“Ben... please…” she swallowed, breathless, desperate. “Please fuck me.”
The coffee tasted bitter this morning. Too strong, or maybe just burned, it scraped down Ben’s throat like a punishment. He leaned against the kitchen counter, hand wrapped tight around the mug. His eyes were fixed on the quiet flicker of sunlight against the floor tiles. He should’ve been planning his day, checking emails, something to occupy his mind. But lately, mornings were the worst. Quiet enough that he couldn’t ignore what his body noticed before his mind could push it away. She padded in softly, like she always did. No hesitation. Just the sound of bare feet on hardwood and the soft hum she always seemed to carry with her.
“Morning,” Lily said, stretching both arms overhead as she crossed to the fridge.
His eyes betrayed him before he could look away. The cropped tank she wore barely clung to her chest. When she reached up, it lifted just enough to show the smooth, perfect underside of her breasts, full and round, clearly braless. Her panties were barely there. Pink lace. High-cut. They did nothing to hide the curve of her hips or the swell of her ass. Or the shape of her pussy as she leaned down to peer inside. Ben stared into his coffee like it might drown him.
Goddammit.
He hated himself for how she made him feel. For the way his stomach twisted with guilt, even as heat throbbed behind his zipper. She was just eighteen. Not a little girl, not anymore, but still, she had lived here for years. Moved in at thirteen after that wreck took her parents. He hadn’t thought twice back then. Of course, she’d stay. Her father had been his best friend. What else was he supposed to do? But now? Now she was a woman. And lately, she didn’t seem to care that he noticed.
She closed the fridge with a little swing of her hips and walked up behind him, warm and quiet. Before he could move, her arms wrapped around his waist, and her chest pressed into his side. Soft. Warm. Intentional.
“Morning,” she said again, voice lower this time. Sleepy. Intimate.
Ben froze. Her cheek rested lightly against his shoulder blade. She stayed there for two, maybe three seconds longer than she needed to. Just long enough to make him feel like she wanted him to be thinking about her body against his. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Eventually, she let go and walked past him, grabbing a glass from the cupboard like nothing had happened. His hand tightened around the coffee mug again.
It wasn’t the first time. Lately, she’d been getting bolder. Brushing against him. Sitting too close on the couch. Asking questions with eyes that held something just beneath the surface. Always wearing little or nothing. And the worst part? It was working.
He felt sick about it, the way he noticed every curve of her. The way his mind spun out when she bent over in front of him, the way her scent lingered after she passed by. He’d told himself again and again that it was wrong. He should shut it down. He should say something. But some part of him, some dark, desperate part he didn’t want to admit existed, wanted her to keep going.
God help me, he thought. I want it too.
Ben tried to keep his eyes on his mug. The last thing he needed was to watch the milk dribble from her spoon to her lips, or the way her mouth opened just enough for the crunch to sound soft and wet in the quiet morning.
“So,” she said between bites, “a guy asked me out yesterday.”
That got his attention. His eyes flicked up. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter. “From the coffee shop near campus. He’s in my psych class.”
He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to say much. Her bare leg swung under the table, her foot brushing the chair leg or maybe his. He couldn’t be sure.
“What’d you say?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
She stirred the cereal a little longer than needed. “Told him I already had a crush on someone, so it wouldn’t be fair.”
Ben blinked. “Oh.”
Lily smiled, her eyes flicking up to meet his just for a second, not enough to say anything outright, but enough to send a jolt down his spine.
Don’t do this, he thought. Don’t start wondering if she meant you.
She lifted another spoonful, and as she leaned forward slightly, a small drop of milk fell from the spoon and landed right in the center of her top just beneath her collarbone.
“Ugh,” she sighed, pulling the fabric out from her chest. “I don’t want to sit here in a wet shirt.”
Ben’s mouth went dry. Before he could say anything, she reached behind her back, grabbed the hem, and pulled the tank top over her head. Just like that, gone. No hesitation. Her bare breasts bounced slightly with the motion, full and flushed from the heat of the room. His eyes snapped away, landing somewhere useless, the salt shaker? The floor? He felt heat crawl up his neck and into his scalp.
