4. Athena #2
The satisfaction that gives me is immediate and wicked. I lean in and kiss the tip first, just to feel him twitch, then take him into my mouth with a slow drag that makes his head fall back slightly.
His hand comes to my hair at once, but he merely holds me instead of shoving or guiding.
“That’s it,” he says roughly. “Easy.”
I take more of him, hollowing my cheeks, learning his reactions the way he learned mine.
Every breath he gives me is heavier now, less controlled, and the knowledge that I can do that to him sends a dizzy thrill through me.
I work him with mouth and hand together, savoring the way his stomach tightens under his shirt, the way one forearm braces against the wall beside my head, veins standing out under his skin.
“That’s my girl,” he says. “So fucking pretty like this.”
I moan around him at that and he curses softly.
My scalp tingles where his fingers tighten in my hair. “Look at me.”
I do.
The expression on his face is enough to ruin me all over again. Hungry, yes. More than hungry. Possessed. Almost disbelieving in the most flattering possible way, like he cannot quite believe I’m really here, really kneeling for him, really taking him into my mouth after years of wanting.
I take him deeper.
He groans, low and broken. “Jesus Christ.”
I pull back just enough to breathe and he guides me again, setting the pace now, not rough but unmistakably in control.
The rhythm turns dirtier, wetter, my lipstick probably ruined if I still have any on, spit slick on my hand and his cock and the sound of it all embarrassingly obscene in the room.
“Such a good mouth,” he says. “Made for this.”
Praise blooms through me like liquor. I moan again, and this time he stops me.
“That’s enough.”
I blink up at him, dazed and needy.
He draws me to my feet with one hand under my arm, then gathers my face in both palms and kisses me hard, almost punishing in the heat of it.
“If I let you keep going,” he says against my mouth, “I’ll come before I’ve finished with you, and I’m not doing that.”
The line sends a fresh pulse between my thighs.
He turns me, bends me briefly over the nearest surface just long enough to let his hands roam over my back and ass and the backs of my thighs, groaning quietly at the sight of me. Then he lifts me again and carries me the few steps to the narrow bed.
He spreads me out there and looks at me with open, ravenous appreciation.
“Stay.”
The command is absurdly effective. I lie there shivering while he undoes more of his shirt, exposing hard muscle and that maddening spread of chest dusted with just enough hair to make my mouth water.
Silver fox doesn’t even begin to cover it.
He is all mature heat and earned confidence, all strength under restraint, all the dangerous polish of a man who knows exactly what he can do with his body and exactly how to make it feel like a privilege when he uses it on you.
He kneels over me and kisses his way down, worshiping in earnest now. My breasts again, slower this time. My stomach. My hips. The inside of each thigh, making me spread wider for him with every touch. Every kiss feels chosen. Every pause feels like a lesson in suspense.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters against my skin, more to himself than to me.
My heart squeezes hard at the rough honesty of it.
Then his mouth is on me again and this time it’s somehow worse, because now he knows exactly what I sound like, exactly how I move, exactly which pressure makes me beg.
He alternates between broad, filthy strokes and precise little flicks that make me jerk under him, and every time I say Daddy he answers with a deeper groan and another murmur of approval.
“That’s it.”
“Good girl.”
“Let me have it.”
“Take it.”
“Spread for me.”
I do everything he says. Gladly. Shamelessly. My body has chosen its allegiance and it is not on the side of dignity.
When he pushes two fingers into me I nearly scream. He works them slowly at first, curling them with maddening precision while his tongue keeps me lit up and helpless. The stretch is delicious, the rhythm unbearable, the combination enough to make me clutch at the sheets and babble nonsense.
“Feels good?” he asks, though the question is almost mean.
“Yes, Daddy, yes—”
“That’s right.”
He adds a third finger only long enough to make my whole body bow, then goes back to two, thrusting them in slow, sure strokes while licking me through every wave of pleasure until I’m openly begging.
I come again with his name and title tangled together, a breathless, desperate “Daddy, Nathan, please—” that dissolves into a cry when he gives me exactly what I need and drags me over the edge.
He kisses his way back up my body afterward, soothing and worshipful, collecting every aftershock with his mouth. I am wrecked by the time he reaches my lips again, boneless and glowing and still twitching every time his fingers brush my thigh.
He nudges my knees wider and settles between them.
The head of his cock slides through my wetness once, twice, coating himself while I gasp into his mouth.
My heels dig into the mattress. My hands clutch his shoulders.
He is so hard, so warm, and I can feel the heavy drag of him against me, feel exactly what is about to happen, and my whole body goes taut with need.
His forehead rests against mine.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark velvet now, frayed at the edges. “So ready for me.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He kisses me once, deep and claiming.
Then he lines himself up and pushes forward just enough for the first thick inch to breach, and the stretch steals the air from my lungs in a sharp, helpless gasp.
There.
That impossible first fullness.
That hot, deliberate invasion.
That maddening, measured pressure as he begins to enter me and then stills, holding himself there while my body clenches around the part of him I’ve already taken.
“Oh god—”
His hand slides to my throat, gentle, possessive, thumb resting under my jaw as he makes me keep my eyes on him.
“No,” he says softly, almost smiling. “Try again.”
My cheeks burn. My body shakes.
“Daddy.”
“That’s right.”
He sinks in one fraction deeper, not enough, nowhere near enough, and his mouth brushes mine while I tremble around him.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “Now take the rest.”