His calloused palm cups my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where he kissed me breathless only minutes ago. That kiss had been slow at first, careful, like he was afraid I’d break. Then it turned hungry. Now his dark eyes are nearly black in the firelight, pupils blown wide.
“You still with me, little one?” His voice is gravel dragged over stone, low and rough.
I nod, swallowing. “Yes.”
“Yes what?” He lifts one dark brow.
My cheeks burn. “Yes… Daddy.”
The word feels filthy and perfect on my tongue. His nostrils flare. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
“Good girl.” He leans in and kisses me again—deeper this time, tongue sliding against mine in a slow, claiming rhythm that makes my thighs clench. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “I’m gonna take real good care of you tonight, Emma. You just breathe and tell me if it’s too much. Promise?”
“I promise.”
He rolls me gently onto my back, coming over me like a storm cloud, caging me with thick forearms braced on either side of my head. His weight stays on his elbows—he’s so careful not to crush me—but I still feel every solid inch of him pressing me into the mattress. The coarse hair on his chest scrapes my sensitive nipples through the thin cotton of my borrowed shirt. I whimper.
Rhett’s mouth finds my throat, beard scratching deliciously as he kisses down the column of my neck, then lower, nosing the neckline of my shirt aside so he can suck a bruise into the soft swell of my breast. My back arches. He growls against my skin.
“These little tits are perfect,” he mutters, voice muffled. “Been dreamin’ about them since the first night you slept here.”
He drags the shirt up and over my head, tossing it somewhere in the dark. Cool air hits my skin and I shiver. His big hands cover my breasts completely, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re tight, aching points. Then his mouth is there—hot, wet suction—and I cry out, fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair.
He spends long minutes on my breasts, licking and sucking and scraping his teeth just enough to make me gasp, untilI’m writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together, slickness soaking through my panties.
When he finally lifts his head, his lips are swollen and shiny. “Need to see all of you, baby.”
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties and drags them down my legs in one slow pull. I instinctively try to close my thighs, suddenly shy, but he catches my knees and spreads them wide, settling his hips between them.
“Look at you,” he rasps, eyes fixed between my legs. “So pretty and wet already. This little pussy’s never had anything inside it, has it?”
I shake my head, biting my lip. “No.”
He groans, low and pained. “Gonna be the first. And the only.”
His hand slides down my belly, rough fingertips tracing the seam of me. I jolt at the contact. He parts me gently, middle finger circling my clit in slow, slippery loops until my hips are lifting, chasing the pressure.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let Daddy make you feel good first.”
He works one thick finger inside me—slow, so slow—watching my face the whole time. There’s a slight stretch, a delicious burn, but it’s nothing compared to the ache building low in my belly. He curls that finger, stroking a spot that makes my toes curl and a broken moan tear out of my throat.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls. “Gonna need to open you up real careful.”
He adds a second finger, scissoring gently, stretching me while his thumb keeps working my clit in steady circles. I’m pantingnow, hips rocking, hands clutching the sheets. The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet cabin.
When he finally withdraws his fingers, I whine at the loss. He shushes me with a kiss, then sits back on his heels between my thighs. His hands go to his belt. The clink of the buckle makes my pulse spike.
He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough. His cock springs free—heavy, thick, veined, the head flushed dark and already glistening. My eyes widen. It’s… huge. Much bigger than his fingers. The sight of it makes my inner walls flutter with equal parts nerves and want.
“Rhett…” My voice shakes. “I don’t—I don’t know if it’ll fit.”
He leans down, forearms bracketing my head again, and kisses me soft and slow. “It’ll fit, baby. I’ll make it fit. You were made for me.”
He notches the broad head at my entrance, rubbing it up and down my slit, coating himself in my wetness. Every pass over my clit makes me whimper.
“Eyes on me,” he orders, voice rough. “Wanna see your face when I take you.”
I lock my gaze with his. He pushes—just the tip—and my breath catches at the stretch. It burns, but it’s a good burn, the kind that promises more. He stops, letting me adjust, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle ticking.