“You okay just… sitting there in your panties?” he asked, trying to sound amused. The words felt thick in his mouth.
Lily didn’t even glance up. “I wouldn’t mind being naked around you.”
His heart stopped. He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, masking the throb in his pants. “Yeah? I don’t think you’re brave enough.”
She shrugged, spooning more cereal into her mouth, lips closing around it slowly and easily like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the kitchen. Ben shifted in his seat. The pressure in his jeans was unbearable now, his cock straining hard and hot against the denim. He adjusted slightly, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Every soft crunch, every lazy shift of her body in the chair sent another wave of tension through him. Her nipples were visible in the corner of his vision. He tried not to look, but they were right there. Flushed pink and just a little stiff from the air. His palms itched with the memory of warmth, of touch he’d never dared but imagined too many times. He clenched his fists under the table.
You’re better than this. She’s just being comfortable. She’s not trying to—
But then she licked a bit of milk from her thumb, tongue flicking slowly across the skin, and he felt the thought fracture again. She hadn’t said who the crush was. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Lily stood with a soft stretch and carried her empty bowl to the sink.
Ben didn't look, not at first. He forced his eyes to stay down, staring into the depths of his coffee as if the dark liquid might offer penance. But the sound of water running, the gentle clink of porcelain, the quiet hum she always made when she was content, it all pulled at him. Eventually, he looked.
She was at a side angle, close enough that he could see the rise and fall of her bare breasts with each motion. They shifted softly as she moved, the subtle weight of them swinging when she reached up. Hanging slightly when she leaned forward, the gentle curve beneath them still tinged faintly pink from where her shirt had pressed. He tore his eyes away.
Jesus, stop.
His eyes betrayed him and landed on her legs. Long and tan, smooth and toned in that way only youth and carelessness produced. Her thighs tapered into the soft curves of her knees, then slimmed into those bare, delicate feet on the cool tile. Her weight shifted naturally, one hip cocked to the side, and it drew his gaze to her ass. Those panties, pale pink lace, narrow in the back, hugged her like they’d been painted on. The sheer fabric stretched slightly as she shifted from foot to foot, the swell of her cheeks rising gently with each movement. There was a softness to her, an effortless sensuality in the way she stood there doing something as mundane as dishes, and it was driving him insane.
She knows, he thought bitterly. She has to know.
She’d angled her body just enough that her legs parted slightly, one bent, one straight. The way a woman stood when she expected someone to press in behind her. It was subtle. Maybe subconscious. But his brain filled in the space between them anyway. The warmth of her back against his chest, the feel of lace under his fingers, the shape of her hips grinding back…
He closed his eyes for a second, teeth clenched. His cock ached, stiff and straining inside his jeans like it wanted to tear through the fabric. He shifted slightly in the chair, pretending to adjust his position, but really slipping a hand under the table to discreetly adjust himself, freeing the pressure, trying to ease the throb. It didn’t help. Not with her right there. Bent just slightly over the sink. The muscles of her back flexed when she scrubbed a bowl. Her shoulder blades shifted beneath skin he’d once seen scraped raw from climbing a tree too fast. She’d been a kid then. Clumsy and bright-eyed. Now she moved with slow grace. Hips swaying faintly as she rinsed, her breath a soft rhythm against the trickle of water. He couldn’t stop watching.
Couldn’t stop imagining how it would feel to stand behind her. To slide his hands up those thighs and feel her lean into him. To hear her gasp, press back, part her legs—
Stop it. Stop it right now. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, grounding himself in pain. You’re not that man. She’s eighteen. She’s vulnerable. You were there when she couldn’t sleep without a nightlight, and now you’re sitting here with a hard-on like a fucking creep because she’s doing dishes half-naked.
She hadn’t looked back once. Hadn’t hurried. Hadn’t seemed to care that her body was on full display, that her every movement practically begged him to close the space between them.
Was it just comfort? Was she that innocent about it? Or was it something else?
