Somehow, I manage to remove my mouth from the damp heaven between her thighs, her beauty bowling me over. Stumbling me back. Has she been made more beautiful since we arrived at the apartment? She’s a siren leaned back on her elbows, nudity laid out in front of me like a gift from God. I’m not sure where I find the control to reach for the stainless-steel refrigerator handle with my left hand, opening it and removing a pot of stewing apples.
“What’s that?” she asks in between reedy breaths.
“I’m not a dessert chef, but I make an apple tarte tartin on occasion,” I say raggedly, barely able to concentrate with my dick so stiff. Still, somehow I proceed to carry the pot to the counter beside Claire. Setting it down at her hip, I remove the lid and stir my still-wet pair of fingers through the sweet concoction.
Both of us exhale in disbelief as the contents of the pot turn a deep, dusky rose.
“Oh, my goodness,” Claire whispers, dipping her pinky into the pot and bringing it between her lips, her pupils dilating so rapidly, I reach out to steady her, afraid she’s going to lose consciousness. “Oh, Draven!”
Eager to experience the same bliss as Claire, I bring the entire pot to my lips and tip it sideways, gulping a mouthful of magic. Pure fucking magic.
All because of her pussy.
“I’ve fallen for the eighth wonder of the world, haven’t I?” I mutter, tossing aside the pot and dragging my girlfriend into my arms, partaking of her drugging mouth as I carry her to the bedroom, overcome with lust at the way she clings to me, giving, willing, soft, eager. “No one can know what you’re capable of, little girl, or you’ll be stolen from me,” I say sternly, laying her down on top of my bed where she nods at me with unhesitating trust. I must keep her safe. I must guard her from the frenzy she’s capable of inciting. “You are priceless. In every way. You’re pricelesswithoutthe way you taste, Claire. But Christ, you’re also a drug that can’t be manufactured. People would be desperate to get some if they knew.”
I lean down and rub my face against her smooth little cunt, swearing it glows in the darkness of my bedroom.
“Only Daddy will know how special you are,” I whisper, agonized by the pain in my balls. It’s spreading throughout my abdomen and twisting. Demanding I rut her. “Is that clear?”
“Only Daddy,” she repeats, making me a promise with her eyes as I loom above her.
And I hold on to that promise, humbled by it, and I begin feeding her inches.
Chapter Seven
Claire
I’m spellbound by the man looking down at me.
Draven. My Draven.
A lock of his dark hair spills at an angle in the center of his forehead, his muscles seething around me, that thoroughly inked chest rifling up and down, his teeth clenching as he fills me slowly. Slowly. At first, the sensitive flesh at my entrance welcomes the sturdy friction, but now that he’s getting deeper, flashes of hurt stab me in the tummy. Instinctively, my body attempts to adjust, shift, get away from the pain, but Draven stops mid-way, bends down and kisses me. Tenderly. So lovingly that I feel his commitment in the center of my chest.
The weaving of our tongues loosens the tautness inside of me and soon, my knees are easing wider to allow his hips. And he takes the permission, cradling the back of my head and looking me right in the eye while he finishes sinking, my sex cradling the entire ample weight of his shaft now.
“I can’t believe how stiff it gets,” I wail, tossing my head on the comforter. Pinned. Nowhere to go. Nothing I can do but withstand the low tickle that is slowly creeping up on me, making my stomach feel funny, the insides of my thighs tingling, clenching.
“I’ve never been this stiff for anyone but you,” he breathes between hearty pulls of my mouth, my lips puffy from how deeply and often he partakes of my kisses, unable to help it. Unable to do anything but consume my apparently singular taste. “And I’ll never get stiff again for anyone but you.” He tilts his hips forward and grinds inside me with a prolonged groan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Ohhhh, sweet hell. My little girl is the holy fucking grail, isn’t she?”
I’m still having a hard time comprehending what my body can do.
But I can see and feel my boyfriend’s reactions in real time, the unholy length of him and how it ripples and jerks inside of me every time I breathe or shift my hips. I witnessed his awe when he included me as an ingredient in his creations. I’m not having a bizarre dream.
All of this is real.
I’m not some lowly stepdaughter who gets pushed around and abused.
I’m…special.
I’m this incredible man’s fantasy come to life. He’s shaking above me, muttering about miracles, moving his hips side to side to give me time to adjust. And when my body begins to sing, no longer in need of that consideration, I decide…I like it here.
Beneath my man.
Astounding him with what I make him feel.
Something he said earlier drifts to the front of my mind.
It’ll be a miracle if I make it one thrust.