3. GEORGIE #2
No teasing strokes, no playful licks to draw it out—just the blunt, devastating press of his tongue sliding straight through my slick folds. The sensation rips a shattered cry from deep in my throat, raw and guttural, while the rich, musky scent of my own arousal floods the air between us.
He groans against me, the low vibration rumbling through my core like distant thunder, as if my taste is finer than the most expensive whiskey he's ever savored. The sound vibrates straight to my clit, making it swell and ache even more fiercely.
His tongue traces tight, perfect circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves, switching between long, broad laps that coat his lips in my cream and sharp, targeted flicks that send electric jolts racing up my spine.
My thighs tremble uncontrollably, the muscles quivering against the iron grip of his large hands as he holds me open wider, exposing every pink, glistening inch to his hungry gaze.
Two thick fingers push inside me without mercy, stretching the tight walls until the burn edges toward pain, yet the way they curl and stroke that hidden, spongy spot has stars exploding behind my eyelids.
The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping through my drenched heat fill the room, mingling with my ragged gasps and the faint creak of the mattress beneath us.
"So fucking tight," he growls, the words muffled against my pussy as he curls those fingers again in a way that makes my vision blur at the edges.
The pressure builds unbearably, a deep, coiling tension that has my walls fluttering and clenching around the intrusion.
"Can barely fit two. How are you going to take my cock, baby girl? "
The filthy promise in his voice sends a fresh gush of wetness spilling over his knuckles.
My mind spins, fragmented thoughts colliding—He's too big, too much, but God, I need it, I need him to wreck me—while my body betrays every reservation, hips grinding shamelessly against his face. "I—oh God—I don't?—"
"You will." His tone leaves no room for doubt, absolute and commanding, vibrating through my most sensitive flesh. "This greedy little pussy is going to stretch so pretty around your stepdad's cock. Going to watch you take every inch."
Before I can form another word, his mouth seals fully over my swollen clit, sucking with ruthless intensity while those fingers thrust faster, harder, the pads dragging relentlessly over that perfect spot inside.
The orgasm slams into me without warning, ripping through every fiber of my being like wildfire. My spine bows violently off the bed, muscles locking tight as a scream claws its way out of my lungs—high, broken, and utterly foreign to my own ears.
Wave after wave crashes over me, each one more intense than the last, flooding my veins with liquid heat until my toes curl and my nails scrape uselessly at the sheets.
The overwhelming pleasure whites out my thoughts completely, leaving only the pounding of my heart and the slick, relentless sounds of him drinking every drop I give him.
When the world finally bleeds back into focus, my limbs feel heavy and boneless, every breath coming in shallow, desperate pants that make my chest heave.
His stubble-roughened cheek rests possessively against the trembling skin of my inner thigh, the faint scratch of it a grounding contrast to the lingering spasms deep in my core.
Those dark gray eyes watch me with raw, predatory satisfaction, drinking in the flush on my cheeks and the way my nipples still pebble against the cool air.
"That's two." He presses one last, deliberate kiss to my oversensitive clit, the brief contact sending aftershocks jolting through me so sharply I whimper. "Going to make you come on my cock next."
"Gavin—" His name slips out in a trembling whisper, laced with equal parts awe and fear.
The thought of him forcing that massive length inside my still-pulsing walls makes my stomach tighten with a dizzying mix of dread and dark craving.
I've never let anyone this close, never felt so exposed, so owned. "I've never—you're so big?—"
"I know." He rises with deliberate slowness, the movement rippling through the heavy muscles of his chest and arms, tattoos shifting like living shadows under his skin.
Reaching down, he shoves the sweatpants from his hips, and my eyes widen at the sight of him springing free—thick, veined, and intimidatingly long, the flushed head already slick with precum that catches the light.
The dark ink continues in swirling patterns over his obliques before vanishing into the sharp cut of his hips, the visual so brutally masculine it steals what little breath I have left.
A fresh pulse of heat blooms low in my belly despite the lingering soreness, my inner walls clenching emptily at the mere promise of being split open by him. How can something so terrifying make me ache to be ruined?