He didn’t know. And that scared him more than anything. She stretched lazily and announced, “I’m gonna shower,” like it was the most natural thing in the world to say half-naked, standing there in nothing but those thin pink panties, before padding off down the hall.
Ben didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His jaw was tight, his cock was still straining in his jeans, and he knew if he didn’t get some relief soon, he was going to go crazy.
The moment he heard the soft hiss of water from the bathroom, he turned and went straight to his room. He closed the door, pressed his back to it for a second, like that might hold everything in. The frustration, the heat, the sick knot of guilt in his gut. Then he undid his belt and shoved his pants and boxers down in one rough motion. He kicked them off blindly and fell back on the bed, one hand already wrapping around the thick length of himself.
He was painfully, fully hard, the kind of stiffness that came from too much denial, too much watching and not touching. He closed his eyes and tried to think of someone else. Anyone else. His mind offered up Emily, the woman he used to bring here sometimes. Lily had hated her. Said she was fake, manipulative, just using him. She’d been right. But her body? That had never been a lie.
He stroked himself slowly, fingers curling tight around the base, dragging up over the sensitive head. A hiss escaped his lips. He remembered Emily’s voice, her body under him, the way she clenched around him when she came. Gripping him with that desperate, needy tightness that pulled the orgasm out of him, whether he was ready or not.
He sped up, hips lifting just slightly from the bed as he built a rhythm. His breath grew ragged. Muscles tensed. The pressure was building fast, too fast. It felt good to just give in, to let his body take over for a moment, to imagine anyone but—
Lily.
The thought slammed into him like a wave, fierce and sudden, and there she was again, not Emily, not anyone else, Lily. Bare back turned, shoulders glistening faintly in the kitchen light as she stood at the sink. She’d been washing dishes like she wanted him watching, her hips swaying in a slow, unconscious tempo that had set his pulse pounding. He could still see the delicate muscles flex in her spine with every movement, the teasing sway of her breasts, the faint jiggle that made his throat constrict.
The memory made his breath catch. His strokes grew harder, faster, rougher now, chasing the ache she’d carved into him. He tried, he really did, to bring Emily back into focus. But Lily had already slipped in and locked the door. The image sharpened, the dusky flush of her nipples under the kitchen light, the soft sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, the way her hair stuck to the side of her neck. She moved like someone who was meant to be touched.
Heat pooled deep and tight inside him, building with every pump of his fist. His thighs tensed. His back arched slightly from the mattress as the orgasm tore through him, sharp, hot, fierce in its need. He gasped, hips jerking into his hand as thick ropes spilled warm across his belly, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
For a long second, he just lay there, hand limp against his skin, chest rising and falling. Sweat cooled along his ribs, his pulse slowly easing. But it didn’t help. Not really. Because even as the last tremors faded, the guilt was already there, hot, heavy, and undeniable.
It was her. It was Lily who pushed you over. Her body. Her mouth. Her goddamn smile.
He sat up, scowling, wiping himself off with a T-shirt from the floor. He didn’t even remember what his plans were supposed to be today. Everything felt too heavy, too blurred. He pulled his clothes back on mechanically, fingers fumbling with the zipper. He stepped out into the hall, head still buzzing. And there she was.
Just exiting the bathroom, towel in hand, running it lazily through her hair as she walked naked down the hall. Drops of water clung to her skin like dew, sliding down her thighs, beading on her breasts. Her nipples were tight from the cool air. The soft gleam of her freshly washed skin made her glow. Ben stopped. Swallowed. Hard.
His eyes swept helplessly over her body. Collarbone, the smooth flat of her belly, the neat curve between her thighs, the drip of water rolling down the side of her knee. She walked past him like it meant nothing, her bare footfalls quiet on the hall floor. And then she looked at him.
Just a glance. A shy little smile, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. But there was something in it, an invitation, maybe. Or maybe he was just reading it that way because he wanted to. So badly it hurt.
She vanished into the living room. He stood frozen in the hall, pulse pounding, stomach knotted, one thought looping again and again.
