Chapter 4 #2
He tilts his hips forward—enough to nudge his cock against my jaw. “I like how you feel. The weight of you against me,” he mutters.
My lips part without meaning to.
He exhales softly, the sound threaded with approval. “That’s it. Open for me.”
I tip my head up, eyes meeting his. There’s a pause—charged and breathless—before he reaches for his glass.
“Mouth,” he orders.
He takes a slow sip, then leans down, his gaze never leaving mine.
I open.
He spits the CC and dry into me. I swallow without flinching, my eyes locked on his.
He smiles. “You’re dangerous.”
“Why’s that?” I whisper, lips tingling.
Shifting in his chair, his voice comes low, almost thoughtful.
“Because you’d let me keep you…” he says it like a realization he’s savoring. “Warm. Wet. And stretched open around me.”
My breath hitches. The throb between my legs is already answering for me.
“I would,” I exhale. And I mean it—every inch of me means it.
His fingers skim down my arm, light as breath.
“You’d look perfect with me resting on your tongue.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t look away.
“You want to know what I think about?” he asks, softer now.
I nod slowly, anticipation curling tight in my belly.
He brushes a finger along the edge of my mouth, his eyes burning into mine.
“I think about fucking you full,” he murmurs. “Then tasting it—us—on my tongue. Spitting it back into your mouth and watching you swallow what’s mine.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. A sharp, hot shiver sparks low in my spine and shoots outward, wildfire-fast.
He doesn’t gloat. He watches me, quiet and waiting. Like he lit the match and now he’s watching it burn.
And it does. I do. I’m razed to the fucking ground.
He lifts me easily, settling me on his lap. “I want you up here, where I can see you.” His eyes linger on my face, taking inventory, memorizing every detail.
“What can I call you?” he asks. “Goddess is too long.”
“You can shorten it to G.”
“What about Gigi? It’s sweet—like you.”
“And what should I call you?” I purr.
“Call me Z.”
“Oh, that’s too perfect.” I giggle. “My very own Zaddy.”
The way he laughs, head thrown back, is better than any orgasm.
But then he sobers up, fingers trailing up my thigh, slipping under the slit of my dress. When he finds my thong, he raises an eyebrow.
“Take it off, Gigi,” he whispers, voice hot against my ear. “Discreetly. And spread those beautiful thighs.”
I lift my hips just enough to shimmy my thong down. After I hand it to him, he brings it to his nose, inhales deep—eyes never leaving mine. Then, slow as sin, he sucks the gusset into his mouth.
Everything inside me clenches.
He tucks the thong into his pocket, then slides his hand up my thigh, fingers trailing higher until they find the heat of my core.
The first stroke of his fingers against my folds is a shock—ice against fire. My skin prickles and my heart pounds, thudding so hard I feel it in my fingertips. When he spreads my wetness up to my clit, it’s like my whole body tunes to a single note of need.
“Beautiful.”
I shiver at the word, fighting the instinct to close my eyes. But he’s watching. “Eyes on me,” he reminds me. He pushes two fingers inside, his thumb a constant pressure against my clit. My nerves light up; he’s rewiring my body from the inside out.
“I need more,” I whisper. My hips ache to move, ride his hand until I shatter, but I can’t—I’m pinned in place, and he’s making me feel every slow, torturous stroke.
He curls his fingers, hitting that sweet, rough patch inside me. I hook one arm around his shoulder for balance, breath ragged. Our foreheads touch. Our lips are so close.
“Come for me, little one,” he whispers. “Squeeze my fingers, soak me.”
The orgasm is a lightning bolt—brief and bright. My muscles clamp around him, my breath shuddering out in a low moan.
“That’s it,” he praises tenderly. “Good girl.”
He slides his hand out, wiping my wetness into the ruined thong he’s pulled from his pocket. When he’s done, he dangles it from one finger.
“Open my pants. Jerk me off into your thong.”
A thrill races through me. I pop the button of his slacks, slip my hand in, wrapping the wet scrap around his thick length. It’s hot and silky and so fucking heavy in my hand. I stroke him slowly, then faster, every drag making him groan.
“Make me come, Gigi.”
I squeeze tighter, moving faster. His eyes lock on mine—dark and hungry. A moment later, he tenses and spills into the gusset of my thong. The fabric’s not big enough to hold it all—some of it leaks out, hot and sticky over my fingers.
“Fuck,” he breathes, head tipped back.
I pull out my hand, the thong coated with both of us.
“Put it back on,” he says.
My eyes widen. “Really?”
“Put your thong back on.”
I don’t question him again. I untangle the gooey mess and hook it over my feet, sliding it up my legs under my dress. It smears stickiness on my thighs, and I place it snugly against my pussy. I sit on his lap, the wet heat of us pressed against my folds.
“Christ,” he groans, shaking his head.
My lips twist, wicked heat pulsing low in my belly. He’s completely gone for it.
“Yeah, I know,” I purr. “Keep worshipping, Zaddy.” The words feel reckless on my tongue—but tonight, I’m not playing safe.