FORBIDDEN: CRAVING DADDY TOUCH

008

Tristan reaches for the hem of his shirt, the movement slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly where my eyes are glued. He pulls the fabric up and over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. The air leaves my lungs in a rush. I knew he was fit, but this is ridiculous. His chest is a sculpture of lean, defined muscle, the skin tanned and stretched tight over abs that ripple as he moves. A trail of dark hair descends from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers, drawing my eye inevitably to the bulge straining against the zipper.

He catches me staring. A crooked, arrogant grin splits his face.

"Like what you see, Anastasia?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave, turning into a dark, velvet purr that seems to vibrate in my chest. "I plan on talking just like this every second. Every minute. I want you to hear exactly what I’m going to do to you."

My mouth goes dry, but I force myself to scowl. "You’re insufferable."

"And you’re soaking wet," he counters effortlessly. He steps closer to the bed, his presence overwhelming. "Let’s see how wet we can get you."

I expect him to climb on top of me, to crush me with his weight again, but instead, he reaches for my knees. His hands are warm, palms rough, as he grips my legs and pushes them apart. I blink, confused by the change in tactics. I try to sit up, scrambling backward on the duvet to put some distance between us, but he’s ready for me. He doesn't let me retreat. With a firm grip on my ankles, he yanks me back down the mattress and pins my legs open, wide and vulnerable, exposing me completely to his gaze.

The cool air hits my heated skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his stare. He looks at my p***y like he’s examining a prize, his eyes darkening.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Absolutely perfect."

"Just f**k me and get it over with," I snap, desperation clawing at my throat. I need this to be done. I need him to take what he wants so I can try to piece myself back together. "This isn't necessary. Just do it."

Tristan shakes his head slowly, a look of mock disappointment on his face. "No, Anastasia. I don’t like leaving a woman unsatisfied. It’s bad for my reputation."

"I don't want to be satisfied!" I yell, my voice cracking. "I just want it to end!"

"Oh, it won't end," he says, his tone dropping, heavy with intent. "Not until I say it does."

He lowers his head between my thighs. Panic flares, but it’s instantly overtaken by sensation as his breath ghosts over my sensitive flesh. He doesn't touch me yet, just breathes me in, hot air wafting over my c**t. My breath seizes in my chest. I try to close my legs, to fight him, but his hold is iron.

"Please, Tristan, just—"

He cuts me off with a drag of his lips against the inside of my thigh. He trails kisses along the soft skin, alternating between soft, sucking presses and sharp nips of his teeth. I bite my lip hard, the copper taste of blood flooding my tongue as I fight to suppress the moan building in my chest. I will not make a sound. I will not give him the satisfaction.

Then his tongue is on me.

It’s a long, slow drag from my entrance to my c**t, and my resolve shatters. A broken, gasping sound tears from my throat before I can stop it. He doesn't hesitate. He licks me again, flattening his tongue to cover as much ground as possible, tasting every inch of me. My hips buck off the bed, seeking more of that friction, and I hate myself for it.

He focuses on my c**t, swirling the tip of his tongue around the bundle of nerves in tight, precise circles. My eyes roll back, the pleasure so sharp it borders on pain. I reach out, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the duvet, knotting in the sheets as if they can anchor me against the tidal wave of sensation.

"Tristan," I gasp, my voice unrecognizable.

He hums against me, the vibration traveling straight through my core. Then he stiffens his tongue and f***s me with it, thrusting in and out of my entrance in a rhythm that makes my toes curl. I’m moaning continuously now, soft, helpless sounds that I can’t control. Words I don’t recognize spill from my lips—a string of incoherent pleas and maybe a language I’ve never spoken, driven by pure instinct.

He pulls back slightly, and I cry out at the loss, but then his fingers replace his tongue. He slides one long finger inside me, curling it upward to find that spot that makes me see stars. His mouth returns to my c**t, sucking hard while he pumps his finger.

"Oh god, oh god," I chant, my head thrashing against the pillow.

He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me. He sucks my c**t into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive tip while his fingers scissor inside me, pumping faster, harder. The pressure builds low in my belly, a tight, coiling knot that threatens to snap. My thighs tremble uncontrollably.

"I... I'm..." I stutter, the words catching in my throat. "Tristan, I'm going to c*m. Please, I'm going to cum."

Abruptly, everything stops.

He pulls his fingers out. He lifts his mouth away. The cool air rushes back in, shocking my overheated skin. The knot inside me doesn't snap; it just tightens painfully, leaving me throbbing and empty. A desperate, pathetic whimper falls from my lips. It’s an ache so sharp it feels like physical punishment. I was right there, hovering on the edge, and he snatched it away.

Tristan stands up at the edge of the bed, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. He looks down at me, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Get up," he orders.

I want to whine, to beg him to finish what he started, but the command in his voice brooks no argument. My body moves on autopilot, sliding off the mattress until I stand on shaky legs in front of him.

"You can't c*m yet," he says, his voice rough. "Not until I say so."

He reaches out, grabbing the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. He pushes me down, guiding my face toward the straining fabric of his trousers. His c**k is half-hard, thick and heavy beneath the material.

"Suck me off," he commands.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I’ve never done this before. I’ve seen it in videos, read about it, but the reality of the heavy length pressing against my cheek is terrifying. My hands tremble as I reach for his waistband. I fumble with the button, my fingers clumsy, but finally, I undo it. I pull the zipper down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. I hook my fingers into his waistband and drag his trousers and boxers down in one motion.

His c**k springs free, slapping against his stomach. I swallow hard, my eyes widening. It’s... massive. Heavier and thicker than I imagined, the head flushed a dark, angry red and already leaking pre-c*m. Veins run along the shaft, pulsing with life. I stare at it, panic rising in my throat. How is that supposed to fit inside me? It looks impossible.

Tristan lets out a low chuckle. "Intimidated?"

I don't answer. I can't. I reach out and wrap my hand around the base. He’s hot and hard in my palm, the skin silky smooth. I lean in, sticking my tongue out, and give the head a tentative lick. The taste is salty and musky. I open my mouth as wide as I can and try to take him in, but he barely fits. My jaw stretches to its limit, and I can only manage to suck the tip, my hand working the rest of the shaft.

"That's it," he groans, his hand tightening in my hair. "Take as much as you can. You look so pretty with my d**k in your mouth."

His dirty talk washes over me, igniting a fresh wave of arousal between my legs. My p***y is dripping, the ache from his denial turning into a dull, throbbing need. Without thinking, I drop my free hand between my thighs, seeking relief. I rub my c**t, moaning around his mouthful of c**k.

Smack.

A sharp sting explodes on my ass cheek. I gasp, pulling back slightly.

"You don't touch yourself unless I say so," he growls. "You only get pleasure when I’m giving it to you."

"Sorry," I whimper, the word muffled.

"Get on the bed," he says, pulling his c**k from my mouth. "On all fours. Now."

The command is sharp, dominant. I scramble onto the mattress, positioning myself on my hands and knees. I feel exposed, my ass in the air, my face buried in the pillows. The mattress dips behind me as Tristan climbs up.

I feel the blunt head of his c**k sliding through my wet folds, teasing my entrance. He coats himself in my arousal, dragging the length of his shaft over my c**t. I moan, pushing back against him, desperate to be filled.

"You want this?" he taunts, gripping my hip with one hand.

"Yes," I breathe out. "Please."

"Remember," he whispers, leaning over my back, his chest pressing against my spine. "You don't c*m until I say so."

He lines himself up and thrusts forward, burying himself inside me with one deep, powerful stroke.