This can’t go on. But I don’t think I can stop it. I don't know if I want to.
Ben stepped into the living room, still shaken, heart thudding, the aftermath of what he’d just done in his bedroom still clinging to his skin. He expected her to have gone back to her room or maybe thrown on a robe. But instead, Lily was sitting in the oversized armchair. Nude, legs crossed, hair damp and dripping onto the towel beneath her. Looking like a Greek goddess. And she was watching him.
Not casually. Not distractedly. She was watching him. He gave her an awkward smile, heart pounding against his ribs. “Hey.”
She sighed, not dreamily, not playfully. Annoyed. “What?” he asked, frowning.
Lily rolled her eyes and leaned back, breasts rising slightly with the motion. “How much more do I have to do to clue you in that I want you?”
His brain blanked. He stared at her, mouth slightly open, every thought scattering like leaves in the wind. “W-what?”
She arched a brow and repeated it. Slower. Louder. “I’ve been hoping to lose my virginity to you for weeks, Ben. And nothing I do seems to get through to you.”
The words slammed into him like a crashing wave, overwhelming, unbelievable. For a second, he didn’t breathe. Then he laughed. It wasn’t elegant or suave or even appropriate. It just came bursting out of him. A loud, rough sound, like something cracking open inside. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing half a step to try to ground himself.
“Jesus, Lily… I noticed. I noticed everything. I just—” He shook his head, still smiling, still stunned. “I thought it was too weird. This is weird. I've basically been your dad for five years now.”
She tilted her head. “It is weird. But I don’t care.”
Her voice was soft now. Honest. He looked at her and, for the first time, let himself see it all. Her beauty, yes, but also her boldness. Her vulnerability. The way she hadn’t run from him or played games. She wanted him. Not abstractly. Not teasing.
“What do you want?” he asked, voice husky, low.
She didn’t say a word. She just opened her legs. The movement was slow, deliberate, and quiet. Her thighs parted, and there she was. Pink, flushed, slick with the heat of want. Waiting for him. She met his eyes with a soft, breathless intensity that made his knees feel weak.
“Go down on me,” she said, almost a whisper. “Please.”
The plea hit him like a knife to the gut. She meant it. She wanted him. His thoughts exploded in a hundred directions.
You can’t do this. You helped raise her. It’s wrong. It’s selfish. She’s so young. This will change everything—
And yet his body was already moving. Like some ancient instinct, it pulled him forward. Hands trembling slightly, he lowered himself to his knees between her legs. The room felt silent except for the sound of his breath and the distant thrum of blood in his ears. He looked up at her. Her thighs trembled slightly, parted for him. Her chest rose and fell fast. And her eyes were wide, uncertain, locked to his.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice barely more than breath. He didn’t trust himself to say anything more.
Lily nodded. Just once. Then she smiled, small and shy and beautiful, and whispered, “Yeah. I’m sure.”
He let out a slow breath, his hands coming to rest gently on her knees. His mouth was dry, his pulse wild, his thoughts still screaming.
You shouldn’t be doing this.
But her body was warm and trembling under his fingers, and she was looking at him like he was the one who’d made her feel safe. Desired. Wanted. And in that moment, no part of him could deny her. The soft lighting brushed over her like a lover’s fingers, painting her in molten gold, from the full, heavy swell of her breasts to the gentle hollow of her stomach, down to where her thighs opened for him in quiet invitation. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Not with her. Not like this.
The thought clenched tight in his chest, but restraint dissolved under the heat gathering between them. He looked up once, and found her gaze locked on his, lips parted, breath slow and thick with want. There was no hesitation in her eyes. Only hunger. That was all it took. He leaned in.
The first taste of her was humid and heady, salty, sweet, the faint pulse of skin against his tongue. He licked her slowly, reverently, as though the shape of her pussy was something to be learned, memorized, worshipped. She gasped, a sharp little sound that curled through his spine, her thighs twitching faintly against his shoulders. He groaned into her, the sound rough and quiet, a note of pain threaded through the pleasure.
