed it out of her. If I want to be worthy of her trust in me, then I need to do better.
I put a hand over hers and give her a smile.
“Just thinking about what I’m going to do with you when we get inside, that’s all.”
Her answering blush is so lovely.
I guide the car into my spot in the parking garage under my building and lean over the center console to kiss her cheek, take in the sweet smell of her. It might be my imagination, but I swear I can smell the slightly musky scent of her climax lingering on her skin.
“Come on you, I’m not finished with you yet.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The ride up to my apartment feels as though it takes for-goddamn-ever. Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to heft her over my shoulder and smack her on the bottom while I hauled her into her childhood home? To have climbed the stairs until I reached her bedroom and then tossed her onto the bed to have my way with her? So, there was a car ride in between. Don’t be a selfish git, Campbell.
And now we’re here. I close the door behind us and turn on her.
I thought before I’d wanted her. Indeed, left because I did and that was a far distance from okay. While I’d like to think that I did love her then, I had no idea I could be consumed by how I feel for her. I knew her struggles, I knew her fortitude and strength, I knew she was beautiful and intelligent, but I had no idea…
Can’t even say for sure what it is about her. Yes, the sex is incredible, but it’s not only that. She’s funny and sly and stubborn and kind and I think I might like to spend the rest of my life figuring out what else she is. And yes, because I can’t help myself, supporting her in the hard times so she can have more joy and freedom and energy to use on things other than simply being alive. She’s taken care of herself and I wouldn’t go so far as to say she needs me—probably would feel uneasy being here with her if I thought she did—but I like to think I make her life better and that my understanding means she doesn’t have to work so damn hard to explain on top of everything else.
Aye, Maeve and I made a promise to be that for each other and then we broke it. Had promised to love and cherish each other until death, but I feel as though even when we were standing up at that altar making our vows to each other, it was more like we were swearing to enjoy each other’s company to the fullest and hold each other in the highest esteem. A recipe for a respectful and fond relationship, certainly, but perhaps not what I would c
all being in love. I suppose I know better now and I hope she will someday as well. Perhaps Denny will be the one to give her that?
Would Starla want to marry me? I suppose I don’t need the legal documents and the rings and all that—may be a bit much to ask of her anyhow. Especially yet. And if she did, would she want to live here? Or, no, someplace bigger than her studio but that we both could enjoy. I don’t need to live in that grand old place we were at today—maybe would be better for Star if we didn’t, actually—but perhaps somewhere with a bit more space. Whatever happens, I won’t be an arse and ask her about that house again.
She’s right; she can afford to be a bit eccentric—hell, she could be hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of eccentric and still be obscenely wealthy—and what does it matter that she’s chosen to spend a minuscule bit of her fortune keeping a house she doesn’t live in? Wasteful? Sure, but as she pointed out, if it lets her sleep at night then I can hardly call it a waste.
Perhaps keeping the house will ease the sting of divesting herself of her father’s company. At least in that one thing she might let herself believe she’d succeeded. I’d never take that from her.
“I believe I said something about peeling you out of those clothes and you riding my cock, aye?”
She blinks at me. Perhaps she’s changed her mind? That was more of an emotionally charged day than I had anticipated. Perhaps she doesn’t want to fool around but could use a rest instead.
“Would you like that, Star?”
“Yes,” she says, her chest collapsing. “Yes, Daddy, please.”
Yes it is, then.
I make quick work of her clothes, not even letting her get to the bedroom before I’ve stripped her, and then I join her naked and in my bed. Mostly I like to take my time, but giving her that much space now seems like giving her too much time to think, too much time to torment herself. No, I won’t have that, not right now. I aim to give her what peace I can.
Her skin is smooth and soft as I rub from her round bottom all the way up to her shoulder blades and back again. My sweet, sexy, squirmy girl who so enjoys these games we play. I do too, though that disturbed feeling about how we play lingers.
Sure, give my little girl peace, but God forbid I allow myself any.
Why? Why do I enjoy her this way? Is it poison in my blood? What does it say about me as a man, and as a doctor? But I won’t let those dark thoughts take me away from the sunny little peach who’s pressed the length of her body to my own, worked her leg between mine, and begun to wriggle on my thigh. Christ almighty, she’s going to be the death of me for sure.
Leaning over her, I brush some hair off her neck so I can set my mouth to work at her sweet skin. Tongue and teeth, the taste of her is sweet and her flesh gives way to the pressure of my bite until she squeals and I ease the pinch with a lick. When I get to that sensitive part where jaw meets ear, I murmur to her. “And what did you think you’d be doing? Playing pat-a-cake?”
She giggles and it fills my head, makes it feel as though champagne has penetrated my brain.
“If you want, Daddy.”
If it’s wrong to think of a pig-tailed, poufy-dress-clad Starla straddling my lap while playing those silly games that delight children to make her laugh like that again…well, it’s probably sending me straight to a well-deserved hell, but at the moment I can’t be arsed to care.
“Not now. Can’t bear to think of having you in my lap without also having you ride my cock.”
Perhaps someday I’ll be coordinated enough to play cat’s cradle with her while she’s working toward an explosive orgasm on the aforementioned cock, but my brain’s already scrambled, so rolling us both to seated and hefting her into my lap will have to do.
