I'm sorry baby

Rae’s POV

I crawled onto the center of the bed on shaky knees, the purple dildo heavy and cool in my palm.

Killian sat back in the velvet chair like a king on his throne, legs spread wide, one tattooed arm draped over the armrest, the other resting on his thigh, eyes black with hunger.

The fairy lights painted gold across his sharp jaw, the hollow of his throat, the ridges of muscle under his black T-shirt.

He hadn’t moved an inch, but the air between us crackled like a live wire.

“Show me, kitten,” he said, voice low and rough. “Turn it on. Let me hear how pretty you sound when you fuck yourself and pretend it’s me.”

My breath hitched. I brought the toy to my lips first, slow, deliberate, licking a wet stripe up the shaft while holding his gaze. His jaw flexed.

I tasted silicone and my own arousal from earlier, and the knowledge that he was watching every second made me throb.

I trailed it down my body, between my breasts, circling one aching nipple, then the other, until the head nudged my clit. A broken moan slipped out.

With trembling fingers, I found the little button at the base.

Click.

The toy buzzed to life , low, powerful, the vibration humming straight through my core. My hips jerked involuntarily.

“Killian—”

“That’s it,” he praised, voice gravel and honey. “Say my name while you take it.”

I pressed the vibrating tip to my entrance and pushed, slowly, so slowly. The stretch was perfect, the buzz sending sparks up my spine.

I took the first few inches and paused, letting my body adjust, thighs already shaking.

“More,” he commanded.

I slid deeper, four inches, five, until the curve pressed right against that spot inside me. My back arched off the pillows, a filthy moan tearing from my throat.

“Daddy—oh fuck—”

I started moving, shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, angling the toy so the vibration hit my clit on every upstroke.

My free hand flew to my breast, pinching my nipple hard, trying to mimic the way he does it. The room filled with wet sounds and my broken cries.

“Killian—please—it’s good but it’s not you—I need you—”

I fucked myself faster, hips rolling, head thrown back, hair sticking to my damp neck.

The buzz was intense, almost too much, but still not enough. I needed heat, pulse, him.

I didn’t hear him stand.

One second I was chasing the edge alone; the next, his hand closed around my wrist, stilling me.

The toy slipped out with a slick sound, still vibrating in his grip. He clicked it off and tossed it aside like it had personally offended him.

“Enough,” he growled. “You want to come? You come on my cock.”

He was on me in a heartbeat, kneeling between my spread thighs, T-shirt gone, jeans shoved down just enough.

His cock, thick, flushed, leaking, nudged my entrance once, twice, coating himself in me.

Then he thrust in, one long, punishing stroke that buried him to the hilt.

My scream was raw, mouth open, eyes rolling back, every inch of him stretching me wider than the toy ever could. He bottomed out and stilled, letting me feel him throb inside me.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “That’s what you were begging for.”

He started moving, slow, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot.

The bedframe rocked. My nails clawed at his shoulders, his back, trying to pull him deeper.

He kissed me, brutal, perfect. His mouth claimed mine in a messy, open-mouthed attack, tongue fucking deep, piercing stroking my tongue in time with his hips.

I sucked on it greedily, moaning into him, tasting salt and him and us. He swallowed every sound, angling my head with a hand in my hair, devouring me until my lungs burned.

I broke first. “Daddy—please—let me come—I can’t—”

He growled against my lips, thumb finding my clit, rubbing tight, relentless circles.

“Come,” he ordered. “Come all over Daddy’s cock like a good girl.”

Two more thrusts and I shattered, walls clenching hard, back bowing off the bed, a broken cry of his name ripping from my throat. Pleasure crashed over me in endless waves, so intense my vision went white.

He followed seconds later, hips snapping deep, a guttural groan against my neck as he spilled inside me, hot and endless.

His arms gave out; he caught himself on his elbows, forehead pressed to mine, both of us shaking.

When the world came back, he rolled us gently, me on top, still joined, his arms wrapping around my back like he never planned to let go.

He pressed soft kisses everywhere, temple, cheek, corner of my mouth, eyelids.

“Such a good girl for Daddy,” he whispered, fingers threading through my hair, patting my head in slow, soothing strokes. “Took me so perfectly. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

I melted into him, boneless and floating.

Eventually he slipped out, both of us wincing at the emptiness, and carried me to the bathroom.

The tub was already steaming, smelling like lavender. He lowered me into the water like I was fragile glass, then knelt beside it, sleeves rolled up, forearms resting on the edge.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, brushing damp hair from my face.

I nodded, sleepy and sated, and leaned over to peck his lips sweetly. “Just tired,” I murmured, then added with a teasing little smile, “Daddy was so hard on me tonight.”

His smile was soft, apologetic, devastating. “I’m sorry, baby.” He cupped my cheek, thumb stroking my bottom lip. “Got carried away because you’re too perfect.”

Then he kissed me, tender, slow, pouring every ounce of care into it, until I was boneless all over again.

.