This is wrong, something in him murmured, muffled under the wet, obscene music between her legs. Too young. Too perfect. She was his daughter in all but genetics, and she was already opening to him, her hips tilting in tiny, instinctive offerings. She tasted like heat, like skin, like the edge of something he couldn’t come back from. His hands trembled where they held her thighs apart, not from nerves, but from wanting her too much.
Every sound she made was another thread snapping in him. When she moaned, soft at first, barely a breath, he sank deeper into the moment, into her. Her fingers slid into his hair, not pulling but holding, her nails grazing his scalp when his tongue found the perfect circle. Her body shivered in answer, and his chest pounded with a rhythm of guilt and need colliding.
He learned her by touch and reaction. The hitch in her breath when his tongue flicked faster, the sharp inhale when he sucked gently at her clit, the way her belly tightened under the drag of his mouth. He chased those signs, hunting her pleasure with a desperation that felt almost dangerous.
He shouldn’t be here. But God, he couldn’t stop. She arched against him now, thighs gripping his head, breath catching on the cusp of a cry. He felt her getting close. The tremor in her hips, the tight, wet flutter around nothing yet. He adjusted, sealing his lips over her and sliding two fingers into her slick heat, curling until he felt her gasp tear free. Her moan came raw this time, high and unrestrained. It wasn’t a sound that suggested “maybe.” It was a sound that commanded yes.
Her moan rolled through him like thunder, low, trembling, and impossible to ignore. Ben’s eyes fluttered shut, every nerve in him tuning to her as he held her tighter, his fingers moving inside her with smooth, curling strokes, stroking the spot that made her hips twitch against his mouth. His tongue never left her clit, circling in patient, deliberate pressure, each movement coaxing her higher.
She was growing taut beneath him. Every muscle drawn tight, thighs quivering against his shoulders, stomach trembling under his palms, her fingers tangled deep in his hair. Her breathing broke apart into quick, convulsive gasps, each one spilling into the air like she couldn’t hold it back.
He should’ve stopped. Should have never tasted her pussy. Should’ve pulled away, left her on the edge, trembling and wanting, kept that last fragile line from breaking. But instead, he dug in deeper. His mouth was greedy now, his tongue slow but relentless, matching the rhythm of his fingers curling inside her. His body hummed with heat, sweat gathering between his shoulder blades as he pressed into her like he belonged there, like this was the only place he’d ever wanted to be.
Then she cried out. Not loud, just soft and broken, a sound she might not have meant to let slip. But it snapped something inside him. That unguarded sound, the way her hips bucked helplessly into him, the tightening pulse around his fingers—it stripped away his last scrap of restraint. She was cumning. And he wanted to feel every moment of it. Her thighs clamped hard around his head, and he let them. Welcomed them. Let her lock him in, smother him with the wet heat of her. He flattened his tongue against her clit and sucked, and that was enough.
Her whole body jerked, the orgasm crashing through her in waves he could feel down to his bones. She groaned his name, raw and unthinking, as though it was pulled out of her. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling, holding, keeping him there as she rode the shudders. He stayed with her through every aftershock, his mouth and fingers still slow, deliberate, coaxing out every last trembling pulse before he finally eased back.
Ben was lost. Drenched in her scent, her sounds, her pleasure. He moaned into her as she came, the vibration making her jolt again. She was pulsing around his fingers, soaking them, and still he didn’t stop. He adjusted his angle, curling deeper inside her while flicking his tongue with maddening control. He wanted it to last. He wanted her to drown in it. He wanted to give her this, let her come undone for him, over and over. Her voice broke into stuttering moans and whimpers, her head thrown back, hands scrabbling for something to hold. He could feel her heat, slick and spilling down his fingers, and it made his cock ache with need. But he stayed right there.
He kept pleasuring her through it, drawing it out with slow, steady strokes of his tongue, soft now, gentle, just enough to keep her trembling. She whimpered when he didn’t stop. She didn’t want him to. She was begging without words, her whole body crying for more. Only when her hips finally dropped back down, breath catching in her throat like she’d just returned from somewhere far away, did he begin to ease off. His pace slowed, his fingers softened inside her. He licked her once more, slowly, tenderly, then pulled his mouth away with a final kiss to her inner thigh.
