He eases his fingers out of me, and I can’t stop a sound of protest. But Jonas doesn’t stop touching me. He grips my thighs. “Get your hand off your clit, Blake.”
Immediately, I drop my hand. I’d rather he touch me anyway. He’s not doing anything to actively push me to orgasm, but the sheer sexiness of this moment, of this strange sort of humiliation, has me dancing on the edge despite that.
He lightly pinches my clit. I jolt, but manage to cut down the reaction before I dislodge him. He circles once and then goes back to my opening and wedges two broad fingers into me. “So fucking eager for it.” The way he says it, it doesn’t sound like a good thing. “Would you have done this in your father’s office? Bent over his desk, pulled up your dress, and soaked your thighs while I stroke your pussy?”
The image slammed into me and I have to bury my face in his pillow to avoid moaning out load. Except it backfires because I get a full inhale of Jonas’s scent. He squeezes my ass, fingers digging in. “That was not a rhetorical question.”
It would be so much easier to form words if he wasn’t tracing my G-spot with the tips of his fingers. I take in a shuddering breath. “Yes.”
“Shameless. Little. Slut.” Each word is compounded by a stroke.
This whole situation is so surreal. I can’t see him. He’s got a handful of my ass, but the only other place he’s touched me is my pussy. It’s like we’re strangers, except I don’t call strangers Daddy. I don’t call anyone Daddy, even my father. Apparently Jonas is the exception to that rule, because it just feels right for some reason. I turn my head to the side. “Tell me you didn’t want it that night, too.”
He gives my ass another light slap. “We’re not talking about me, baby girl. We’re talking about you and this needy pussy.” He keeps working my G-spot, edging me closer and closer to orgasm. I fight it. I have to. I’m suddenly terrified that the second I come, this ends, and I desperately don’t want this to end.
“I need your cock,” I blurt out.
“No,” he answers easily. “You haven’t done a single thing to earn it, and you won’t get your way by demanding it like a spoiled brat.”
I grip the sheets and fight to hold still. “Please?”
“Now she learns some manners,” he murmurs. “The answer is still no.” The mattress moves beneath us as he slides his hand down my hip and around to stroke my clit. The new position has his clothed legs touching me, and that little extra bit of contact is nearly as hot as the way he plays with my clit. “Be a good girl and come all over my hand, Blake. I know you want to.”
Confusion and desire and no small amount of shame work me just as intensely as Jonas does. Even trying to fight my orgasm, it’s already too late. I moan as I come, bearing down on his fingers. The orgasm keeps going and going and, holy shit, I’m squirting. He fingers me until I’m a puddle of flesh and bone on his bed, shaking and panting and whimpering. Only then does he stop touching me and sit back.
I can’t look at him. He hasn’t moved, and I can’t shake the feeling that if I break the silence first, this will end forever. And I desperately don’t want it to end.
Finally, he says, “Look at the mess you’ve made.”
I sob out a breath in what might be relief. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Come over here and prove it.”
Elation gives me the strength to rise on my hands and knees to move around to face him. Jonas looks at me the same way he has been since I showed up unannounced on his doorstep—as if he’s half a second from tossing me out on my ass. I don’t expect the punch of lust in response. I really should by now.
He flicks an impatient hand at the floor by his feet. “On your knees.”
It’s only then that I notice the massive cockstand pressing against the front of his jeans. It looks almost painful, and giddiness has me rushing off the bed so fast, my legs give out. He catches my elbow, keeping me off the floor, and shakes his head. “Slowly, Blake.”
How am I supposed to move slowly when he’s giving me something I’ve spent six years pretending I don’t crave? It was so much easier when I didn’t see him, but all the longing of that night at the Christmas party hits me at once, compounded by countless nights spent fantasizing about a different ending, stroking myself to orgasm with this man’s name on my lips. Again and again and again.
I sink to my knees between his thighs and he sits back and props himself up on his hands. Jonas glowers down at me. “We’re going to talk in a minute.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I slowly put my hands on his thighs, relishing the way the muscle flexes beneath the jeans in response to my touch. When he doesn’t stop me, I skate my touch up to his hips, and then to the button of his jeans. “In a minute.”
“Take out your Daddy’s cock, Blake. Show me how much you appreciate that orgasm. Tell me ‘thank you’ with that sexy fucking mouth.”
My fingers turn fumbling as I undo his jeans. He lifts his hips as I work them down, but that’s the only help he gives me. I take my time drawing out his cock, relishing how huge and thick and so perfect it is. I lick my lips and wrap my fist around him. And then he’s in my mouth and, fuck, he’s huge. My jaw already aches with the effort it takes to swallow him down. There’s no way I’ll be able to take him all. I fight down the instinctive flare of panic and suck him deeper. He curses softly, and I can’t help but open my eyes to look up at him.
Jonas’s expression hasn’t changed. He looks impatient and annoyed with his brows drawn together and his eyes hard. If not for the way he’s clenching his jaw, I might think he’s entirely unaffected.
It’s like throwing gasoline on the fire of my desire. I don’t understand why I’m reacting like this to his annoyance, but I don’t question it. I just suck his cock down until he bumps the back of my throat, and then I keep going. Still not deep enough. I can’t take any more.
He watches me with unreadable eyes and shakes his head. “Such a little slut. You’ve sucked so much cock, you don’t even choke on it.”
I ease off him and flick my tongue against the underside of his length. “Or maybe I just have no gag reflex to speak of.”
“You shouldn’t be speaking at all right now, baby girl.” He lightly grips the back of my head, guiding me back down. He’s barely applying any pressure at all, more a suggestion than anything else, but I suck him down again as if he’s holding me down and fucking my mouth.
In fact, I really, really want Jonas to do that.
I know better than to ask for it now. This forbidden game we’re playing has a script, at least in his head, and right now it involves me thanking him for my orgasm. Fucking my mouth until I cry doesn’t fit.
Maybe next time.
6
I stop teasing him and get to work sucking Jonas’s cock. I don’t want this to end, but he’s right—we have to have a conversation and the only way to get there is if he comes, too. The strange logic makes sense in my head and I wrap my fist around his base, working him in time with my mouth. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem interested in holding out for as long as possible. His grip tightens ever so slightly and then he asks in a rough voice, “Spit or swallow, Blake?”