The Man my Daughter Loves

If I had an ounce of sense, I’d have left the second he offered me that drink. But no. Here I was. On his bed, lips tangled with his, head spinning, and heart beating too fast. His hand gripped my waist—firm, steady, and shameless. Like he already knew I wouldn’t stop him. A low gasp escaped me—needy, involuntary. Every warning in my head blurred the second he dragged me closer, his body flush against mine. I wasn’t some clueless girl in a cheap romance flick. I knew exactly what this was. I just didn’t care anymore. He kissed me harder, hungrier—as if he was chasing something buried in my throat. His fingers slid into my hair and tugged, tilting my head until I gave him full access. My legs parted without permission, drawn to the pressure of his knee pressing in. I could barely breathe. Everything inside me felt hot, alive, reckless. And damn, it was addictive. He tasted like liquor and ruin. Exactly the type I never learn from. A sound slipped out of me—desperate, broken—as his lips moved lower, grazing my jaw, then down my neck. Each kiss lit something up, leaving sparks behind that made me twitch and grab at his shirt. Then his hands found the thin straps of my dress and pushed them down, slow, like he was unwrapping something he didn’t want to rush. Cool air hit my skin as the fabric slipped past my shoulders, baring me completely to him. He pulled back—just long enough to look. Really look. “You have such beautiful t**s,” he muttered, cupping one breast, thumb brushing lazily over my n****e. It sent a jolt through me. The words shouldn’t have wrecked me. But they did. Then his mouth was on me, tongue flicking, sucking with just enough pressure to make my back arch. I gasped and pulled him closer, fingers tangling in his hair. His other hand found the second breast and massaged it with slow, focused strokes, like he was learning me. “Oh Gosh…” It came out soft. Too honest. He smiled against my skin, voice rough. “Too much?” I didn’t answer. Just let out another sound—half moan, half breath—as his hands slid beneath my dress. Palms dragged slowly up the backs of my thighs while his mouth stayed right where it was. My dress bunched around my waist. I was already shaking, already needing more. “Thought so,” he muttered. Then his fingers found the waistband of my panties. Teasing. Testing. I tensed. Not because I wanted to stop. But because the reality hit all at once—what I was doing, where I was, who I was doing it with. He felt the shift and paused. His hand stopped, resting just above the lace. “You good?” he murmured, voice low. No. I—I was half naked in bed with a stranger’s mouth and hands all over me. But I mean… his touch hadn’t hurt. It hadn’t even felt reckless. It felt like I’d already said yes, the second I walked through his door.. I swallowed. I nodded—probably too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” His gaze lingered for half a second, like he was waiting for my body to agree. There was no point pretending anymore—I was soaked, aching, already half-undone just from the way he was watching me. “You’re quiet now,” he said, voice low against my ear. “Where’d all that sharp mouth go, hm?” I didn’t answer. Not when his fingers dipped past the lace and slid between my folds, like he already knew what he’d find. A choked sound escaped me—part gasp, part whimper. He cursed under his breath. “f**k! You’re dripping.” My hips jerked forward, instinctively, desperate for more. He chuckled. Actually chuckled. The bastard. And then he sank one thick finger inside me like it was nothing. I bit down on a moan, but he heard it anyway. He curled it. “You were never gonna walk away, were you?” he murmured. “You wanted this the second I looked at you.” He added another. My legs shook, back arched, my fingers gripped the sheets until I was sure my bones would pop out. “f**k…” I whispered. It wasn’t even to him. Just a surrender — a soft, breathless confession to the ceiling. He moved lower. Kissed a path down my body, slow, like he was savoring every inch. I felt his breath before I felt his mouth, and by the time he reached the inside of my thigh, I was gone. Already writhing. But then—he stood. My eyes flew open. He smirked, casually unbuttoning his shirt. “Relax,” he said. “We’re just getting started.” I hated how relieved I felt. Hated that he noticed it, too. Shirt off, tattoos everywhere—ink crawling up his left shoulder, disappearing behind his collarbone. A tiny gold chain hung around his neck, something worn and cheap-looking, out of place. A keepsake? Before I could process it, he knelt again, yanked my panties off like they’d offended him, and spread me open. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said. Then his mouth was on me. No warm-up. No hesitation. Just full, devastating contact. I screamed. One hand flew to his hair, the other to my mouth, trying to stop the noise I wasn’t in control of by now. He groaned at the pressure of my grip, like my desperation turned him on even more. He licked up every drop like he needed it. Tasting me. Sucking. Circling my c**t, then flattening his tongue and dragging it slow. Then again. “Oh my God—” He didn’t stop. Not when my legs started trembling. Not when my back arched so hard I nearly slid off the bed. Not even when I begged for him to slow down. He pulled back only once. “I haven’t even started, Bella.” Then he slipped two fingers back in and sucked my c**t at the same time —he was trying to make me cry, I was so sure of it. I broke. The o****m hit fast and vicious. A full-body surrender — loud, breathless, uncontrolled. My thighs clamped around his head, and he didn’t even flinch. He held me there, drinking it in like I was the only thing on the menu. When he finally came up for air, his lips were glistening, and he had the nerve to smirk like he hadn’t just ruined me. “Think you can take me now?” he asked, voice like smoke. I blinked, dazed. My whole body was still twitching. He kissed my inner thigh, then leaned over, grabbing a condom from the drawer like he lived here. I watched him tear it open, roll it on his thick, hard c**k, heavy in his hand. My mouth went dry. Every inch of him was obscene. Unfair. He didn’t rush. Just crawled back over me, strong arms caging me in, eyes locked on mine. “I’m not gentle,” he muttered lowly as he brushed the hair away from my face and pressed another hot kiss to my lips. “I don’t want gentle,” I whispered. “Just f**k me.” His jaw clenched. And then he did. One hard, smooth thrust was all it took. We both moaned — loud, guttural, like we’d been holding it in too long. “You’re tight,” he groaned. “You feel so f*****g good.” All I could do then was hold on and moan uncontrollably as he moved, slow at first, drawing out the drag of every inch, then faster, deeper, slamming into me so hard the bed creaked, slamming into the wall with each thrust. He gripped my hips hard. Each thrust pushed me higher up the bed. I felt every ridge, every twitch, every vein. He leaned down, mouth trailing heat along my throat as his hips ground deeper. His breath was hot. His voice filthy. “You’re mine tonight” I whimpered. “That’s right. Say it.” “I—I am,” I gasped, nails digging into his back. “Yes… I am...” He growled. Then flipped me over, yanked my hips up, and slammed back in from behind. My moan turned into a cry. “You’re taking me so good, baby. Look at you.” He reached around and rubbed my c**t, cruel and perfect at the same time. “You gonna come again for me? Hm?” “Yes, yes—please, I’m—” And I did. Harder than the first. My body locked up, then shattered completely. He followed seconds after, hips jerking, moaning low as he emptied into the condom, head buried in my neck like he was trying to anchor himself to me. For a moment, there was silence. Just breathe. Sweat. Skin. His arms were around me. My legs tangled with his. Then he kissed my shoulder and said, “You’re staying the night.” Not a question. A statement. And I was too tired, too sore, too satisfied to argue.