Make Me Beg, Daddy

Chapter 60

Kane clearly couldn’t care less. He knocks my knees wider with his hips and kisses me again, deeper, until my head tips back and bumps the mirror. His mouth goes to my throat.

He drags it down the side of my neck, open and wet, dirty and shameless.

My token resistance is a trembling whisper. I try to turn my head, to push him away, but his grip tightens. His thumb is pressing hard against my jaw, forcing my lips to stay locked with his. A feral growl rumbles out of his throat and vibrates against my skin.

When he finally breaks the kiss, a strand of saliva glistens between us.

“You get sweeter every time I taste you,” he breathes.

His hand slides down my belly, finds the hem of my dress, and pulls it up. The first touch of cool air on my thighs makes me shiver.

I get one powerful urge to push it back down and hold it there. The fluorescent bulb over the mirror is the least forgiving light in all of Brooklyn and there is a lot of me under this dress.

Kane catches my wrist without even looking at it. “No.”

“I’m just⁠—”

“I know what you’re doing.” He puts my hand up on the counter’s edge. “Keep it there.”

Then he looks at me. His eyes are tortured and swimming with heat. “Do you have any idea,” he growls, “how long I have wanted to do this?”

I don’t have a joke. For once in my life, not one. No puns, no quips, no nothing.

“I didn’t f*****g think so.”

He hooks his fingers in my underwear and takes it down, past my knees, over one shoe and then the other.

Then he drops to one knee in front of me.

“Kane!” I hiss. “What the hell are you doing?”

He laughs, with a cruel, dommy tint to it that makes me flush from head to toe. “Do you really need it explained?”

“You can’t— We can’t⁠—”

“I dare anyone in this house to stop me,” he says.

He lifts my leg over his shoulder and puts his mouth on me.

He’s not in a hurry. I didn’t realize it until now, but I have a very old idea in me that this sort of thing gets done quickly and with a certain amount of holding of the breath, and that after it’s over, you say thank you and then get to work on the other person.

That’s the arrangement. The unspoken deal.

Kane is operating off a different playbook.

“Tell me what you want.” He lifts his head half an inch. “Where. How. Faster, slower. You’ll tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t—” I manage. “I don’t really do that.”

“You don’t say what you want?”

“Not out loud, historically speaking. No.”

“Then tonight will be a very entertaining first.” He turns his face and kisses the inside of my thigh.

He inhales the scent of me, then drags his broad tongue slowly from the base of my p***y up to my c**t, teasing the swollen nub. I gasp and squirm, so he digs fingers into my thighs to pin me there.

“Are you going to tell me what you want?” he asks. “Or are you going to make me punish you for your silence?”

“I…”

But I just can’t do it. A lifetime of refusing to stand up for myself has muzzled me when I so badly want to tell him how to push me over the edge.

I don’t think he minds the latter option, though.

Because the half of his face that I can see turns into an evil smirk—and then he slows his licking to a crawl.

It’s torture. That’s the only word for it.

He flicks the tip of his tongue around—but not quite on—my c**t in soft, teasing circles.

Just close enough to tease.

Just far enough to torment.

I grab his hair by the roots. “You… asshole!” I stammer.

“You can end this anytime you want,” says Kane. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you exactly that.”

He laps around the lips of my s*x. So close and yet so far away.

“I… I… Oh, please just give me more.”

He chuckles. “That’ll do, for a start.”

Then he takes mercy on me, drawing the sensitive bud of my c**t into his mouth. His lips seal around me and he sucks.

It’s like tightening every nerve in my body. I’m instantly at a breaking point, wound to an impossible degree, all of it centered where his mouth is destroying me.

He says he wants me to tell him what to do, but I think he’s managing things just fine.

He alternates between soft sucks and hard, relentless licks, his tongue plunging deep into my entrance, tasting my wetness, then pulling back to lap at my folds with broad, hungry strokes.

My hips start to move on their own. I’m grinding on his face. In the past, maybe I would’ve been shy or embarrassed about that and stopped myself.

But Kane cups my butt cheeks and pulls me toward him. I’m gushing with desire and he laps up every drop with filthy noises.

“f**k, you taste so good,” he says in a muffled grunt. “Tell me when you’re close.”

My nails dig into the edge of the sink. The tension keeps growing. I’m going to snap soon, and there’s no telling what’ll happen when I do. I’ve never gone quite this high before.

“I… I’m… close,” I breathe, my voice shaking.

He puts a hand on my hip and holds me down when my knees start going. His other hand spreads flat and hard across the top of my thigh.

The noise of the house drops away.

Inside me, another noise is coming.

It builds up in me the way it never has with anybody else, because with anybody else, I was always half-present. The other half of me was watching the time, wondering if he was bored. Wondering how I looked from that angle, from this one, from every angle at once.

Right now, there’s none of that. I have enough brain cells for one sentence and one sentence only:

“I’m—”

“I know.”

“Don’t—”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I clamp the heel of my hand over my own mouth and come so hard that my leg slips off his shoulder.

It goes through me like that first blast of heat when you open the oven. A searing, otherworldly sensation.

My spine bows. My heels bounce against the undersink cabinet. Kane keeps devouring me through it as the blood rushes in my ears like a rocket ship launching into space.

Everything below my ribs clenches and lets go, clenches and lets go, in a series of sweet, aching pulses that spread out through my thighs, my belly, the soles of my feet. My vision goes white at the edges.

He catches me. One arm behind my knees, one across my back, his mouth still gentle on me while the last of it shudders through and out.

Kane presses his forehead against my hip and stays there a moment, breathing. Then he kisses the inside of my knee and puts my dress down over it.

He stands up. I get one look at him and go hot all over again. His mouth is a wet, swollen mess. His hair is wrecked, because at some point, I got a fistful of it and I was not gentle.

I reach for his belt.

He catches my wrist. Again.

“No,” he says simply.

“I… You… What?” I say, confused in a particularly stupid post-orgasmic kind of way. “Don’t you want⁠—”

“Of course I do,” he replies with a choked laugh. “Do you think I wouldn’t f**k those pretty lips if I could? Do you really think it’s not killing me not to feel you clench around me?”

“Then why not⁠—”

“Because it’s not my time. It’s yours. This is mine to give and yours to receive.”

“Kane, I’m not just going to⁠—”

“Yes, actually, you are.” He puts my hand against his chest and holds it there. His pulse pounds under my palm. “This is not a transaction, Lilah. You don’t settle up. You don’t return the favor. You don’t thank me. You came, and that was the entire point of it. That’s all.”

I look at him.

“Then what did you get out of it?” I say, because I can’t help myself.

Kane looks at me for a second, weighing whether to be angry.

“You have no idea,” he says.

He turns me around by the shoulders to face the mirror. I’m even more wrecked than he is. Hair in all directions, face blotchy and flushed. There is lipstick nowhere near where lipstick should be.

“Look,” he says. “That’s what I got.”

Then he lets go of me and picks up the seashell soaps from the floor and puts them back in the basket, one by one, the way they were.

Like no one will ever know we were here.

No one except for us.

We go back separately.

That’s my idea, though Kane doesn’t like it. I make him take it anyway.

He wants to walk me down the stairs and into dinner with his hand between my shoulder blades and my hair looking exactly the way it looks. He wants my mother to see it. He wants Vivian and Connor to see it.

“No,” I tell him at the top of the stairs.

“Why not?”