Chapter 30 - Kate
If I have any sense left, I should run while I still can.
Escape the fallout. Dodge the coming war.
Save myself from ruin and heartbreak. Sense was never my strong suit.
I’m running headlong into my dark romance fantasy without a helmet, brakes, or bracing for impact.
Skeletons are emerging from closets, and I want front-row seats when they chase the Romans down the street.
If I had any brains, I wouldn’t be this turned on by a man who breaks into my house and lives the way all antiheroes do, carrying me from the ice cream parlor to the arcade like I’m his prize.
The size of him, the power he holds in check, the gentleness with which he handles me when I’m vulnerable makes my damn thighs clench.
To hell with it. I want to be Grumpy Daddy’s prize.
Want him to fuck me like I belong to him.
Ruin me worse than any missile can ever do.
Shake underneath him while the world burns around us.
I want to be claimed, marked, broken open, worshipped, and wrecked like I’m the war worth losing.
Wet his jacket from all the dirty words he whispers in my ear.
Oops. My bad. Slick smears his jacket as he positions me on the pinball machine and steps back.
He rests his elbow on one arm, props his helmet chin on his fist, and sizes me up like the predator he is. “Still good, Glitter Bomb?”
Every muscle in my body is coiled from years of bracing for the wrong kind of touch or look. With him pressed against me, caging me like I’m a treasure, I’m not afraid. I’m in control when I let him take me.
“No more questions, Daddy.” I slide off the machine to shake off my coat. “Unless they involve dirty talk.”
“Stop!” he barks at me, and I fall still. “Hands by your side.”
Oh, dominant Daddy is here.
“Yes, Daddy.” I smile and do as he tells me.
He undresses me with unhurried motions, peeling off my layers, stripping me back to primal hunger with heated kisses and squeezes.
When I’m left in nothing but my panties and bra, his hands skim my hips in a possessive yet reverent pass.
Fingers drag lower, over my ass, down the back of my thighs, taking my panties with them.
Soft nips of my thighs draw shivers from me.
“Good girl.” He kneels in front of me and undoes his boots, keeping his gaze pinned on me.
Fuck, my morally gray stalker on his knees, offering up his sins for me to bless them. Good God. Here comes the striptease. Shirt off. Pants next. It’s more than a religious experience.
“Did you bring me here to play naked air hockey?” I lean back on the machine.
“I brought you here to moan,” he growls, discarding his briefs, palming his cock and massaging the bead of precum into his head.
Absolved of his crime, he removes something from the interior pocket of his jacket. A condom. He stands, breaking the short distance between us, pressing me up against the machine. Daddy lets me shred the wrapper, and he surprises me, lowering it over the joystick instead of his cock.
“Scared of germs?” I laugh, confused. “Or committed to safe gaming?”
He lets out a dark chuckle and turns it over in his palm tenderly. “This is my lucky joystick.”
“Did you steal it?” I drag my toe along his chest, teasing. “My, oh my, you’re collecting lots of orange flags.”
“I borrowed it,” he corrects, thumb reverently ghosting the globe in the same way he touches me. “Dad grounded me for a week for taking it. Marched me back to return it and apologize to the arcade owner.”
He wraps his fingers over it, treasuring his childhood possession.
“Mom found it the second time I borrowed it. Disinfected it and let me hide it in the laundry cupboard.” His voice dips into the space he rarely lets me hear. “Warned me not to let Dad see me with it, and urged me to beat the top score at the arcade.”
An aching breath escapes him. It’s more than an old gaming tool to win a stupid arcade game. It’s the last scrap of nostalgia, comfort, and joy.
“Enough reminiscing.” He grabs my coat from the floor and folds it like a pillow, draping it over the machine.
On his return, he lifts me effortlessly onto the machine, positioning me in a crouch. His hands slide up my thighs, fingers rough and callused, made for violence, spreading me open with devastating patience.
“Lie back, Glitter Bomb.” He applies gentle pressure to press my back against my coat. “I’m going to watch you fuck the joystick, Glitter Bomb.”
Oh God. My brain glitches. Did he just say that? No one’s watching, but it feels like they are. My eyes sweep the length of toys along the counter. Flick to the corners, searching for cameras.
He grabs my hips. “There are no cameras. I won’t let these bastards watch you spread for me like this.” He collars my throat and forces me to look at him. “This is just for me. Now dance, cowgirl.”
This is the dirtiest and hottest thing we’ve ever done.
I rock against the joystick, shameless, bold, and unapologetic, the way he described my obsession with Celine Dion songs.
Every press of the small object to my clit sparks heat in me.
I want him to watch. To take pleasure in mine.
Dare him to do more. Once, this kind of vulnerability felt overwhelming.
Now? It’s a victory I claim in full view of the only man I want to see it.
The smooth curve of the stick nudges exactly where I want it, and a moan slips out. Fuck, I feel powerful, a one-woman show, setting this arcade on fire.
Daddy’s grip on my hip tightens. Power coils in his body, an unspoken promise that he’s about to prove exactly who’s in control. Let him think that. The tight knot in him is unwinding, and I’m the one winning this battle.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Fuck. Look at you, baby. This is my safe space, and I want it to be yours too.”
