Thirty-One
DALTON
T he minutes are burning like cheap, pastel birthday candles, and I haven’t been able to touch Essie once since we got here.
I need it. She needs it. If I don’t get to have her one last time, I’m not going to survive.
I don’t give a fuck how risky this is.
It’s the night before Thanksgiving, and Essie is asleep. She’s a heavy sleeper, and I suckle her nipple for a minute and a half before she rouses awake and murmurs, “Daddy?”
“Shh, sweetheart,” I soothe before I tug down her shirt, covering her exposed breasts. “Put on something pretty for me. Let’s go.”
Minutes later, her face is alight with intrigue as I lead her through the dark hallways on the other side of the estate. “What are we doing in the library?” she asks.
“Sit,” I instruct. “I have a present for you—something I made. Lander helped.”
Beaming, Essie takes the lid off the black box I handed her—and her smile quickly flips to confusion. “These are your dicks,” she comments while looking at the two colossal emerald green dildos in the box.
“You can tell?”
“I know this dick like the back of my…” She glances at her own hand. “…Like my entire arm. Sorry—Lander helped you make these?”
“I bought a kit, but the tube was small, so he had to hold the overflow—”
“Lander held your dick.”
“Twice,” I clarify. “The first one seemed crooked, so I did another, but it turned out fine. Now you have two.”
“Two,” she muses, picking up one of the thick green toys. It’s alarmingly accurate. The vein she’s licked countless times even runs prominently through the underside. “Two Daddy Dalton dildos. God, when you separate it from your body, it’s really just enormous.”
“Not everyone takes it like you. You know, Lander and I tried to share a girl once. My size made her uncomfortable, so eventually I bowed out and watched her do it with Lander.”
“And how was that?”
“Dull. I got bored and started playing Candy Crush on my phone.” I snicker. “Lander’s clit game was pretty weak.”
“I’ve heard he’s fabulous.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely put in the work over the years, But back then, it was like watching someone who had never DJed trying to play a nightclub.”
“Well, I can take you,” she reminds me before she kisses my cheek. “And I love my new toys. Obsessed.”
Perfect. I’m still smiling when I take out my ski mask—and she knows where this is going now.
I sit in an armchair, and she lowers herself onto my thigh and grinds down, gyrating that tight body like she’s a professional in a strip club. Head thrown back, one hand threaded through my hair and the other rubbing her own skin, she’s down to fuck—as usual.
In retrospect, it’s funny we both thought I needed a free-use clause. With Essie, it’s always free.
I’m doing my best to set my phone against a table lamp, but she’s making it exceedingly difficult. Her fluid motions carry the grace of well-honed seduction, capturing the intrinsic desire that seems to flow through her body. Such a sweet girl. Such a sweet, ridiculously horny girl.
We’re both in frame when I look to where she’s pulled the hem of her short, cotton dress above her perfect thighs.
“You’re going to make a wet spot on my pants,” I comment, excited by the prospect.
“Then take them off,” is her flippant response.
Brat.
But I do take them off along with my shirt because I hate saying no to her. Plus, the thought of her rutting her dripping wet pussy on my thigh is kind of incredible.
I give her the mask I brought her. She positions it over her face and tightens the long ribbons at the back of her head, forming a neat bow. Then she eyes my ski masked-face and nearly-naked body, keeping her lower lip trapped between her teeth before she climbs back into my lap and settles her weeping wet pussy on my thigh again.
She leans forward and her lips graze my ear. “Your body makes me lose my mind,” she whispers before her tongue slides over the shell of my ear. “Do you know how much I’d do for you?”
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to shut up and let her talk.
“You could make me do anything,” she goes on, wedging her hand between us and finding the evidence of how much I want her. “You could take any hole—all of them, Daddy.”
“All of them?”
She sucks my earlobe and gently nibbles the skin. “At the same time. You could make me do anything for you—that’s how drunk I am on this glorious body and this thick cock.”
Jesus, fuck.
“Then tell me about this pussy,” I urge before licking the pad of my thumb. “Tell me it’s wet and ready for me.” I wrap my hand over the apex of her thigh, gripping the spot where it meets her hip, and I lay my spit-slick thumb against her clit.