He was shaking. His chest was tight, his breath unsteady. His heart beat so loud he could hear it in his ears. His lips were slick with her, and all he could taste was her heat, her climax, the raw power of her body coming apart for him. And he wanted her so badly it hurt. Ben sat back on his heels, panting, sweat at his brow and heat pulsing low in his gut. He looked up at her. Lily’s face was flushed, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling fast. Her thighs were still trembling slightly, her fingers still curled on the arms of the chair like she didn’t trust her legs to hold her.
She looked down at him, dazed and hungry. Her voice came out barely a whisper.
“Ben... please…” she swallowed, breathless, desperate. “Please fuck me.”
He rose without a word, like gravity no longer applied. His hands reached for the hem of his shirt and peeled it off in a single motion, revealing the tension rippling beneath his skin. Every muscle was tight with restraint, and now he let it go. His pants followed, kicked aside without ceremony, and for the first time, he stood before her naked, fully bared in body and desire. Her eyes ran over him with hunger and something else… something softer. It made his chest ache.
He stepped closer and reached down, helping her rise from the chair. Her legs were still a little unsteady, so he held her close, letting her lean into him. Their bodies touched, skin to skin, no space between. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs brushing his hardness, and the heat between them flared again, wild and unrelenting. He held her there for a moment. Just held her. One arm around her back, one hand cradling her hip. Her cheek rested against his collarbone. He could feel her heartbeat against his skin, rapid and strong. She smelled like sweat, sex, and vanilla, and it nearly undid him.
She gasped softly, curling into his chest as he carried her down the hall to his room, the dim light casting golden shadows across her bare skin in his arms. The bed met them gently. He laid her down with reverence, as if she were breakable, but she looked up at him like a wildfire barely restrained. Her legs parted for him instinctively, inviting, welcoming, his cock. He crawled over her slowly, savoring every inch of her, how her body fit so perfectly beneath him, how her fingers found his arms and shoulders and pulled him down like she needed him to never leave.
He positioned himself between her thighs, his cock throbbing with anticipation, slick from how ready he was for her. He looked down at her one more time and wanted to remember her like this forever. Flushed, hair a mess, lips swollen from biting back moans, eyes full of want. Then he pressed forward. The first moment of entry took his breath away.
God.
She was so warm. Silky and slick, her body wrapped around him with a wet, pulsing tightness that made his vision blur. He sank into her slowly, inch by inch, trying to hold back, but her body was too inviting. She clung to him, her muscles, her arms, her mouth. She kissed him hard the second he was fully inside her.
It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. Her lips parted with a needy moan, her tongue insistent, her hands pulling his face closer. The kiss deepened the feeling of being joined to her in every way. Her hips rolled up into him, taking more, and he groaned into her mouth as he started to move. Every thrust was slow but heavy, driven not just by lust, but by relief. He’d wanted her for so long, dreamed of this, ached for it in the quiet moments when he told himself it could never happen. And now he was inside her, feeling the way her body squeezed and welcomed him, how perfectly they fit. She felt like heaven and sin all at once.
Her walls rippled around him as she arched, her breath shuddering with each thrust. The more she kissed him, aggressive, hungry, losing herself. She bit his bottom lip and moaned into his mouth, and he responded with a deep, rolling thrust that made her cry out and claw at his back. Her hips matched his now, moving in rhythm, and the friction of her body around his cock was almost unbearable. Soft and wet, but so tight. Every pulse, every squeeze, every gasp was driving him deeper into the moment. He broke the kiss only to bury his face against her neck, groaning her name like a prayer.
“I wanted you…” He breathed raggedly, barely able to speak. “Lily… I wanted you so badly…”
She just held him tighter, legs locking around his hips as she pulled him deeper inside. Her body was wrapped around him, arms, legs, heat. He moved in her with long, complete strokes, slow enough to feel every detail of her slippery warmth, fast enough to keep that need buzzing between them. She met every thrust, her hips rising to meet him, her breath caught in gasps and faint cries that only made him lose control faster.