I used to think intimacy was something I’d survive, not enjoy.
Endure, not crave. Here I am, arching into him, drinking down his kiss, clutching his shoulders, like I’ve been starving for this kind of closeness my whole life.
This isn’t just the stalker fantasy I romanticized to take back my power, it’s real.
He doesn’t just take my body, he holds my trust, and he has no idea how rare that is.
His rhythm on my clit quickens, and I’m so wet, so turned on, my brain turns to glittery soup. The pressure is maddening, yet not enough. Pleasure winds hot and sharp through my belly and explodes between my legs.
“That’s my girl, come all over the machine,” Daddy praises. “I want you dripping all over it.”
He drags the joystick over my heat right through my aftershocks, then puts it next to me.
A dark rumble shudders in his throat as he lifts me to the floor, holding me still while I wobble and get feeling back in my legs.
He fastens my blindfold, and I lean on his shoulders.
Carpet fibers compress under his weight as he kneels at my feet, and threads one of my legs over his back.
“Messy little thing.” He drags a finger through my slick and tastes me.
I jerk against him. His other hand grips my thighs, keeping me open for him, right where he wants me. He pulls my hips to his mouth and feasts on my juices, his tongue moving with cruel precision, cleaning me up. When he finishes, he kisses the space between my thigh and hip before releasing me.
“Use your words, Glitter Bomb. What do you want?” His palms track the length of my legs as he lifts into a stand. “Where do you want to be fucked?”
“Pinball.” My breath comes in short bursts, and I can’t think past anything but him touching me and feeding me his cock.
His hand snaps out and cracks me on the side of my ass. “Greedy little brat. What are you supposed to say?”
Oh, I love it when he gets all Daddy and unforgiving. “Please, Daddy. I want you to fuck me on the pinball machine.”
“That’s better.” He places me back on the pinball machine and gives me his mouth. “You know what I want to do?”
“What, Daddy?” I grind against his cock.
“I want to ruin you.” He gives me a taste of the meaning, nudging his tip into my entrance and pulling back.
“Then do it, Daddy.” I grab hold of his arms, knowing this is going to be rough and wild.
Boy, is it ever. We’re tangled, my legs around his hips, his hands clawed on my thighs, his mouth bruising mine.
There’s nothing patient left in him. He’s frantic and feral, and I fucking love it.
His cock stretches me and fills me. Teeth latch onto my neck hard enough to make me whimper.
The feet of the machine scratch the floor as he pounds into me.
The edge of the machine digs into the back of my thighs with the sweetest bite.
I don’t care. Not with his breath hot against my cheek, his growl buried in my throat, his mouth sucking on the flesh under my ear.
A flurry of lights flash underneath the blindfold as he grinds into me and attempts to reach the highest score this machine has ever seen.
Dirty words spill from him in broken whispers. “So tight… fuck… you were made for this, baby.”
The machine hits the wall with a thud, prompting chiming bells and rapid-fire beeps. I whimper, not wanting to leave evidence of what we did.
Daddy doesn’t care and drives me closer to Hell with each plunge. “You take me so well.”
And I don’t care if we’re going to burn for an eternity or get arrested for this because it feels so fucking good.
“Do I—” I gasp at his pace. “Get bonus points if I make it light up?”
His lips brush my jaw. “Keep going, and I’ll give you a high fucking score and another plushie.”
A strangled sound escapes me, half laugh, half moan, and I bite his shoulder to stop myself from coming too early. He doesn’t flinch, just shoves into me harder.
His fingers are punishing on my thighs. “Fuck, Kate. I’m not gonna last if you clench me like that.”
I can’t help it. I’m lost to every punishing thrust. I lose track of words. Of time. Of anything that isn’t the delicious drag of his cock, the slapping of our bodies colliding, the filthy praise in my ear.
He picks up the pace, slamming into me harder, and I swear the plaster on the wall gives.
I cry out, loving his rough and relentless ferocity.
One hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back so he can lick and bite my throat, marking me as his.
His other hand shifts from my hips, clutching the joystick and slipping it between us, stroking my clit in time to his thrusts.
I break with a cry that should shatter all the glass and plastic in the place. The sound echoes off every machine and wall. My legs shake. I moan his name again and again, until I forget how to say anything else.
“Fuck.” He follows with a growl, hips jerking as he spills inside me, heat flooding my core.
We stay like that, him buried deep, me slumped over the pinball machine, him on top of me.
Lights flash. Bells ding. Electronic sounds whir.
I laugh, breathless. “I think we just got a high score.”
He chuckles into my throat. “Pretty sure we broke the machine.”
He’s seen the woman behind the glitter armor and doesn’t try to dress me in sequins and hide me behind a smile.
With him, I don’t have to be the loudest color in the room to hold his attention.
I can be quiet, bare, and still feel seen.
And that’s more powerful than any mask I adopted or any weapon I’ve clutched.
A reckless and dangerous fire curls under my breast. God help me, I’m in love with a man who can break me a hundred different ways… and the worst part is, I’ll let him and thank him.