15. Nathan Sr
NATHAN SR
Her message still burns in my ears—Come in and fuck me until I can’t remember how to hate you—and I catch myself grinning like a man who’s just been handed his sentence and his salvation in the same breath.
She’s already standing by the bed when I walk into the room, bare legs gleaming in the lamp glow, hair tangled from the nerves she pretends she doesn’t feel.
The hoodie she’s wearing barely skims her hips, and the curve of her breasts strains against the fabric.
Her mouth is swollen from the kiss we didn’t finish.
Her eyes are all wildfire and warning. I love every fragment of it.
“On the bed,” I say, letting the rough edge in my voice grip both of us.
I strip my jacket off, toss it onto the chair, and step toward her.
She doesn’t retreat. She climbs onto the mattress with a defiant tilt to her chin and I follow, capturing her ankle in my hand.
Her skin is warm from the sexting that detonated both our restraint.
I drag her toward me, the comforter bunching under her thighs, and tug the hoodie up and over her head. She’s nude beneath it. No bra, no panties. My breath leaves my lungs in a slow, uneven exhale.
The faint silver of the C-section scar slashes across her lower belly, a mark I didn’t earn, a history I didn’t bleed for.
Guilt punches me. I slide lower and kiss that scar, a series of apologies pressed into the skin I longed to touch while she labored alone.
Her fingers dive into my hair, clutching hard enough to sting.
“This is mine,” I murmur against the scar. “I should have been there.”
She trembles. I mouth the scar again, tasting salt, forgiveness, fury. Then I trail down between her legs.
The first stroke of my tongue is leisurely, a sweep from the wet entrance up the soft ridge of her clit. My name falls out of her and I respond by flattening my tongue and licking her again, slower, deeper.
“Eyes on me,” I command, glancing up. She’s already staring, pupils blown, breathy and furious and undone. “You put me outside this house for six years. You are going to watch me reclaim every inch.”
I hook her thighs over my shoulders, grip the backs, and dive in.
There’s nothing gentle left in me. I devour her as if I can erase the time we lost, tongue plunging into her, fucking her with wet, punishing strokes before sealing my mouth over her clit and sucking hard.
Her hips jerk. I pin them with my hands, fingers digging into soft flesh.
She moans, a raw, choked sound, trying to squeeze her thighs together. I pry them wider. “You keep that open for me,” I growl. “Or I pin you to the wall and start over.”
She obeys. Her hands slam onto the headboard, gripping the spindles, shoulders trembling. I suck harder, flicking my tongue over the sensitive bundle, then slide two fingers inside her. She clenches greedily. I curl them up, grind into that inner spot that used to make her sob, and she gasps.
“Nathan—” The name catches. She bites her lip until it whitens.
“Say it right.”
“Daddy,” she chokes, eyes rolling back.
Pride erupts in my chest. “That’s my girl.
” I double down, fucking her with my fingers while sucking, licking, devouring.
Her thighs tremble, her stomach tightens.
And when I drag my thumb across her clit in a hard circle, she snaps.
The orgasm slams through her like lightning.
She cries out loud, heedless, thighs shaking around my head.
I ride it, keep my mouth on her, keep my fingers moving until she’s writhing, until the aftershocks make her beg.
“Stop—Jesus—Nathan—”
“Not a chance,” I mutter against her flesh, licking her clean. Only when she’s whimpering from overstimulation do I pull back and kiss my way up her body, over her stomach, her ribs, her breasts.
I roll her onto her stomach, drag her hips up so her ass is high and her face is buried in the pillow.
I grip her waist, thumb digging into the scar again, and line myself up.
The drag of my cock through her slick folds almost unmans me.
No latex, no barrier, just heat and history.
I thrust in slow, a claiming stroke, until I’m buried to the hilt.
“Fuck,” I groan, the word torn from my chest. She’s molten, clenching around me like a fist. I grip harder, hunch over her, bite her shoulder.
“You feel that?” I rasp. “That’s six years of hunger.”
She moans into the pillow. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” I start pounding, long strokes, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the walls. “You hate that you still crave this.”
She keens, fingers clawing at the sheets. I wrap a hand around her throat, lifting her head just enough to hear her breath. “Words.”
