21
AIDEN
Whatever Scarlett played at, it was killing me. Almost as if she were using terms that a little would use on purpose and teasing me by calling me “Daddy.” I was worse than a nineteenth century heroine in love with a rake, but I wanted to accept her words as truth—that she wanted to be my little girl. Oh, how I wanted to believe.
I’d never responded to a female based on smell and the sound of her voice, as I did with Scarlett.
And like a nineteenth century heroine in trouble, getting hurt again scared me.
“Am I doing it right?”
All my worries fled when she wrapped her warm hands around my shaft and caressed me up and down.
“You are doing it perfectly… oh Judas Priest!” She had me frozen beneath her touch. I wanted to bury myself in her, but if I moved, the severe pleasure mi