She gasps, her mouth turning into a perfect pink O, and that I definitely do have to kiss, take advantage of the shape to slip my tongue into her mouth and let it tangle with hers. Push against her and explore the shape of her, caress and tame her. My God, I love kissing this woman.
I enjoyed kissing Maeve; it was pleasurable. But that’s what it was: a single dimension of pleasure, like skating on a frozen pond. Kissing Starla is more akin to being plunged into an icy lake. Icy in that it makes me feel vibrant and alive, but it sure as hell doesn’t make my balls crawl up inside my body and my cock shrivel. Ah, no, not at all.
She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me back, rubbing her already slick pussy against me and there is nothing I want more in this life than to be inside her and watch her come again. And fuck yes, come myself, because it’s as though my body’s remembered that earlier this afternoon I watched the sexiest woman in the world orgasm at my hands and is wondering when precisely I’ll get to follow suit. Starla seems downright eager, so hopefully the answer is now.
Indeed, she’s so enthusiastic I feel as though I need to tap the brakes.
“Darling. As much as I’d like to feel you, we can’t…”
I gesture between us with my chin. Can’t have her with no condom. Someday perhaps I’ll be able to. But Starla’s got enough on her plate without an unplanned pregnancy. And while I’d like to be a father, it scares me half to death. Mostly, though, I’d be concerned for Star. If she feels overwhelmed by the thought of managing a house, how would she feel about being responsible for a human being? Even if it weren’t solely her responsibility? Not something we need to address or worry about because I wouldn’t put her in that position. We’ll be safe, every time.
It’s clumsy, but I tilt so I can grab a condom out of the drawer. Rip it open as well as I can and then roll it over my cock. Can’t hardly wait. Should’ve asked if she was ready first, but she doesn’t seem to think I’m a selfish prig. No, she’s coming up on her knees and grabbing my length to guide inside of her, and Christ. My brain might melt out of my head because she feels so good.
It sounds twee, but I feel as though we fit together, as though she’s the piece I’ve been missing. She makes me feel whole, and loved for everything I am. And forgiven for the things I’m not. Or haven’t been.
“Star…”
Her name on my lips is a prayer, and also a word of thanks so deep that “gratitude” doesn’t cover it.
I hold her to me just as she is, her body encompassing me in a warm, welcoming embrace. This feels like love to me, and I hope it feels like love to her.
“Daddy?”
An anxious tone to her question makes me hold her tighter. While I could hold her like this for a good long time, I’m not sure that forever is what she intended to sign up for. I’m not sure if being with me is working out some of the abandonment issues I caused. If she’ll leave me because she can now. One thing is for certain, I won’t be leaving her unless I’m dragged away. She’s simply too dear to me.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, sweet girl. Yes, I’m fine indeed. I just like holding you. Is that so terrible?”
I give her shoulder a teasing nip and she laughs.
“No, not terrible at all.”
“Are you perhaps getting impatient? Hmm?”
While I could soak in her body for a good long while and let how much I adore her flood my brain, I don’t think that’s what Starla was expecting, and it’s perhaps not what she wants. Not now, maybe not ever. Couldn’t say for sure. Don’t know if I want to know.
How badly would I be crushed if this is sex for her and nothing more? It was never just sex for me and it’s definitely not now. I promised her a good fuck though, and that I can deliver.
“Is having Daddy’s fat cock stuffed in your pussy making you a horny little girl?”
She whimpers and sets my brain alight. Those sounds she makes hit very specific pleasure points in my brain.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I lean her back enough that I can see her face with its pretty blush and her hair tumbling around her shoulders, and Christ, she’s lovely and perfect.
“You know I haven’t played with your tits yet today? And that’s a damn shame. They’re so pretty, a
nd your nipples are begging to be pinched.”
I do just that, tweaking both of them, and she sucks air through her teeth but doesn’t tell me to stop. Sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, though.
“Are you a little sensitive today?”
She nods, widens her eyes as though she’s embarrassed. “I’ll get my period soon. They get sore.”
“Mmm.”
I weigh them in my hands, thumbing her nipples until she squirms.
“Just your nipples or all of your tits?”
To emphasize my point, I squeeze and she gasps. She doesn’t need to confirm my suspicions, but she does anyway. “Everything, Daddy.”
I hum thoughtfully again and continue to play with her, being a little rough, and it seems as though she might be sore, but that doesn’t bother her. No, it might make breast play even more enjoyable for her. I can work with that. Yes, I’m getting a bit distracted by the way she’s grinding on my lap—okay, a lot distracted—but I can still toy with her, push her, make her squeal and whimper and hopefully have another satiating climax.
I squeeze, knead, pinch, and yes, add the occasional slap. And when I’ve got her panting and rutting against me, mewling and begging, I sculpt my hands around her breasts and clamp my thumbs and forefingers around her nipples. And then tug.
She makes one of those sexy, muddled pleading sounds, and yes, she likes that. Which is nice, but I also want to prod at her embarrassment buttons. Not hard enough to verge into humiliation because I don’t think she’d enjoy that, but a thin varnish of shame can add a dimension to these things and I want her to feel it all. To feel as deeply as I do.
For Her Own Good Page 34