His hand encircles that brutal length, the veined shaft pulsing hot against his palm as he strokes it with lazy, deliberate drags.
The slick sound of skin on skin fills the space between us, thick with the scent of my release still clinging to the air—musky, sweet, and unmistakably filthy.
“We’ll go slow,” he rumbles, the low vibration of his voice traveling straight to my core.
“But make no mistake—you’re taking every last inch before the sun comes up. ”
The mattress dips under his weight as he moves over me, his massive frame blocking out the low lamplight until all I see, all I feel, is him. Six-foot-six of corded muscle and swirling ink cages me in, the heat rolling off his skin like a furnace.
His scent—dark leather and something sharper, like ozone before a storm—wraps around me, invading my lungs with every shaky breath. One broad hand fists into my hair, the sharp tug at my scalp sending sparks racing down my spine and forcing my face up to meet his.
The other grips the base of his cock, dragging the blunt, precum-smeared head through my soaked folds.
“Breathe, baby girl.”
The first blunt press against my entrance knocks every ounce of air from my chest. Even drenched and fluttering from the aftershocks of what his tongue and fingers just wrung out of me, the sheer girth of him feels obscene.
My walls stretch around the wide crown with a stinging burn that radiates outward, deep into my belly.
My nails bite hard into the tattooed muscle of his shoulders, leaving crescent marks that I know will bruise by morning.
A broken whimper claws its way up my throat no matter how hard I try to swallow it down.
He freezes at once, that powerful body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Look at me.”
My gaze flies to his. Those eyes have softened just enough to steal what remains of my sanity—gentle in a way that feels impossibly tender coming from a man who could snap my neck without breaking a sweat.
“You tell me if it’s too much,” he says, the words rough but steady. “I’ll stop.”
The thought of him pulling away now sends panic spiraling through me. “Don’t stop.” The plea rips free, raw and trembling with hunger I barely recognize as my own. “Please—I want this. I want you. All of you.”
He rolls his hips forward another inch, and fresh fire licks up my spine. Tears blur the edges of my vision, hot and unwelcome, yet beneath the sharp ache blooms a darker, greedier heat.
My body aches to be split apart, to be claimed so completely that no one else will ever fit again.
My stepfather stares down at me like I’m the only fragile thing worth protecting in his blood-soaked empire, and the realization makes my heart slam against my ribs with equal parts terror and intoxicating devotion.
He could ruin me. He’s going to ruin me.
And God help me, I’m going to beg him to do it.
Another measured thrust seats him halfway. I feel everything—the thick ridges of his cock dragging along hypersensitive nerves, the heavy throb of veins pulsing against my fluttering walls, the impossible weight of him forcing my body to yield.
It should be agony. Instead it feels like destiny, like every empty, lonely year before him had been waiting for this exact moment of brutal possession.
“Daddy.”
The word falls from my lips unbidden, cracked and desperate, soaked in surrender I didn’t know I possessed.
Gavin goes rigid above me. Every muscle in that powerful frame locks tight, the tattoos on his arms and neck standing out in stark relief as his breath stutters.
Those gray eyes ignite with something wild and untamed, pupils blown wide with raw, animal need. The air between us crackles, thick with the scent of sweat and sex and the faint metallic tang of danger that always seems to cling to him.
My pulse thunders in my ears while my slick walls ripple helplessly around the thick invasion, greedy for more even as fear and forbidden thrill twist tight in my chest.
Inside my head, the thoughts tumble over one another in a frantic rush. I just called him Daddy. Out loud. To the most terrifying man in the city. What the hell is wrong with me? Why does saying it feel so right, so filthy, so necessary?
My nipples tighten to aching points against his chest, milk already threatening to bead again at the mere sound of his growl building deep in his throat. Every inch of me feels electrified, owned, on the razor’s edge of shattering apart beneath the weight of his stare.
"What did you just call me?"
Terror and arousal war in my chest. "I—I'm sorry—I didn't mean?—"