Daddy Crush

by Adriana Anders

  “Good.” He pats my knee. “Very good.”

  My legs try to shut of their own accord, to squeeze all the pleasure I can from his words and touch, his crude, demanding presence.

  He won’t let me move, though, won’t let me be anything but his tool. Or his student, I guess. Or something else that I can’t quite grasp.

  Oh, but isn’t that a lie? Because, yes, I understand it. I get it on a cell-deep level and this thing explains why he’s the one I want, the only one who can be this for me.

  With a low warning growl, he scrubs his gruff hand up my inner thigh and my brain shorts out, leaving nothing but the knowledge that, finally, it’s happening.

  Daddy’s home.

  Karl

  I’m a terrible mentor, way too into it. Way too selfish. I should fire myself.

  Not gonna happen, though. Not when she’s warm and willing, wriggling in my lap. Not when her breathing’s gone all wild again, like last night, only right fucking here. Not when I can smell that sweet pussy in the air and, soon, so damn soon, on my fingers.

  I’m drawing this out for her, but if I had my way, I’d be back against the couch cushions with her right where I need her—sitting on my face.

  This torture’s good, although I can’t say who’s learning the lessons here; her with my hands on her body, or me, holding myself back, cock pounding like a pulse in my brain.

  “Good,” I whisper, feeling so pervy and sick and fucking loving every second. “Good.”

  My finger hits the edge of those cute panties and even breathing’s a chore—something I have to consciously think about, while every essential brain cell rushes south.

  “Gonna touch your pussy,” I whisper in her ear. “You want that?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes.” The words are shaky and breathy and I love that, too. Christ, I love the way her whole body’s trembling.

  Slower than syrup, I let my finger trace the thin cotton. My eyes slam shut as I outline the dips and rises of her feminine flesh. Even though I stared at the screen, Indiana Jones disappeared from my consciousness ages ago, but suddenly the voices are back—dudes yelling something, vague and excitable. It’s a weird soundtrack to what’s happening here.

  Her mound’s so plump, I can’t help but squeeze it. Her response—a gratifying grunt—makes me do it again, and again, when she arches back, driving her head into my shoulder.

  “Good.” My hand pulls away long enough to make her squirm for more. “Shhhhh.” I press into the side of her face and then—fuck I can’t stop—I slap her cunt, light and quick.

  She’s writhing now, her body alive and hungry, while she expels a low, constant moan. It’s so honest and open and real that I lose a part of myself.

  Another shushing does nothing to quiet her, but I continue the charade. For her? For me? In the name of all that is horny and filthy and wrong in the world, I take in the wet spot on her plain little panties and tut, like some goddamn professor.

  Like I’m her mentor for real and I’m disappointed at her brazen responses, when we both know—hell the family living next door must know by now—that I’m eating this up.

  At this point, it’ll take a fire to stop me from sliding my fingers beneath the fabric and, when I do… Ah, hell. That first touch of dry skin to slick pussy shoots my blood pressure sky high. All I can do is slide between her slippery lips and ride it out, my chest contracting like a bellows, my breath a storm in my ears.

  “You’re fucking soaked.” My left arm lets her go to pull the panties aside for my hungry right hand.

  “I know, Da—” She gulps and stops moving.

  I freeze.

  “What’s that?” I say, aiming for light. It comes out rough and grim.

  “I…” Shaky exhale “I know.”

  “The other word. The one you started to say.”

  “I…”

  “Say it.” My left hand grips her soft pubic hair, eliciting a gasp that lifts her tits and presses her ass to my cock even harder than before. “Say it, Jerusha. Say the word.”

  “It’s… I don’t know if—”

  I open my mouth, ready to beg.

  “Daddy.” Her whisper’s so low I could almost be mistaken, but my dick knows what it heard.

  I tighten my grip, bowing her body, lifting her hips from my lap, while my other hand slides down her creamy slit. “Say that again.” I circle her entrance and let my knuckles ease back up to where her clit’s pulsing, hard and sweet and eager.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Fuck.” I flick her clit, edge my fingers down and let a thick knuckle penetrate her, my control hanging by a thread. “Fuck!”

