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I spread her wide, and the noise she makes is obscene. Her pussy grips my fingers like a vise, wet and hot and desperate, and I finger-fuck her hard enough that the bench creaks.
“Please, Daddy, please make me come with your fingers. I need it. I need more.” The words tumble out in a rush, desperate and raw, and something in my chest tightens.
My fingers stop inside her for half a second as the word goes straight through me. Every possessive instinct I have bares its fucking teeth. She has no idea what she does to me when she calls me that.
With a low growl, I scissor and curl my fingers inside her needy cunt. Kira’s back arches, a moan tearing from her throat that’s so loud I’m glad the room is soundproofed. I work her with my fingers, my thumb finding her clit, circling it the way I know drives her crazy, and she rocks against my hand shamelessly, chasing every curl of my fingers and every circle of my thumb.
“Mmm,” she moans. “Right there, Daddy. Please don’t stop again.”
I don’t pull away when she starts to clench. I keep going, watching her come apart. Her orgasm rips through her. Her whole body locks, her pussy clamping down on my fingers so hard I can barely move them.
“Domenico! Oh God! Daddy, yes. Don’t stop…” Her words turn to raw, unfiltered sounds.
I don’t stop. I keep my fingers inside her, working her through it, feeling her pussy pulse around me, listening to the broken, gasping sounds coming from her throat. She’s begging for more before the aftershocks have even faded, her hips pushing back against my hand.
The woman who screamed in my face three days ago—who told me exactly what she wanted, who stood her ground and refused to back down—is now begging me with every fiber of her being, and the contrast should be jarring.
It’s not.
It’s perfect—she’s so fucking perfect. Because I need both the fighter and the beggar. I need the woman who slaps me and the woman who falls apart in my arms. I need every version of her, and the realization is so fucking terrifying I can barely breathe around it.
Wrapping her long hair around my hand, I pull until her neck arches. “I need you to come on my fingers one more time, baby.”
My fingers slide deeper into her pussy, and I fuck her with my hand until she comes again, harder this time, her whole body shaking, her voice breaking on my name. I keep my fingers inside her, feeling her clench around me, listening to the way she begs for more, even as she’s coming down from the peak.
“Please, I need more,” she moans. “Please, Daddy, I need you inside me.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
Fuck.
My attention drops to the part of my wife I still haven’t taken. Her pussy, wet and swollen, stretching around my fingers. My cock throbs so hard I see spots. The need to push inside her, to feel her tight around my length—it’s fucking unbearable.
I’ve held back because I knew she wasn’t ready. Because I knew she was performing. But now… is my wife ready to take me the way I’ve wanted to since the first time I saw her in that white dress?
I grip her hip with my free hand, steadying her trembling body, and pull my wet fingers from her pussy. She makes a sound of protest that cuts off when I speak.
“Stand up.”
She pushes herself off the bench slowly, her legs unsteady, then steps out of the yoga pants and panties pooled around her ankles. Her ass is covered in the marks I put there, her sports bra clinging to her sweat-damp skin.
Kira turns toward me, flushed and breathless, her hazel eyes dark with want. When she reaches for me, I step back.
“I want to touch you, Daddy,” she whines, pursing her lips.
Her hand freezes in the air between us. Confusion flickers across her face, then something hotter. Something that matches the fire in my chest.
“Mmm,” I groan. “I want that too, baby. But not here.”
With those words, I pick her up, easily throw her over my shoulder, and carry her back to the bedroom. I set her down beside the bed.
“You want to touch me, baby?”
She looks up at me through her long, dark eyelashes. “Yes, Daddy. I want to touch you.”
“Undress me.”
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