Essie lets out a mewing sound. She moves wantonly—faster. My thigh is slick with her arousal, and I can tell she’s getting herself there—doesn’t even need me to touch her.
“There you go, beautiful,” I murmur, pulling my thumb away and slipping it between her lips instead. She starts suckling immediately. “Are you going to get off on my thigh?”
Essie nods, groaning faintly and staring at me with needy, hooded eyes.
I run my other hand over her breast, cupping it over the fabric before I slip my hand inside and touch her skin. My fingers caress her nipple, hardening it to a point between the pads of my thumb and index finger. My nose nuzzles into her hair, and I push her dress straps down, lowering them until her breasts are out.
I fold and latch my mouth around one of her nipples at the precise moment she climaxes on my thigh. Her orgasm is muffled against the thumb in her mouth, the one she’s sucking like a pacifier, and both her hands are fixed around my head as she tilts backwards, curving her spine to keep her tit against my lips. She’s undulating, trembling, and my god—it’s a sight .
The thought of stopping—of never having another night like this—is concentrated agony.
“Let me fuck them,” I whisper above a groan, biting back the turmoil—the apprehension—when her body slows to a stop. I kiss one nipple and then the other. “They’re so damn nice.”
Essie is still dazed from her orgasm. “You want to fuck my tits?” she asks, blinking.
“Please. Let me put my cock between them.”
“They’re not big enough for your cock,” she replies as she arranges her hands on either side of her breasts and presses them together, forming the most luscious crevice I’ve ever seen. “It won’t feel good for you.”
“Who cares about how it feels for me?” I reply, swirling my fingertip over her puffy, wet nipple. “It’s for you. I want your nipples to tingle when my dick drags over them. I want my cockhead to reach your lips so you can suck on it the way you like.”
“Well, I care how it feels for you,” she replies before she places her hand back on my dick and gives it a firm stroke. “Let me take care of you, Daddy.”
“If you’re going to call me Daddy, you have to let me be your goddamn Daddy.” I kiss her forehead. “I’ve asked, so you’re going to give me your needy tits, and I’m going to fuck them for you until you’re on the edge. And then I’m going to give you my cum until you forget what it feels like to have an empty cunt.”
“I want all of that,” she replies before I have to ask. “I need you. I hate it here. I hate that we can’t be together. I made myself come in the shower this morning because I missed you.”
I want to bite my fist. “That’s a good girl,” I murmur, tucking her hair behind her ear before I lower my hands between her legs. “Did you make yourself squirt?”
Essie shakes her head. “I can’t do it without you. I need your fingers.”
I’m sick for being satisfied she can’t do it with anyone but me. To see her moaning and drenching me, coming apart at the seams, is a rare privilege—and it’s just for me, just for her Daddy. I’m the one who takes care of her. I’m the only one who knows what she needs.
Years ago, I read any woman can squirt; it’s a matter of figuring out how.
So, I figured out how—for her.
“Shush, baby,” I whisper when she groans in response to my fingers entering her. “You’ve got to be quiet. Mom and Dad are going to hear you. Mom and Dad are going to know your stepbrother is fingering your cunt at night. They’re going to know your stepbrother likes to lick the cum off your pussy when you gush on us both.” I smirk. “Your dad is going to kill me.”
“ You’re my daddy,” Essie replies.
… Fuuuuuckkkkkkk.
I stand and whirl her around, steering her into the armchair. Essie settles against the deep red upholstery, wet—but I don’t care. I’ll buy every antique chair in the Hudson River Valley and make her squirt on them.
My cock is painfully hard, heavy and thick and intimidating, but she wets her lips when I take it out. Her eyes zero in on the pearl of pre-cum at the tip, and she licks her lips.
“How many parts of you can I fuck with this thing?” I muse, jerking myself while looking at her.
“All of them.”
All of them. “Get it wet,” I instruct.
Essie wraps her mouth around my dick. It takes up so much space, pressing against the slick sides of her inner cheeks and pulsing over her waiting tongue and deeper, deeper .
“You’re doing so good, baby,” I praise her. “Open your throat for Daddy.”
