Page 16 of My Girl to Ruin

“Yours.”

“Again.”

“Yours, Daddy—”

I lose the last of my control right there. I hook her leg over my arm, open her up, and go deeper. She cries out, her back coming off the bed, her hands still obediently above her head even though I let go of them two strokes ago.

That does something to me. The fact that I stopped holding her and she stayed.

“You’re perfect,” I grit out. “Taking me like that. So fucking good for me.”

I feel her start to tighten. “Not yet.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. You hold it until I say.”

She sobs into my shoulder, and she holds it. I keep her there—right on the edge, one stroke at a time, until she’s shaking apart underneath me and making sounds that aren’t words.

“Now.” My thumb finds her clit and presses. “Come for me.”

She shatters, and the feel of her pussy clamping down around me is the end of every last thing I had. I bury myself deep and let go with her name in my mouth. My orgasm seems endless, thick ropes of cum filling her. For one long, white second, there’s nothing else in the world.

Afterward, I clean her up and get her back into bed. I pull her against me, and for a while, neither of us says anything.

“Are you okay?” I ask eventually.

“I’m so far past okay I can’t see it from here.”

Something that might be a laugh moves through my chest.

She’s quiet for a minute. Then, into my ribs, she whispers, “What did you think about? In there.”

Four years of people asking me questions I didn’t answer.

“Depends on the day,” I say.

“That’s not an answer.”

“No.” I look at the ceiling for a while. “The first year I thought about Tyler. All of it. Every version of that road where I do something different.”

Her hand goes still on my chest.

“After that, I stopped because it didn’t go anywhere.” I have to work at the next part. “So I picked something else to think about instead. Something that hadn’t happened yet and might.”

“What?”

“You,” I say. “Graduating.”

She doesn’t say anything at all. But her face turns into my chest, and after a second, I feel it, warm against my skin. I hold on to her and let her cry in my arms.

***

I wake before her. That’s not unusual. What is, is the fact that I don’t move.

She’s curled into me like she was assigned the position, one arm across my chest, her face pressed into the pillow just under my shoulder. Her hair spills across the pillow in soft waves. Morning light comes through the thin curtain and lands on her, and she looks younger asleep, softer, untouched by any of it.

Her lashes rest against her cheeks, long and dark, casting faint shadows over her skin. Her lips are slightly parted, full and still flushed from the night before. She fits here. Too well. That’s the problem.