MY FATHER’S COCK

I stepped out of the private elevator with my heart trying to climb up my throat.

The penthouse was darker than I expected. Only the city lights came through the wall of glass, painting everything in cold blue and gold. And there he was—Adrian Vale—standing with his back to me, shirtless, black trousers hanging low enough that I could see the deep cut of muscle above his hips. He didn’t turn around right away. He made me wait. Made me feel how small I was in his space.

When he finally faced me, his eyes dragged down my body like he was already deciding where to put his hands. Older. Mid-forties. Sharp jaw, expensive mouth, the kind of calm that only men with too much money ever managed.

“You’re smaller than I expected,” he said. Voice low. Controlled. “Take your clothes off.”

I swallowed. “We haven’t talked about the money yet.”

“You’ll get the money.” He stepped closer. The air between us changed. “You’ll get the apartment. The black card. Whatever pretty things you want. In exchange, you stay here. You stay naked when I tell you to. And you take my cock whenever, however, and as often as I want.”

I should have walked out. I had every reason to. My student loans were drowning me. My mother’s medical bills were worse. The only reason I was even standing in this penthouse was that Adrian Vale had somehow found out about both and offered a solution that didn’t feel like a solution at all. It felt like a trap with silk sheets.

My fingers still went to the buttons of my shirt.

He watched every movement. When I finally stood naked, cock already half-hard and flushing dark against my stomach, he made a soft sound of approval that went straight to my spine.

“On your knees.”

I dropped.

The marble was cold. His hand slid into my hair, not gentle, and tilted my head back. The thick outline of his cock pressed against the expensive fabric of his trousers, right in front of my mouth.

“Open.”

I parted my lips. He freed himself with one hand, heavy, veined, already leaking at the tip—and dragged the head across my bottom lip, smearing precum like a claim.

“You’re going to learn very quickly,” he murmured, “that I don’t ask twice.”

He pushed forward.

The blunt head stretched my mouth wide. Saliva flooded instantly. He didn’t stop until the thick shaft was buried deep enough that my nose pressed against dark hair and my throat fluttered helplessly around him. Tears pricked my eyes. He held me there, breathing steady, as if the wet, choking heat of my mouth was simply his right.

Then he started to fuck it.

Slow, deep strokes that forced me to take every inch. The wet sounds filled the quiet penthouse. My own cock slapped against my stomach, neglected and dripping. His grip in my hair tightened.

“Look at you,” he said, almost soft. “Already making a mess on my floor. You’re going to be perfect.”

He pulled out with a slick pop. A thick string of spit connected my swollen lips to the shiny head of his cock. I gasped, chest heaving.

His thumb wiped the spit from the corner of my mouth, then pushed it back inside.

“Bedroom. Now. I want you on your back with your legs open when I walk in.”

I scrambled up on unsteady legs and hurried down the wide hallway, heart hammering. The master bedroom was enormous—black sheets, another wall of glass, the city glittering like it was watching. I climbed onto the bed, lay back, and spread my thighs the way I’d been told.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, completely naked now, cock standing heavy and flushed against his stomach. He looked at me spread open for him and something dark and satisfied moved behind his eyes.

He crawled onto the bed between my legs, pushed them wider, and leaned down until his mouth was right against my ear.

“I’m going to open you up,” he said quietly. “Then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. And when I come, I’m going to do it as deep inside you as I can get.”

His fingers, slick with lube he must have grabbed on the way, pressed against my hole.

“But first,” he whispered, pushing the first thick finger inside, “you’re going to tell me exactly how badly you want it.”

My back arched. The stretch burned in the best way. His eyes locked on my face, waiting, patient and ruthless all at once.

I opened my mouth to answer—

And his second finger slid in beside the first, curling hard against that spot that made white light explode behind my eyes.

“Louder,” he ordered, voice pure steel. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

I was still trying to form the words when his phone lit up on the nightstand. A single message glowed on the screen, bright enough for both of us to see.

She’s here. She knows about the boy.

Adrian’s fingers went still inside me.

His expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

He looked down at me, still open and trembling around his fingers, and smiled like something dangerous had just walked into the building.

“Change of plans,” he said softly. “It seems we have company.”