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Chapter 42: My Innocent Chauffeur 2

Author: Irish Pen
last update publish date: 2026-05-04 18:31:00

“I’ve watched you grow into a little fucking taste,” he growled in between his kisses. His hand was under my dress already, his fingers finding my bare skin, tracing the curve of my hip. “Parading around without panties? You wanted me to see and you were ready for this.”

“I wanted you to touch!” I cried out, arching my back against him.

He hooked his fingers inside me deep, stroking that sensitive spot that made my eyes roll back.

“Goddamn. You're so wet.”

“All for you,” I whispered, my
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    Dominic: The view of the road wasn’t clear for me as I drove, the rain pelted against the windshield like a thousand tiny, angry fists, each one trying to shatter the glass and drown me in the storm outside. But it didn’t matter. The storm inside my own head was far more violent. I couldn’t care less about the blurred lines of yellow and white, about the other idiots on the road who actually had the luxury of paying attention. My focus was a singular, burning point of rage, and its name was Paul. That motherfucker son of mine couldn’t do one single goddamn thing right, not one, and today of all days, he chose to amplify his incompetence to an art form. He couldn’t pick up his fucking phone for once in his miserable, pointless existence. "I snarled." A guttural sound tore from my throat as I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. The leather groaned under the impact, a pathetic echo of the fury churning in my gut. The car surged forward, my foot heavy on the accelerator, bli

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    I sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment completely naked and exposed, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on my skin. The sounds of the rain outside were a steady, mournful drumming against the window. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast long, dancing shadows across the room, making it feel like a stage. And I was the sole performer, waiting for an audience that never arrived. A decision crystallised in my mind, sharp and clear as ice. If Paul wasn’t going to come to me, then I would go to him. I would meet him at the door. I would make it impossible for him not to notice me. I would give him a vision he couldn’t ignore, a welcome home he would never forget. What would be more shocking, more undeniable, than me with nothing on? So I walked out of the bedroom and went to the parlour, the large, open space that was the heart of our sterile home. I grabbed the towel I’d discarded, not to wrap it around myself for modesty, but to carry it like a prop. My body was sti

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    I bit my lip, hard, tasting my blood as I imagined his deep, rumbling his voice behind me. Keep moaning for Daddy, princess. You know you want to, so just let it out, princess. "And I did. I let go completely." The orgasm crashed through me, a violent, shattering wave that stole my breath. I came so hard, gasping and crying out into the echoing confines of the shower. My legs buckled, and pleasure, sharp and overwhelming ran through me like lightning. This. This was something my husband could never do. My thighs shook uncontrollably, my fingers freezing against my clit as my body pulsed and pulsed. My mouth was open in a silent, desperate cry for Daddy. My heart raced against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat. Water slid over my skin, slick and sinful, just like this secret had always been. Just like my marriage had become. I didn’t care how wrong it was. I didn’t care that he was Paul’s father, that this was a betrayal on every conceivable level. He made me feel something other than

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    Serena. The bathroom wasn’t a sanctuary; it was a battlefield. I didn’t slip into the steaming water to wash away the day’s grime or to luxuriate in the fragrant suds of some expensive soap. I came here because I was aching. A deep, insistent throb had settled between my legs hours ago, a pulsing, painful reminder of a life half-lived. I was so wet it was a torment, a slick heat that my own husband had ignored me for six long months. Six months since our wedding night, a night that was supposed to be the beginning of everything and was instead the end of it all. "So, fuck him." Fuck Paul and his gentle, disinterested smiles. Fuck his endless work and his tired excuses. As the first drops of hot water pelted my skin, I shed the final layer of my pretence. I wasn’t going to play the part of the dutiful, unaffected wife anymore. Not here, not with the water muffling the sound of my own fractured sighs. My fingers were already between my thighs, parting the slick folds, searching fo

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    I chuckled, a low, rumbling sound in the quiet of her room. "More? Already, Serena? I thought I wore you out." I shifted my weight, my cock still nestled deep inside her pussy, feeling the last aftershocks of her orgasm grip me. The thought of stopping was so impossible for me. My promise to return wasn't just about fulfilling a request; it was about satisfying a craving that had taken root deep inside me, a craving for her and her alone. She opened her eyes, and the look in them was nothing but satisfied. It was a look of pure, unadulterated hunger. "You don't wear me out, Simon," she whispered, her voice like a siren's call in the moonlight. "You just make me want you even more." Her hands slid down my back, her nails lightly scraping my skin, sending a fresh wave of desire straight to my groin. "You promised to fuck me whenever I asked you from now on." That was all what I needed. I pulled out slowly of her pussy slowly, making her gasp at the sudden emptiness, before I flipped

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    "Simon," she whispered in her sleepy voice. "I knew you'd come." I smiled down at her, my hand reaching out to cup her face. "I promised," I said softly. "I never break a promise, especially one made to you when I knew how fucking good you taste." She leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering shut again as I gently ran my thumb over her lower lip. "Your taste was so good also," she murmured. I placed my lips on her forehead and kissed her. Then to her nose, before finally taking her lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It was different from the one we had shared earlier this one was slow, deliberate, and full of promise. It was a promise of what was to come. Her hand moved to my neck, pulling me closer enough to deepen the kiss. I groaned low in my throat as her tongue met mine, a dance of passion and hunger. I felt her hand slide down my chest while her other fingers worked at the buttons of my pyjama top. My own hands moved to her waist, pulling her up so she was sitting, her legs w

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