3. Chapter 3
Iget my hands under her arms and lift. She comes up easy, lighter than she looks, and I set her on the counter with her feet dangling and her knees apart. The tile's cold against her thighs; I can tell by the way she flinches, but she doesn't close them.
Her nightshirt's stuck to her skin. I peel it up from the hem, slow, and she lifts her arms over her head the way a kid does when you're putting them to bed, and the cotton comes off wet and heavy and lands somewhere on the floor.
Both nipples are dark and hard, and there's a bead of milk sitting on the left one, fat and white, and it rolls when she breathes.
I hook my thumbs in the waistband of her underwear. She lifts her hips off the counter for me without being asked. The cotton's wet in the crotch, not from milk, and I pull them down over her knees and drop them on top of the shirt.
"Lean back," I say.
She leans back on her hands. Her belly's round and tight between us, and her hair's stuck to her cheek, and there's milk drying on her chin from before. She looks at me like she's waiting to find out what I am.
I put my mouth on her right nipple first and pull. There's more than last time. It comes hot and fast, and she makes a sound in her throat and her whole body lets go of something. I drink her down, and she's got one hand in my hair now, not pushing, just holding, like she's afraid I'll stop.
"Does it still hurt?" I ask when I come up for air.
"Yes."
"Then I'm not done."
I take the left one, and she's fuller there, harder, and it comes slower, thicker, and she's got both hands in my hair now, and her heels are hooked on the edge of the counter, and she's breathing through her nose like she's trying to be quiet and can't quite manage it.
When both tits are soft and empty, I don't move away. I slide my hand down her belly, over the stretch of it, and she doesn't stop me.
She's already wet, slick, and I push two fingers into her, and she gasps, and her knees come up, and her cunt grips me like a fist. I feel the pulse of it, the clench, and I don't pull back.
I push deeper, curl up, find her G-spot, and her back arches off the counter, a sound caught in her throat like she's swallowing a scream.
Her hand finds my wrist, not to stop me, but to hold on, nails digging in, and I feel her thighs tremble around my hand, that tremor running up her body, and she's not breathing now, just a held, shaking stillness, and I watch her face, the way her mouth goes slack, the way her eyes go dark and lost.
"Ray—"
"Quiet," I say. "You'll wake your mother."
She bites her lip, and I watch the white of her teeth press into the pink.
I curl my fingers, find that spot, that rough little patch of flesh, and I work it slow, circling, pressing, and she's dripping down my wrist now, warm and slick, and her hips are rolling to meet my hand like she can't help it, like her body's got a mind of its own and it's all aimed at me.
I put my mouth back on her nipple just to feel her jump, and she does, a full-body flinch that shudders through her ribs, and she whines low in her throat, a sound that's half breath, half ache, and her thighs clamp around my forearm, hard, holding me there like she's afraid I'll stop.
I don't. I keep the pressure steady, keep my tongue flat on her, and I feel the pulse of her, the heat of her, the way her skin goes tight and goosebumped under my palm.
She comes like that. Fast and hard and silent except for the sound she makes through her teeth — a sharp, bitten-off hiss that's more animal than human — and her cunt clenches down on my fingers over and over, milking me, gripping me like she's trying to pull me deeper inside her, and her belly shakes under my palm, a tremor that runs through her whole body like a wire pulled taut and snapped.
I feel every pulse of her, every flutter, the way her hips tilt up into my hand before she can stop herself, the way her thighs lock around my wrist and hold me there, hard, like she's forgotten where she is or who she is or that there's a world outside this kitchen.
I keep them in her till she stops. Till the last shudder dies out of her and her breathing goes from ragged to shallow to something almost steady.
Then I pull them out, slow, and they're glossy with her, slick and warm, and I put them in my mouth, and the taste of her hits me — salt and skin and something underneath that's just her, just this — and she watches me do it, her eyes dark and fixed on my mouth, and her face does something I can't name.
It's not shame. It's not pleasure. It's something raw and cracked open, something she didn't mean to show me, and she looks at me like she's seeing me for the first time and doesn't know what to do with what she sees.
I pull my fingers out of my mouth and look at her. She's still propped on her hands, knees open, wet down her thighs and shaking. Her mouth's open like she's going to say something and doesn't have it yet.
"I want to fuck you," I say.
She doesn't move for a second. Then her chin comes up, and her eyes find mine, and she says it plainly, no wobble in it at all.
"Please."
"Please what."
She swallows. Her throat works. "Please fuck me, Ray."
I get my belt undone and my jeans down past my hips, and my cock's been hard so long it aches when the air hits it.
She watches me do it. Watches the whole thing, doesn't look away, and when I step in between her knees and drag her ass to the edge of the counter, she lets me, her heels hooking behind my hips like she's been waiting her whole life to be pulled into place.
I rub the head of it through her first, up and down, slicking myself on her, and she hisses through her teeth and her hands come up and grab my forearms. "Don't tease me," she says. "I can't — Ray, I can't."
"Say it again."
"Fuck me."
I push in. Slow, all the way, and she's so wet it's one long slide, and then I'm buried to the root, and her cunt's clamped down on me like it's trying to keep me. She makes a sound — low, punched out of her, the kind you can't fake — and her head falls back and her hair spills across the counter.
"That's it," I say. "Take it."
I move. Long strokes, pulling out almost all the way and driving back in, and the counter's creaking under her, and she's got one hand braced behind her and the other clawed into my shoulder, and she's meeting me, hips rolling up off the tile every time I come down.
Her tits are bouncing with it, soft and empty now, and I catch one in my palm, and she gasps and arches into my hand.
"Call me Daddy," I say.
Her eyes fly open. She looks at me — really looks, that same raw cracked-open look from before — and for half a second I think she's going to say no. Then her mouth moves.
"Daddy," she says. Quiet. Like she's trying the word out.
"Again."
"Daddy." Louder this time. "Daddy, please — harder —"
I give it to her harder. I get a hand under her ass and haul her up off the counter so she's hanging on me, feet off the floor, and I fuck her standing, her whole weight on my cock, and she's got both arms around my neck now, and her mouth's at my ear saying it over and over — Daddy, Daddy, don't stop, don't you stop — and I can feel her getting tighter, that first flutter starting deep in her, the one that means she's close.
"You gonna come on Daddy's cock?"
"Yes — yes —"
"Her whole body locks up and then breaks, and she bites down on my shoulder to keep the noise in, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave marks, and her cunt milks me in long rolling pulls, and I feel every one of them go up my spine.
Her thighs are shaking against my hips, and she's making a high, thin sound into my skin, and I keep going, keep driving, because I'm not done and I'm not letting her down yet.
"I'm gonna fill you," I tell her. "You want that?"
"Yes." Her voice is wrecked. "Yes, Daddy, fill me, please —"
I come. Deep, all the way in, and it's hot and thick and it keeps coming, pulse after pulse, and she takes every drop of it, her cunt gripping and pulling like she's trying to get it all.
I hold her there through it, both hands under her ass, her feet still off the floor, until the last of it's out of me and my legs are shaking too.
Then I ease her down onto the counter. She lies back flat, chest heaving, and I pull out slow and watch it come after me — my come running out of her, thick and white, sliding down over her cunt and onto the tile, mixing with everything else that's already wet down there.
She doesn't close her legs. She just lies there breathing with her hair stuck to her face and one hand still on my arm, and I stand between her knees and look at what I did to her, and neither of us says a word.