Chapter 3: Tasting Me

Seraphina

  “Yes… I deserve to be punished… I’ve been a very bad girl.”

 

  Dominic lifts his head from where he’d been studying me, his eyes dark with something dangerous. “You beg so nicely.” His voice is rough, approving. “But I don’t remember giving you permission to tell me what to do.”

  “I’m sorry, I just—”

  “Shh.” He trails his fingers down my calf to my ankle, the touch deceptively gentle. “When you’re spread out like this, you don’t make demands. You take what Daddy gives you. Understand?”

  “Yes, daddy. I understand.”

  “Good girl.”

  He lifts my leg slowly, until my heel is flat on the counter, and he stares down between my wide-open thighs, “Stay just like that. Don’t move.”

  I watch as he reaches for the bottle of scotch, my heart racing.

  Without warning, he tips the bottle and pours the amber liquid onto my stomach. I gasp at the shock of it—cool against my heated skin. It pools in my navel, then runs down in rivulets, sliding between my legs, making me shiver.

  “Daddy—” I breathe out.

  He sets the bottle down with deliberate care, his eyes never leaving mine.

  He leans down, his mouth finding my navel. His tongue traces the rim before dipping inside, licking the scotch from my skin. The sensation is maddening—wet heat and skilled precision. I can feel every pulse between my thighs, every nerve ending screaming for attention.

  “You taste like sin,” he murmurs against my stomach. “Like everything I shouldn’t want.”

  His tongue traces the trail of scotch lower, over my hipbone, across my mound. I close my eyes, anticipating, aching.

  The first touch of his tongue against my clit makes me cry out. The sound is too loud, and without thinking I bite down on my already bruised lip. Pain blooms, sharp and immediate.

  I look down to find him watching me, his eyes locked on my face even as his tongue flicks against me again. He’s studying my reactions, cataloging what makes me gasp, what makes me moan.

  “Don’t hide from me.” His voice is a command. “I want to hear every sound. I want to see your face when I make you fall apart.”

  I reach for his hair, needing something to hold onto, but his voice stops me cold.

  “No.” He warned. “Hands on the counter. You don’t touch unless I tell you to.”

  Just like that, I’m reminded who’s in control. My hands flatten against the granite on either side of me, gripping the edge.

  “That’s my good girl.” The approval in his tone makes me clench. “Now stay still and let daddy take care of you.”

He kneels before me, prying my thighs apart. “I need to make sure this juicy little cunt can take all of me. Need to get you nice and soaking wet for me.”

“I-I’m ready,” I pant as I squeeze my eyes shut. My body tenses and shakes with the need for more of this man. “I’m s-so wet,” I add.

"Christ, you are," he growls hungrily as he slides his tongue up and down my pussy, parting my folds. I force my eyes open and look down at his muscular back, rippling and flexing as he devours me. I'm being consumed by him. It's all I can focus on. The intense feeling. The slurring sounds. The pressure and heat. My Daddy is loving this, loving my body, loving my reaction to his touch.

Dominic’s rough palms slide to the back of my knees and he shoves my legs open wider, pinning them to the counter so he can pull back and stare at me. He growls and dives back in, licking me with fury, pushing deeper, harder, faster.

I can feel my blood pumping through my veins, each beat of my heart pulsing with pleasure and sending more white-hot bliss coursing through me.

  He pushes two fingers inside me without warning, and the words dissolve into a cry of pure ecstasy. The stretch, the fullness, the perfect pressure—it’s everything and not enough all at once

  “Fuck, you’re tight.” His voice is strained now, the first crack in his control. “Taking my fingers so well. Such a good girl for daddy.”

He keeps pumping his fingers into my clenching pussy relentlessly like he would his cock. His tongue lashes over my clit,  moving over me in an attack of warm, wet, soft bliss that keeps me hovering on the edge for seconds before I tumble over.

I hear myself screaming out my orgasm, my body arching, straining, coming hard on his  fingers and tongue.. my eyes start to roll into the back of my head.,

  “Look at me.” His command cuts through the haze. “Eyes on me when you fall apart. Watch what I’m doing to you.”

  I force my eyes open, force myself to look down at him—at Dominic Ashcroft, my sister’s husband, between my legs in their kitchen, working me toward oblivion with his mouth and hands.

  The wrongness of it should kill the moment. Instead, it intensifies everything.

  “That’s it.” His eyes are black with desire, his control fracturing. “Let me see those pretty eyes when you cum in my mouth.”

  A sound from upstairs. A door opening.

  “Dominic? Baby, where are you? I’m coming down!”

  Everything stops.

  His fingers are still inside me. His mouth pulls away. We both freeze, the moment shattering like dropped glass.

  “Fuck.” He withdraws his hand so quickly that I gasp at the loss. “Get dressed. Now. Move.”

  I scramble for my clothes, hands shaking. My dress—where’s my dress?

  “Dominic?” Louder. Footsteps on the stairs.

  “Coming, sweetheart!” His voice is steady despite trembling hands straightening his tie. “Just getting some water!”

  He finally looks at me, and the anguish in his eyes is devastating. “Go. Out the back. Now.”

  I grab my dress, yank it on. My panties are somewhere, fuck! no time.

  “I’ll distract her,” he says, voice low and urgent. “Count to thirty, then go upstairs from the other side. Say you were in the garden.”

  I nod, unable to speak.

  “Seraphina.” He catches my wrist as I turn. “This—”

  “I know.” I pull free. “This never happened.”

  But we both know that’s a lie.

  As I slip out the back door, my body still aching and incomplete, I hear Elena’s voice drift from inside.

  “There you are! I was looking for you. Where’s Sera?”

  “I think she went for a walk,” Dominic says smoothly. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

  I count to thirty in the garden, the cool air against my flushed skin, my thighs still wet with evidence of what almost happened.

  When I slip back inside and climb the stairs from the other entrance, I can hear them in the kitchen. Elena laughed at something he said. The clink of glasses.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. Disheveled hair. Swollen lips. Eyes still dark with unfulfilled desire.

  I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked.

  Even though he didn’t finish.

  But next time, I think as I head to my room to clean up the mess between my legs. Next time there won’t be an interruption.

  Next time, he’ll make me scream his name.

  And I won’t care who hears.