Daddy’s Girl

He came back from the railing with something different in his face, the easy warmth from a moment ago replaced by a focus so total it stole the breath straight out of my lungs.

“Where were we,” he said, and we almost got lost in our conversation again before his hand found my jaw again, tilting my face up to his, and this time when his mouth found mine there was nothing slow or searching left in it at all.

I felt the exact second my own hesitation lost the argument with itself. Some small, sane part of me knew how fast this was moving, knew it made no sense to be doing this an hour after a man had shattered every plan I’d built around him, and I let that part of me go quiet anyway, choosing, for once, to feel something that wasn’t grief.

A soft sound escaped me against his mouth, and his hand tightened in my hair in answer, angling my head exactly where he wanted it.

“Come here,” he murmured, guiding me backward through a set of glass doors into a small private lounge just off the terrace, empty at this hour, lit only by the ambient glow spilling up from the city far below us.

“I don’t even know your name,” I breathed as my back met the wall, his body caging me in without ever quite touching me everywhere at once.

“Tonight you don’t need it,” he said, low and certain, the kind of voice that makes you obey it. “Tonight you just need to know you deserve to feel something good, Elena, after a night like this one.”

My name in his mouth did something devastating to my knees.

His hand slid slow up the outside of my thigh, gathering the hem of my dress with it, and when his fingers finally found the damp, aching heart of my pussy through the thin fabric of my underwear, I gasped so sharply I heard it echo off the glass.

“Now this is a good girl,” he said against my ear, a low, satisfied rumble, “exactly as wet as you should.”

“Please,” I whispered, not even fully understanding what I was begging for.

“Please what?” He teased my clit, keeping it between two fingers and moving up and down, then moving down to my pussy opening, circling slow, deliberate, and refusing to do more than that.

“Please, I don’t know, just…, don’t stop, fuck—.”

“Good girl.” The praise landed somewhere low in my stomach, hot and strange and instantly addictive. “That’s better.”

He sank slowly to his knees in front of me, and the sight of him there, powerful and composed and utterly unbothered by the marble floor, undid something in me I didn’t have a name for yet.

“What are you—“

“Let me,” he said, hooking his fingers into the fabric and drawing it aside. “Let me show you what this is.”

The first slow drag of his tongue against my pussy wiped every coherent thought clean out of my head.

“Oh God,” I gasped, with one hand flying into his hair, the other braced hard against the wall behind me, and my whole body kept arching helplessly toward his mouth.

“It’s supposed to feel exactly like this,” he told me, with his voice rough between slow, devastating strokes of his tongue, and his hands gripping my thighs to keep me from sliding down the wall entirely. “Anyone who ever made you doubt that didn’t deserve the chance to prove himself wrong.”

My hips began to roll against him, chasing more, and he let me. His hand slid up to steady my waist while the other found my entrance, testing, teasing, until he slowly pushed two fingers slowly inside and my knees very nearly buckled.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, working me slow and deep, curling his fingers in a way that made stars burst behind my closed eyes. “Let Daddy hear you.”

The word should have startled me. Instead it slid straight through me like heat poured down my spine, and the broken, wanting sound I made in response seemed to please him even more than my body already had.

“Yes,” he groaned against my thigh, with his pace quickening, and his fingers working me, giving me pleasure I never had with Marcus. “That’s exactly it. Let me hear how good this feels.”

I felt his hand still, abruptly, and his whole body went rigid against me in a way that had nothing to do with pleasure. I opened my eyes, dazed, to find him staring at something at my throat, his jaw was locked so tight a muscle jumped visibly along it.

“What,” I managed, breathless, confused by the sudden change in him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, too fast, with something dark and complicated moving behind his eyes before he shut it away and dropped his mouth back to my thigh like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts. “Nothing. Don’t stop for me.”

I didn’t understand it, not then, but the strange, haunted look on his face lodged itself somewhere I wouldn’t be able to reach again until much later, not here with my back against that wall.

“Don’t stop,” I echoed instead, chasing the pleasure instead of the question, and he obeyed, working me higher with even more attention and attentiveness.

“I’m a virgin,” I gasped suddenly, panic threading through the pleasure as his fingers pressed deeper, and my whole body was clenching around the fullness of them. “I— I don’t want it to be like this.”

Everything in him went still again, a different stillness this time. He withdrew his hand slowly, pressing last, very sweet and maddening suck on my pussy, gentling kiss to my inner thigh before rising smoothly to his feet, something that looked almost like relief flickered across his face beneath the obvious ache of denying himself.

“Then I’m not going to take that from you, tonight,” his voice was rougher than before, and it felt off, off in a way I couldn’t yet place.

I stared up at him, dazed and flushed, entirely unaware of the storm I could sense moving behind his composure. “Why does that sound like there’s more to it than just being a gentleman?”

“Maybe there might be, you never know.”

He reached into his jacket and pressed a card into my palm, folding my fingers closed around it, didn’t give me his name and equally unwilling to let this end completely.

“Call me,” he said quietly, “when you’re ready to talk about the rest of it.”

I left the lounge a few minutes later, straightening my dress with hands that hadn’t stopped trembling, his scent was still clinging to my skin, and his voice still echoing in my head.

“Let Daddy hear you.”

I didn’t understand why the word felt so right coming out of a stranger’s mouth, or why the strange stillness that had passed over his face at my throat kept surfacing in my memory long after everything else about that night should have faded.

I still don’t know his name. I realized, standing alone in the hallway outside that private lounge, that I didn’t even ask either.