Her skin was moist beneath his hands. He kissed her throat, her jaw, her lips. Anything he could reach, needing to feel her in more ways than one. Her hands clawed at his back, her thighs trembling around his waist, her voice barely more than a pleading whisper.
“Ben… Ben… don’t stop…”
He couldn’t have stopped even if he tried. Every time he drove into her, the feeling flooded through his entire body, tight, overwhelming. Her walls clenched around him like she didn’t want to let him go, as if her body was pulling him deeper, milking every inch. He felt the tension winding tighter with every motion, every kiss, every breath they shared. Then she shifted. Her mouth crashed against his in a desperate kiss, and at the same time, her hips rolled up in a deep rhythm that made stars burst behind his eyes. She broke the kiss to moan into his ear, a ragged, trembling sound that shook him to the core.
“I’m gonna come…” Her voice was high, helpless. A whimper. A confession.
He nearly lost it right there. He slammed into her harder, deeper, as her body began to shake beneath him, back arching, thighs locking. Her cunt tightened like a vice around his cock, pulsing in hot waves, and she cried out his name again, louder this time, her fingers clutching his shoulders like she needed to anchor herself.
"Fuck my pussy, daddy," She moaned.
Her orgasm hit her like lightning. Sudden, blinding, unstoppable. He felt it in every part of her, the rapid, desperate flutter inside. The hard, rhythmic pulses milking him, the slick warmth clutching at his cock as though her body was attempting to keep him there forever. Each contraction dragged him closer to his own edge, a pull he could feel low and deep, impossible to ignore.
She was drenching him, the wet heat spreading with every shudder, her hips twisting and pressing, desperate to meet him even in the chaos of her release. Her back arched, her mouth open on a breathless whine, panting like she couldn’t remember how to breathe properly anymore. Her hands clung to him. Nails biting into his skin, not to push him away, but to hold him closer, to anchor herself while the pleasure ripped through her. The way she moved beneath him was pure temptation. Every slick squeeze around him, every involuntary constriction, every shattered sound spilling from her lips made his control fray thread by thread, until it was almost gone.
His release hit hard and without warning. Rising up from somewhere deep, violent in its urgency. His whole body locked, muscles straining as the pleasure overtook him. With a ragged groan, he drove into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his mouth crashing against hers in something more desperate than a kiss.
The first hot pulse tore through him, and then another, and another. Thick, relentless waves of cum spilling into her. Her heat gripped him tight, milking every drop, each contraction of her body pulling more from him until it felt like he was pouring everything he had into her. It felt like surrender. Like coming apart completely and being remade in the same breath.
They held onto each other as it happened, their bodies shuddering, breaths sharp and uneven, sweat-slicked skin sliding together. His cock was still twitching inside her, the slow, involuntary jerks met by the flutter of her inner walls, their aftershocks feeding off each other. Neither moved, afraid to break whatever spell they were caught in. Her forehead rested against his, their mouths still close enough that he could feel the tremble of her breath against his lips. His hands stayed at her hips, holding her in place, as though if he let go, the moment would slip away.
Eventually, he eased out of her, gently, with a soft kiss to her forehead. She whimpered faintly, then let out a breathy laugh, as if her whole soul had been shaken loose and rearranged. He lay beside her and pulled her into his arms. Her head tucked against his chest, one leg thrown over his, her fingers drawing lazy circles across his stomach. He kissed the top of her head and exhaled deeply, finally, completely at peace.
The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Outside, the world kept spinning, but in this bed, in this moment, they were the only two people that existed.
Ben whispered into her hair, voice hoarse and soft. “I’m never letting you go.”
"I love you too, daddy." She sighed.
She smiled against his skin, and her hand found his. They stayed like that. Twisted together, bare and warm, the afterglow settled in like a blanket until sleep finally pulled them under.