Page 29 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

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.