Essie inhales, and her throat feels limitless. I’ve never had it like this—been with anyone who takes me without an iota of fear or trepidation. And yet she takes even more, sliding my cock further, deep throating me. It’s the dirtiest blowjob I’ve ever gotten, the deepest too, and her mouth has only been on me for seconds.
I want to love her. I want this and only this for the rest of my life. Does she know? Does she know how long I waited for this? Not just her, but someone who would take all of me? She came along and exceeded all my expectations; she redefined them.
I rake my fingers through her pretty hair, careful not to move her mask. “The night you and I met, Lander called and said he needed me, and I knew exactly what was happening.”
Essie immediately stops sucking my cock and pulls back. At first I’m unsure why until—
“Shit,” I mutter when I realize: I said Lander’s name, and we’re still recording. I look in the direction of my phone. “ Shit . We have to stop.”
“I’ll bleep it out,” she promises, clasping her hand around the base of my cock before I can leave. “And I’ll cut this part out too. I’ll hire a cinematographer if I have to, but keep talking. Please.” She blinks. “You said you knew why he was calling you—to be his wingman, right?”
I nod. I can’t stop nodding. “The first time I saw you on a stream, I wanted you. The first time . Within minutes.”
She rests her hand on my hip. “Which video was it?”
“You, Valeria, and Cora filming in a cabin. I saw you and I knew you were supposed to be mine.”
“Yours?”
“ Mine ,” I reiterate. “Valeria was for Lander; I knew immediately. She was holding back, and Lander likes a challenge; she was perfect for him. And Cora? I knew Everett was going to love her. She was bold about being on camera, and Everett likes audacity. He likes things to be a little scary.”
I position one knee on the edge of the cushion. “But there you were, Essie,” I say, uttering her name for the first time while being intimate like this, knowing we’re going to cut this footage—knowing this is for us. “I could see it: You were playing sweet, but you had an agenda. I could tell. Money. Pleasure. You wanted it—and you were going to get it no matter what.”
Shifting, I arrange my cock between her tits.
“Months later, when Lander said I was going to meet you, I walked out of a dinner meeting. Dropped the ball on a four-million-dollar deal. Probably cut my bonus by twenty-five K. Didn’t care.”
Essie gives my cock a lick and says, “I was excited to meet you too.”
I still my hips. “What?”
She snickers. “You think I didn’t research Lander when he moved next door to my best friend? You think I didn’t learn everything about him and his friends?”
Now that she says it, no shit she did .
“I saw pictures Lander posted of you,” she continues. “You looked fun. So unhinged. So indescribably fine . Obnoxiously rich, as well. I wanted that—to look rich and expensive and to fuck rich and expensive guys like you.” Essie raises her shoulder. “I knew it was a matter of time.”
“You can’t mean that.” I’m so done—I am so in love with this woman, and it borders on scary because this is it . We have seventy-six hours and fifteen minutes left before we’re done, and the thought makes me want to die. I want to die.
Fuck it.
I end the recording before I position my cock between her tits once more and surge between them. “I love you,” I tell her, thrusting. “God, I love you.” Thrust . “And I’m going to love you for the rest of my life, Essie Romero.” Thrust .
She doesn’t object. She doesn’t even flinch. She simply nods, giving every miraculous inch of her body over. She always wanted me. Always. The depth of her desire has been as long and agonizing and hopeful as mine, and nobody understands this like her; nobody is ever going to understand this like her.
Her tits are soft and nurturing around my cock. I fit here. I belong here. Every nerve ending, every fine inch of skin on me was made to be with her, to indulge in the inimitable sensation of knowing someone, loving them inside and out.
It’s only her, only this, and for a guy who has never waited for anything in his life, I was so damn patient. My patience has only brought me misery, but I can revel in this moment, in her.
“Come on me, Daddy,” she requests. “Make a mess of me.”
I do anything she asks—including this. My cum goes all over her face and her bare breasts, splashing over her skin and marking her. She savors it with an open mouth and a smile in the crinkled corners of her eyes as she watches me.
Mine. Forever mine.
And her giggle is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard—maybe the most beautiful thing I’ll ever hear—until it’s broken by the sound of the door opening behind me.