  She grinds, I thrust, my hands plaster her against me.

  Another circuit has us groaning together. Up, around her clit, down to tease her entrance. This time, I slide the tip of my finger inside.

  Silence, broken by yelling and music from the movie, and a raw chorus of raspy exhalations. “Good,” I whisper, my penetration painfully unhurried. “Just take it. Take it.”

  A slow in, a leisurely out, a second finger, so tight it’s already a stretch. “You ever taste yourself?”

  “N-no.”

  “Here.” I pull my hand away and press my finger to her bottom lip, shiver when she hesitates. She laps up her own juices, and I go back for more. “This one’s for me.” Fucking into her is so much lewder when it’s for the sole purpose of tasting, drawing a sample for my own pleasure. I suck my fingers and her taste’s everything I’ve wished for. Musky, salty-sweet desire.

  I try to say something, but all that emerges is a low, grumbling sound of satisfaction and then with a bitten-out, “Fuck it,” I dive into motion, my body taking over from what’s left of my brain. “C’mere.” I lie down on the sofa and lift her up and over, so that one dimpled leg’s stretched to the floor, while the other’s bent at the knee. “Sit on me.”

  I look up and there it is—like the holy grail—her juicy, pink cunt.

  “Got to eat you,” I warn before pulling her ass cheeks apart, yanking her down and plastering her pussy to my face.

  15

  Just can't get enough

  Jerusha

  Nothing Alba or Mikey said could have prepared me for the way Karl consumes me, like he’s starving and he can’t get enough.

  For a few seconds, I float above him not knowing which way to go or look, my hands suspended in the air. But then his tongue runs up me, while his hands pull me in the other direction, and I fall forward with an unholy shriek, hands landing on the sofa arm.

  His only response is to grunt and keep going. Up and down and around and kissing me, there, like it’s my mouth. Only lewder. My goodness, so lewd I’m a little shocked.

  I grip onto the couch fabric, shut my eyes and just feel. Tongue and lips, soft beard, rough five o’clock shadow. Oh! His nose and, there, my God, he’s licking my…oh…his tongue’s pressing into me, his teeth nip, his mouth opens wide enough to devour, and all the while he’s snarling, reminding me of some wild beast with a fresh catch.

  I gasp as he lifts me and moves me up, then tight to him, his mouth suctioning my clitoris, tongue flicking fast.

  I open my eyes in time to catch his dark, dangerous gaze, and we both go still.

  There’s a distinct savagery between us—mostly him, but a bit me—and this moment encapsulates it. Like a big cat with his prey, his fierce eyes hold mine tighter than the grip on my bottom.

  Slowly, I open one hand and let it skim over his sweat-beaded forehead, angry brows, and flushed cheek to the glistening curve of his mouth. He’s feral, but so beautiful that my heart aches as his lips pull at my fingertip, licking it the way he licked me down there. In this moment, it’s impossible to tell who’s in charge—the tame girl or the beast.

  I’m on top, after all, but a quick, bossy squeeze of his hands reminds me of how strong he is.

  Physically, at least.

  In this quiet moment, I understand something I’d never realized before. I am str
ong as hell.

  Biting my lip, I circle my hips and watch his eyes roll back into his head. He’s having trouble breathing and it’s only partly because I’m sitting on his chest.

  “You okay, Karl?” I ask, my tone almost teasing.

  “Fucking love this, Jerusha.”

  “I…” A smirk tightens my lips. “I can tell.”

  “You like me eating your pussy?”

  “Yes.” My mouth widens into an all-out grin. And then, just to tweak him, maybe mess with our dynamic, I test this brash confidence, move my hand to his hair, and tug. “Better get back to it…Daddy.”

  His sigh is a thing of beauty. Unrestrained, unselfconscious, with a hint of frenzy beneath it all. It’s that and his expression, almost more than the contact, that sends me toward climax. I’m sailing, close enough to feel its singe, when his eyes return to mine. The connection, in that moment, isn’t just potent, it’s soul-shattering.