“I still crave this,” she gasps. I slam into her harder, each thrust a promise, a punishment, a plea. The bed frame knocks the wall. She braces on her elbows, and I take advantage, sliding my hand beneath her to squeeze her breasts, pinch her nipples, make her gasp.
“Come,” I order, rubbing her clit with two fingers while still driving into her. “Come on my cock.”
She shatters. She’s sobbing, moaning my name, shaking so hard I have to hold her up.
I fuck her through it, everything in me focused on wringing every ounce of pleasure from her.
When she collapses, I pull out, flip her onto her back, and plunge back in from the front.
I hook her knees over my shoulders, folding her nearly in half, and pound into her at an angle that makes her see stars.
Her back bows, fingernails digging into my forearms. I catch one of her hands, pin it beside her head, lace our fingers.
“Look at me,” I growl. “Say you’re mine.”
Her eyes lock on mine, still shining with fury and tears. “I’m yours,” she whispers.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours.”
I slam harder, sweat dripping onto her chest. “Say Daddy.”
“Daddy,” she breathes, and the word snaps the rest of my control.
I release her hand, grab her hips, and pound until she’s sobbing again, orgasm after orgasm rippling through her. Every time her body clamps down I groan, forcing myself not to spill. I pull out, grab her arm, and haul her off the bed.
“Window,” I order, voice dark. “Hands on the glass.”
She staggers, flushed and shaking, but she obeys, pressing her palms against the cold pane.
City lights halo her hair. I step behind her, press my chest to her back, and slide down to my knees.
I lick her between her thighs, lapping up everything dripping down her legs.
She shrieks softly, forehead hitting the window.
The contrast of cold glass and hot tongue makes her shiver violently.
She whispers a plea, but I don’t stop until her legs threaten to buckle.
Then I stand, grip her hips, and guide my cock into her from behind.
Fucking her against the window is brutal and glorious.
The angle is different; it hits deep, grinding her clit against the glass.
Her reflection shows her flushed face, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth open. I lean forward, mouth at her ear.
“Look outside,” I murmur. “Imagine the whole city watching you take my cock.”
She whines, arousal dripping down her thighs. I slam faster, harder, the slap of our bodies rhythmic and obscene. She comes again, trembling against the window, palms squeaking on the glass. I hold her up, grip her throat gently, and ride every pulse.
I pull her away, spin her, and sit her on the windowsill.
Her legs fall open, and I sink to my knees, eat her again until she’s sobbing, then stand and feed her my cock, her mouth hot and eager despite how wrecked she is.
She sucks me with desperate focus, saliva dribbling down her chin, eyes locked on mine.
I thrust shallowly, fucking her mouth, panting.
My balls draw tight; I pull out before I lose it, dragging her back to the bed.
“Hands and knees,” I command. “Head down, ass up.”
She obeys. I kneel behind her and slide in again, this time reaching around to rub her clit while I piston.
Her sounds are broken, animalistic. Her shoulders shake.
I lean over her, bite the back of her neck, and grunt, “You feel that? That’s me taking what you kept from me. That’s me fixing what you broke.”
She sobs, “Daddy,” and that’s it—I hook my arm under her waist, lift her so her back is against my chest, and keep driving.
“I’m not done,” I snarl. “Get on top.”
She turns, panting, eyes wild, and straddles me.
She sinks down on my cock, slow, agonizing, and we both groan.
She plants her hands on my chest. I lace my fingers behind my head, let her control the rhythm.
She starts slow, grinding, rolling her hips.
Then she speeds up, bouncing, her breasts jiggling, sweat flying.
She rides like she’s punishing me, a fierce expression twisting her face. I let her, watch her, adore her.
She stares down, eyes burning holes in my soul. “You’re never leaving again,” she snarls.
“No,” I say, voice raw. “Never.”
She slams down, harder, faster. My cock pulses inside her, but I hold the line.
She’s breathing raggedly, spit on her lips, hair sticking to her neck.
She’s in control now, fucking me, taking me, claiming me.
And I look up at her—Artemis in human skin, the mother of my child, the love I will fight for until my last breath—and know there is no universe where I ever let her go again.