4. Jessica #3
"You're leaking again."
I am. Milk beads at my nipples, trickling down the curves of my breasts in thin white trails. The fullness is back, sharper now, amplified by the adrenaline and arousal flooding my system.
"Come here," he says, and guides my breast to his mouth.
The first pull sends a shockwave through me. Relief and pleasure collide, radiating outward from where his lips seal around my nipple, and I moan, my inner walls clenching around him.
He groans against my skin, the vibration shooting straight to my core, and starts to move—shallow thrusts that rock me on his lap, each one pushing him deeper.
He sucks harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, and I move with him, rolling my hips, chasing the building heat.
The pain fades into something else—fullness, friction, the obscene wet sounds of our bodies moving together in the water.
"That's it," he murmurs between pulls. "Ride me, baby girl. Take what you need."
I do. I rock faster, finding a rhythm, my hands braced on his shoulders. Every thrust sends sparks up my spine, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my belly. His free hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit, and I gasp, my head falling back.
"Jordan—"
"I've got you." He switches breasts, latching onto the other nipple, sucking deep pulls that match the rhythm of his thumb circling my clit. "You're perfect. So fucking perfect for me."
The orgasm builds fast, a wave gathering force, and I'm right on the edge when the word slips out.
"Daddy."
We both freeze.
His mouth goes still on my breast. His hand stills between my legs. He lifts his head, gray eyes locking onto mine, and the intensity there steals my breath.
"Say it again," he says.
My face burns, but the word feels right in a way nothing else has. The name for what he is—the man who showed up, who took care of me, who's inside me right now making me feel things I didn't know I could feel.
"Daddy," I whisper.
His jaw clenches. "Fuck."
He lifts me off him in one smooth motion, the sudden absence of his thick cock leaving me clenching around nothing but cool water. Before I can catch my breath, he spins me around like I weigh nothing, which, to him, I probably do.
My palms slap against the slick tile at the edge of the pool steps, the rough grout biting into my skin as he bends me forward.
My ass juts up out of the water, exposed and dripping, while the heated pool laps insistently at my spread thighs, teasing the oversensitive folds still throbbing from how he'd stretched me open moments ago.
He steps in close behind me, his massive frame casting a shadow that blocks the blue glow from the underwater lights. One hand clamps down on my hip, fingers digging in, the other fists his cock, thick and heavy, nudging the blunt head against my entrance.
The chlorine-scented steam curls around us, mixing with the raw musk of sex and the faint, sweet tang of my milk that still clings to the air.
He drives into me with one brutal thrust, bottoming out so deep my toes curl against the submerged step. I cry out, the sound echoing off the glass walls, because fuck, this angle lets him grind against that spot inside me that makes my vision spark.
No pain, just an overwhelming, slick fullness that borders on too much, his girth splitting me open, the veins along his shaft dragging against my walls with every inch.
"That's my good girl," he growls, the words vibrating through his chest as he sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward hard enough that the water splashes violently around us.
Each slap of his pelvis against my ass sends ripples outward, the warm liquid kissing my skin like a thousand teasing tongues.
"Taking Daddy's cock so well. I will fill you up and watch your belly swell with my child.
You were made for this, baby girl. Made for me. "
The word sinks into me like a hook, pulling at something deep and filthy I didn't know was there until tonight. My inner walls flutter around him involuntarily, milking his length as shame and raw need twist together in my gut.
God, I shouldn't love it this much—the way he claims me, the way my body betrays how desperately I need him to keep doing it. My hair sticks to my damp cheeks, and I push back against him on instinct, chasing the stretch, the burn, the way his balls smack wetly against my clit with every drive.
I moan loud and broken, the sound raw in my throat, as his free hand trails up the length of my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake despite the humid heat.
His palm settles heavy at the nape of my neck, possessive, controlling, pressing me down just enough to arch my back further.
It makes me feel small, pinned, utterly his. His other arm snakes around my ribs, fingers finding my aching breast, kneading the swollen flesh with just the right pressure.
Milk beads at the tip and leaks freely now, warm and slippery, coating his palm as he strokes and squeezes in time with his thrusts.
The relief is dizzying, mixing with the slick sounds of him pounding into my soaked pussy, the faint milky scent blooming between us like a dirty secret.
My mind fractures under the onslaught. This is so wrong, so fucking good—Daddy, he's my Daddy, filling me up where no one else ever has.
The thought loops, filthy and addictive, as pressure coils tighter in my core, my nipples throbbing in his grip, my clit pulsing with every brutal slap of his hips.
"Come for Daddy," he rasps, voice gravel-rough and commanding against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. "Come on my cock, baby girl. Let me feel it."
His thumb finds my swollen clit again, circling with merciless precision, and that's it—white-hot pleasure crashes over me like a breaker against the shore. My vision whites out completely, body seizing as sharp, pulsing waves rip through every nerve.
I scream, the sound tearing from my chest—his name, or "Daddy," or some garbled mix of both, I can't even tell anymore. My pussy clamps down hard around him, fluttering and gushing, the contractions so intense my thighs shake and my fingers scrabble uselessly at the wet tile.
He doesn't stop, fucking me through every aftershock with relentless snaps of his hips, drawing it out until I'm a whimpering, leaking mess.
His rhythm finally stutters, hips jerking erratically as a guttural groan rips from deep in his chest. I feel him swell impossibly thicker inside me, then the hot, forceful spurts of his come flooding my depths, marking me from the inside out.
The sensation sends another helpless ripple through me, my body milking every drop as we stay locked together, panting, the water still lapping gently at our joined bodies like it's trying to soothe what we've just broken wide open.
We stay there, both of us breathing hard, the water lapping gently around us. Then he pulls out slowly, carefully, and turns me to face him. His hands cup my face, and he kisses me—deep, possessive, thorough.
When he pulls back, his mouth curves into a crooked smile.
"I'm late," he says. "But that was so fucking worth it."