  And that’s how I come, snared by the world’s deepest gaze—twin black holes sucking and spitting me out into the universe. Just another star. Just another sun glowing big and bright and too hot to last.

  Karl

  Her face shows me everything.

  Joy and satisfaction and gratifying surprise. Which, yeah, I suck it up, knowing damn well that she’s never come this hard in her life.

  As she comes down, she shows tender emotions that shouldn’t be there.

  Not now, between the older mentor and the woman who’s just figuring things out.

  She should save this for the guy she winds up with. The one who’ll give her love and babies and whatever it is she’s looking for.

  Not me.

  I loosen my hold, saddened when her hand goes lax, releasing my hair. She’s heavier now, and I like the way her body’s not bothering to lift up.

  She can’t with the orgasm I just gave her. Pride edges out the other stuff, along with possessiveness at her hot cheeks and hazy eyes. She hasn’t caught her breath yet.

  It’s her climax, but it’s mine, too. I gave it to her, made her take it.

  “Your first one,” I say, watching her face with every ounce of my attention. “With a man.”

  Her nod’s this languid thing, her body sinuous. With one lazy arm, she shoves her cloud of hair from her face and finally focuses on me.

  “Crushing you.”

  “I like it.” I give her ass a smack, jolting us both. When she seems like she’ll climb off, I urge her back instead, enjoying the slow slide of her cunt all the way to my chest, and further. If only I’d thought to undress, she’d be bathing me in her come right now. I can’t stop my cock from twitching at the thought. And she’s right there to feel it. She lifts her head and squints down at me.

  “How’d you do that?”

  I play dumb. “What?”

  “Move your…”

  “My cock?”

  Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and those pupils dilate so far, I should be able to see my reflection. “Yeah.”

  “When I’m really turned on, it sort of pulses. Like it wants to get in you.” I narrow my eyes. “You want it in you?”

  She gasps.

  “Not tonight,” I hurry before she gives an answer I might not like. “Next lesson.”

  “Yes.” Heavy lidded like this, she looks older and somehow knowledgeable. Like she’s done this before. Like she’s the one calling the shots. It’s confirmed when she reaches so low I’m sure she’ll cup my erection. Disappointment cramps my belly when she moves, tugging my shirt up instead to put her hand on my hip. I want this position, only her, skin to skin. Just her and me, plastered so close we’ve got to be pried apart.

  She rolls to her side and explores my belly, my side, brushing the shirt up to drag her fingers through my chest hair, before teasing circles around one nipple. When I think she’ll move off again, I clamp my hand to hers, keeping her here.

  Out of breath, I pull back. “I want your mouth.”

  Questions cycle over her face. Where? she asks herself and I want the answer so fucking badly. She surprises me, when, instead of bending forward to kiss my lips like I picture, she runs her tongue over that pebbled nipple, sending sparks through me.

  “You’re bossy,” she says, between licks.

  “I am.”

  “I like it.”

  “Good.” I make a happy sound as she moves to the other side. “Take off your shirt.”

  She sits up to straddle me, gets rid of her shirt, and watches me watch her, eyes intense. “I’m wondering, though.”

  My hands are an inch from her lush, round breasts when she clasps my wrists to stop them.

  “Huh?” Takes a second to focus on what she’s saying.

  Slowly, she dips, laps at my lips, and rises again. “Nothing.”

  With my hands imprisoned and her tits out of reach, every muscle’s straining to get more of her. But she’s owning me, turning the tables.

  Shit, I’m breathing hard, like I’ve run up a mountain.

  “Tell me,” I demand, the second she sits up again, taking her body away from me. She’s fiendish, suddenly, controlling in a way I’d never imagined and, fuck, but I like it. “Move up.”

  “Hmmm?” She circles her hips again. The hard friction of her cunt to my cock is painfully good.

  “Put your pussy on my belly. So I can feel…”

  I groan when she complies.

  “Goddamn, you’re so fucking hot.”

  “I feel hot.”

  “Yeah. On fire.”

