Chapter 9
nine
. . .
Kate
It's been six days since I broke Lucas. Six days of pure bliss.
Six days of his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin, his cock buried deep inside me.
We can't get enough of each other. The need is constant, overwhelming, like we're trying to make up for all the time we wasted dancing around each other.
My body is covered in whisker burns and love bites, delicious reminders of how thoroughly I've been claimed.
And I love it. Love belonging to him. Love the way he looks at me now—no more guilt, no more restraint, just pure, possessive hunger that makes me wet instantly.
He's insatiable, and so am I. We've christened every surface of this house, it seems—the kitchen counter, his office desk, the shower, the hallway.
Anywhere and everywhere the need strikes us. And it strikes often.
This morning, I was making coffee when he came up behind me, his broad chest pressing against my back, hands sliding under my t-shirt (his t-shirt, really—I've claimed all his softest ones) to cup my breasts.
"Good morning, angel," he growled in my ear, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they hardened to stiff peaks.
Before I could respond, he had me bent over the counter, panties pushed aside, his thick cock driving into me from behind. The coffee was cold by the time we finished.
Yesterday afternoon, I was studying in his office while he took calls, sitting across from him at his massive desk.
When he hung up from his last meeting, I crawled under the desk and took him in my mouth, sucking him until his fingers tangled in my hair and he came with a strangled groan of my name.
The night before that, he carried me to the shower, pressed me against the tile wall, and ate me out until I screamed, water cascading over his dark hair as he knelt between my thighs.
Then he stood, lifted me easily with those powerful arms, and fucked me under the spray until we both came so hard our legs gave out.
It's like we can't stop touching each other, can't bear to be apart. When we do have to separate—for his work, for my classes—the tension builds until one of us breaks. Usually him. He'll find me wherever I am in the house, eyes dark with need, and take me right there.
But it's not just the sex, though God knows that's incredible. It's the way he holds me after, large hand stroking my hair, whispering praise that makes me flush with pleasure. The way he brings me water, makes sure I eat, wraps me in his arms at night like he's afraid I'll disappear.
It's the things he says while he's inside me that really undo me, though. Filthy praise that makes me clench and whimper and beg for more.
"Look at you, taking Daddy's cock so perfectly," he'll growl as he thrusts deep. "Such a good girl for me."
Those words—"good girl"—do something to me I can't explain. They melt me from the inside out, make me desperate to please him, to earn more of that praise. I come hardest when he whispers those words in my ear, telling me how proud he is, how perfect I am for him.
"My perfect little angel," he'll murmur as I ride him. "Daddy's so proud of how wet you get just for me."
Right now, we're in the living room. I'm bent over the arm of the couch, my sundress pushed up around my waist, Lucas standing behind me, his cock driving into me with deep, measured strokes. His hand is tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my back, to make me take him deeper.
"Whose pussy is this?" he demands, punctuating the question with a particularly hard thrust.
"Yours, Daddy," I gasp, fingers digging into the couch cushions for support. "Only yours."
"That's right," he growls, the hand not in my hair landing a sharp smack on my ass that makes me yelp and then moan as pleasure blooms in its wake. "And don't you forget it."
He picks up the pace, fucking me harder now, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin filling the room along with my whimpers and his grunts. I'm close, so close, the tension building low in my belly as his cock hits that perfect spot inside me with each thrust.
"I'm gonna come," I warn, voice breaking as the pleasure intensifies. "Please, Daddy, can I come?"
"Good girls ask permission," he praises, his thumb finding my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. "Come for me, angel. Let me feel that tight little princess pussy squeeze my cock."
I shatter at his command, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me as I cry out his name—his title—that word that drives him wild. "Daddy! Oh god, Daddy, yes!"
He's still pounding into me, chasing his own release, when we hear it—a knock at the front door, followed immediately by the sound of it opening.
"Hello? Lucas? Kate? Sorry to barge in, but I knocked several times and—"
Mrs. Peterson, our neighbor from down the road, stops dead in the doorway to the living room, her mouth falling open in shock as she takes in the scene before her: me bent over the couch, dress around my waist, Lucas standing behind me with his cock buried deep inside me.
Lucas freezes, his body going rigid with panic. I feel him start to pull away, to cover me, to hide what we're doing.
But something defiant flares in me. I'm tired of hiding. Tired of shame. Tired of people thinking they have any right to judge what we have together.
Before Lucas can withdraw completely, I turn, dropping to my knees in front of him. His eyes widen in shock, but I don't hesitate. I take his cock—still wet from my arousal—into my mouth, wrapping my lips around the thick head while maintaining direct eye contact with our unexpected visitor.
"Kate!" Lucas hisses, hands hovering uncertainly near my head. "What are you—"
But I don't stop. Instead, I take him deeper, one hand wrapping around the base of his shaft, the other cupping his balls gently. I suck him slow and deliberate, making it clear to Mrs. Peterson exactly what I'm doing—and how much I'm enjoying it.
The neighbor stands frozen, clutching her casserole dish, face flushed crimson with embarrassment.
But I don't care. I don't stop, don't even slow down.
I hollow my cheeks, take him deeper, feel the head of his cock hit the back of my throat.
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I worship Lucas's cock with my mouth, silently daring her to judge us, to say a word against what we have.
As for Lucas, he loses it. His initial shock fades, replaced by something darker, more primal. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head, not pushing, just guiding, claiming.
"Jesus Christ, Kate," Lucas groans. His control snaps, fingers tightening in my hair as his hips begin to thrust, fucking my mouth with measured strokes.
I take it all, relaxing my throat to let him in deeper, eyes watering but never breaking contact with his. I want him to see my devotion, my pride, my complete lack of shame in being his.
"Gonna come," he warns, trying to pull back, but I grip his hips, keeping him deep in my throat. "Fuck, angel, I'm coming—"
His release floods my mouth, hot and salty, his cock pulsing against my tongue as I swallow every drop. He groans my name—a broken, reverent sound that makes my heart swell with pride.
The woman finally unfreezes, stammering apologies as she backs toward the door.