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He leans forward, lips at my ear. “I’d tie you down so tight you couldn’t twitch. I’d edge you until you screamed, until you forgot your own name. I’d wipe your mind so clean, the only word you could remember is ‘Daddy.’” He bites my earlobe, just hard enough to sting, and I gasp.

My voice is a whisper. “If I ever tried to run, I’d deserve it.”

He stands up, one arm under my knees, the other firm around my back, and carries me down the hallway to his bedroom.

He deposits me on the bed with a gravity that makes my stomach do flips, then rearranges me onto my knees, folding me forward until my shoulders hit the blankets. My face is buried in his pillow, arms awkward under me, sweater riding high up my back, and I hear the sharp rip and snap of elastic as my underwear is yanked down to my thighs with zero ceremony.

I wriggle, half from surprise and half from panic-laced anticipation. Before I can get my bearings, his hands spread me open, and his mouth finds me.

I don’t mean in some tentative, teasing way. He devours me. There’s no other word for it; Adrien’s tongue moves with the ruthless focus of a man who’s spent hours picturing this exact moment and is determined to possess every inch of me.

It’s filthy and embarrassing and perfect. I’m only distantly aware of how I must look—ass in the air, thighs spread, completely at his mercy—because the rest of my brain is white noise and sensation, breath catching on every stroke and curl of his tongue. I can’t help the sounds I make, the tiny desperate whimpers that bubble up every time he sucks at me or pushes deeper with the flat of his tongue.

I can’t move, anyway. He’s holding me down, eating me out like it’s all he wants in the world, and I am just a toy, a treat, a thing for Daddy to enjoy again and again. The thought should scare me. Instead, it makes me tremble, my cock trapped under my belly, leaking steadily onto his comforter.

He pushes two thick fingers in alongside his tongue, the stretch making me cry out. I buck hard—he just growls and holds me steadier, working the digits deeper, curling them until I am twisting, begging, drooling into the pillow.

“Daddy—please, please, please—” My voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper, but I know he hears me. He always does.

He fingers me mercilessly, tongue flicking over the tight ring of muscle with every thrust, until I’m slick and shaking and so wet I can hear it. My cock is throbbing, untouched, but the pressure builds with every pass of his tongue until I’m right at the edge, teetering with nowhere else to go.

Then he does something with his hand—crooking his fingers just so, pressing hard against that place inside me—and the world tilts completely off its axis. I shout into the pillow, my whole body locking up as I come, untouched, a hot pulse painting the sheets under me. I feel it everywhere, in my hands, in my toes, in the place where his tongue is still working me through it, not relenting for a second.

I’m blinking away aftershocks, drooling into the pillow, when Daddy withdraws his fingers with a filthy, wet sound and purrs, “Such a good boy.”

I hear his belt sliding through the loops, the snick of the buckle drowned out by the sound of my own heartbeat. I twist, desperate for him, but he’s already working his jeans open, rough and hungry, and the anticipation is worse than anything I could have imagined.

He lines himself up, his cock hot and heavy and perfectly hard, and for one split second he holds me open, the blunt head of him pressing right where I’m still spasming from the last orgasm.

“Ready?” he growls.

I can’t speak, so I nod, forehead mashed to the pillow, hands locked into the comforter.

“Use your words, baby. You want Daddy to fuck you?”

I almost whimper. “Yes. Please. I want—”

Whatever I was about to say drowns in the sound I make as he pushes in, deeper and deeper, slow and steady, a single relentless motion until he’s fully seated inside me. My back arches. My whole body tries to climb away from the impossible stretch, but Daddy just holds me down and shoves the rest of the way in, grinding his hips against my ass until I can feel the rough fabric of his jeans burn my bare skin.

He waits, letting me tremble and adjust, then strokes his hand up my spine, soothing even as he rocks his hips, tiny, torturous motions that have me mewling into the bedding.

“You feel that?” he rasps. “You feel how fucking wet you are for me? This is what happens when you’re a good boy, Kammie. I ruin you. I make you mine, and then I do it again, and again, and again.”

He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, building a rhythm that is slow but merciless, grinding so deep it feels like he’s trying to slide up into my chest cavity. Every time he bottoms out, he holds there, grinding in tiny circles that set all the nerves inside me on fire, then drags out agonizingly slow before slamming back in.

I can’t think, can’t breathe, can only take it. I’m drooling, crying, shuddering, my cock already twitching back to life even though I just came. I want to tell him he’s perfect, that I’ll never run, that I’ll do anything he wants, but all that comes out is desperate, wordless pleading.

He fucks me like that for what feels like forever, never letting up, never giving me a second to regroup.

He’s not saying anything, at least not with words—just these low grunts that vibrate straight into my bones. The only things I hear are the wet slap of skin, the drag of his breath, and the humiliating, obscene noises I keep making every time his cock spears deep. My arms feel weak, like they could buckle anytime, but he’s got me—hands gripping my hips so tight I’ll probably have marks. I want them. I want to wear them for days.

“Look at you,” Adrien pants, voice almost a snarl. “You love this, don’t you? You love when I fuck you stupid. When you’re so full of Daddy you can’t think about anything else.”

I shudder, a whimper catching in my throat. All I can do is nod, but he seems to need more, so I gasp, “Yes, yes, I love it—”

“That’s right,” he growls, fucking into me harder, each snap of his hips stealing the air from my lungs. “You’re mine, Kammie. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I choke out, and he pistons into me so deep my eyes water. There’s no room for shame. I’m leaking all over the sheets, and I want nothing more than for him to break me apart.