  “You’re burning, too.” She lets one of my hands go and my brain doesn’t have to give orders—I’m already squeezing and weighing her, already dipping into the plain stretchy cotton of her bra. A sedate dark blue, some logical place in my brain recognizes, just before my fingers reach their goal. I grab her and shuttle up to sitting.

  With a surprised yelp, she clings to me, bringing things back into balance—our crotches line up, our bodies nested together. Her little bout of control’s pushed me far, though. There’s no restraint when I yank the cups down, fold myself in half, intent on taking one round nipple in my mouth, and then pause.

  “Pink,” I grate out. “Knew it.”

  And then I’m on her, licking and nipping and sucking her deep. What I’m saying’s unintelligible, a drawn-out song. Like howling.

  Which is exactly how I feel right now—I’m a beast, baying at the moon, expressing…goddamnn it, ownership.

  I bite her, just a little. Just to show her.

  Her panting eggs me on.

  The other nipple, then a nibbled path over chest and collarbone to her neck, where I clamp on as gently as I can, while my hands… Shit, they’re grasping her hips, rocking her hard, pressing, shoving dragging her down to meet every thrust I give.

  I’m out of my mind. And she’s done this.

  When I let go, there’s a bite mark there. There’ll be guilt when I come back to my senses, but for now, I just lick it, suckle higher, then pull back to look at where her cunt’s rubbed a wet spot on my jeans.

  “Look,” I mutter. “Look at how worked up you are.”

  “Yeah.”

  Foreheads together, we watch this show of our own creation. Our combined scents and sounds make this the most obscene peep show I’ve ever seen. But I want more. I need more.

  Keeping one arm wrapped around her, I reach down and slide my fingers between us. Her reaction is electric. “Fuck, your little pussy. Fuck it’s so gorgeous.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah. Look.”

  “I want…”

  “What, dirty girl?” I flick her clit, teasing her into wordless, graceless grunts that’ll be the soundtrack to every jerk session until the day I die.

  “I want to see you, too. Touch you.”

  “Ooooh, fuck. I don’t know.”

  She slows her thrusts, reminding me that I’m not always the one in charge, meets my eyes, and reaches down to my zipper, waiting. At my nod, she tugs at my button and undoes my
belt.

  I feel out of my mind, out of my skin, with anticipation. And then—Christ—then her cool little hands are on me. It’s not until I look up and meet her gaze that I realize just how much she’s turned the tables, tipped the scales, and left me inside out.

  I’ve never felt this way. It scares the shit out of me.

  16

  So you think you're in love

  Jerusha

  “Oh, Karl.” It’s gorgeous, I almost whisper, though I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t know what to do with that. Instead, I let him hear the awe in my breathing, see it on my face, feel it in the way I hold him.

  So much has happened here tonight that a part of me wants to stop and breathe, give us—okay me—time to adjust, but I’m afraid if we don’t do this now, I won’t get another chance.

  I swallow, unwilling to even think about that right now, when everything is so right.

  Instead of worrying about what-ifs, I let my senses guide me, let my hands enjoy how warm and solid and smooth/soft he is. I want to lean down and kiss him there so badly, but drawing it out feels better. This way, I can memorize every step, in case this is it.

  He’s thick—though my only reference is the porn that I’ve glommed in the last few months. There’s a vein along one side, reminding me of his vitality, throbbing with life and blood, strength, but also scarily close to the surface. Vulnerable.

  I take a second to listen to the way his breathing changes—almost wheezing when I tighten my grip on his crown, then drawing out into long, shaky gasps when I stroke farther down his shaft. With his jeans barely open and my body blocking the view, I can’t see lower.

  Yet.

  “Fuck, Jerusha.” His whisper’s tight, restrained. I wonder, suddenly, what he’s like when he really lets go.

  It’s almost scary, the thought of all those muscles, all the flesh and blood and bone working above me, alongside me…in me.

  I shudder and loosen my grip. He takes advantage of that weakness to move me off his lap and onto the sofa. I watch, obscenely half-naked with my bottom half nude and my breasts spilling over my bra. I like how crude it makes me feel…