Don't Stop, Daddy

Confetti was still falling when the words finished settling.

Tiny gold and silver pieces stuck to my bare shoulders, my collarbone, the tops of my breasts where the red dress dipped low. The champagne glass was still in my hand - Cold 'n untouched.

People were cheering, screaming “Happy New Year!” like the whole city had just been handed a second chance. Someone grabbed me from the side—warm arms, perfume, a loud “Happy New Year, girl!”—and pulled me into a hug. My stomach rolled. I almost threw up right there on their sequined dress.

I couldn’t move.

My nipples were still hard under the thin fabric. The lace thong was still soaked and stuck to me from the car, every small shift making it drag against my clit. I could still taste Adrian on my tongue—his cock, his fingers, the way he’d made me come right before he told me I wasn’t enough. The leftover throb between my legs mixed with the sick drop in my chest until I couldn’t tell which one was worse. I wanted to disappear. I also wanted to be touched again. The second thought made me hate myself more than the first.

Richard was suddenly there.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped in close, shrugged off his dark coat, and settled it over my shoulders, and immediately I could feel the cool texture of it. The weight of it was heavy though and warm and smelled like him--something clean and expensive, nothing like Adrian. His hand stayed on my upper arm for a second longer than it needed to.

“I’m taking you home,” he said quietly. His voice was deep and final. No question in it.

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else. He guided me through the crowd without rushing, body angled so people had to move around us instead of the other way around. Confetti kept falling. Someone tried to hand me another drink. Richard took it instead and set it down without breaking stride.

Outside the cold January air hit my bare legs and I shivered hard enough that his coat slipped. He tugged it back into place, fingers brushing the side of my breast through the fabric. Neither of us mentioned it.

The car was quiet. Heater on low. City lights sliding past the windows in long streaks. Outside the window fireworks kept booming, bright flashes lighting up the dark. I sat with my knees pressed together, Richard’s coat still around me, the red dress riding up my thighs every time the car took a corner. He didn’t talk. Didn’t ask if I was okay. Didn’t fill the silence with soft bullshit(Good, I didn't need it). I could smell his cologne every time he shifted—deeper than Adrian’s, warmer. At a red light I caught him looking. Not at my face. At the stretch of thigh the dress had left uncovered, then higher, where the outline of my dark nipples showed clear against the thin red fabric. His jaw tightened once. The light turned green and he looked back at the road.

My apartment felt too small the second the door closed behind us.

I dropped my heels by the wall out of habit. The bedroom door was open.

From the living room I could see the edge of the bed, the messy sheets, and the realistic dildo still sitting on the nightstand where I’d left it hours ago, still looking shiny under the lamp, the same one I’d fucked myself with while thinking about his son. Heat crawled up my neck. I should have closed the door but I didn’t.

I saw Richard’s eyes flick toward it and then away. Heat climbed up my neck again.

“Drink?” My voice sounded strange - Automatic.

He nodded once. I poured two glasses of whatever was left in the bottle on the counter—something strong, amber, no ice. My hands were still shaking. When I handed him his glass our fingers touched and stayed touching a second longer. I drank mine in three swallows. The burn helped. A little.

We ended up on the couch. Not close at first. Then closer. He asked almost nothing. I talked anyway—raw, messy 'n unfiltered, the words spilling out because the quiet was worse.

“He fingered me in the car,” I finally said, staring at the floor. “Right before. Made me come with his fingers while I still had his cock in my mouth. Then walked me into that party and told me I wasn’t good enough. Said he only showed up to give me one last good time for the memory.” I laughed once, sharp and ugly. “I wore this dress because I thought he was going to propose. No bra. Special thong. The whole fucking performance.”

Richard set his glass down hard. His hand came to rest on my back, between my shoulder blades, big and warm. I could feel the size of it through the coat and the dress. He didn’t move it. Just left it there while I kept talking, voice cracking, eyes burning. At some point I leaned into him because my body wouldn’t stay upright on its own. His thumb stroked, slowly, along my spine. That was when the air changed.

I turned my face toward him. Confetti was still stuck in my hair. He reached up and brushed a piece off my cheek with his thumb, then another from the corner of my mouth. His eyes dropped to my lips. I could feel how hard he was against my hip when I shifted closer. At the same time I realized I was pressing my thighs together, chasing the leftover ache, the wet lace dragging again.

He helped me out of the coat first. Then the dress, because my hands were still shaking too hard to work the zipper. The red fabric slid down my body and pooled at my feet. I stood there in nothing but the soaked black thong, nipples tight from the cold and everything else, while he looked at me like he was deciding something. I could feel the heat coming off him. I could see the thick outline of his cock pressing against his pants very visibly now. He wasn't trying to hide it though.

I kissed him first.

It was angry, messy, mouth open, tasting like champagne and the leftover spit from earlier, like Adrian and heartbreak and pure spite. Richard made a low sound and kissed me back harder than I expected—tongue pouring deep and messy, hand fisting in my hair, the other one gripping my bare waist hard enough to leave marks.

Next, he walked me backward until my calves hit the couch and then sat, pulling me down with him so I ended up straddling his lap. The hard ridge of his cock pressed right against my soaked thong. I ground down without thinking, still half-crying, hips rolling while he held my ass in both hands and muttered against my mouth that his son was a fucking idiot.

His palm slid up the inside of my thigh, under the edge of the thong, and found me dripping. He shoved two thick fingers inside me without hesitation. I gasped hot breath into his mouth. He fucked them into me slow and deep, curling them to reach my G-spot, the same place Adrian had touched an hour ago, only bigger, rougher, surer. My head dropped to his shoulder as he pounded faster. The force of it vibrating both mine and his body. I was screaming now.

I was still crying a little. I was also soaking his hand and grinding down for more.

He pulled his fingers free, brought them to my mouth, and pushed them past my lips so I could taste myself. Then he stood, lifting me with him and set me on my knees on the living room floor.

Fireworks were still booming outside the window—bright flashes lighting up the room in short bursts of color. I dragged his zipper down with both hands. His cock was thicker than Adrian’s, heavier, the head already wet. I took him into my mouth in one long slide, not stopping until my nose pressed against him and my eyes watered. He groaned low and steady, one hand settling on the back of my head. I sucked him like I was trying to erase every second of the party, every word Adrian had said, every calculated touch in the car. Spit ran down my chin and my throat fluttered around him every time I pushed deeper. The wet sounds filled the quiet apartment between the distant fireworks.

He let me stay there longer than I expected—using my mouth, fucking it in slow controlled strokes while I looked up at him with wet eyes(and his hungry) and a ruined thong still clinging to my hips.

And when he finally pulled out he was slick and dark and harder than before. He didn’t speak. Just lifted me again, carried me straight into the bedroom, and laid me down on the same sheets where I’d fucked myself with the dildo hours earlier. The toy was still on the nightstand, right there in plain sight.

Richard pushed my legs open wide. The black lace was dragged to the side. He settled between my thighs, the thick head of his cock resting against my entrance, and looked down at me like he was giving me one last chance to stop this.

I didn’t.

I reached down, guided him forward, and whispered it like a dare while the last fireworks cracked outside the window.

“Don’t stop, Daddy.”