Semua Bab Dirty Cum-mandments: Daddy One Shots : Bab 11 - Bab 20

RINA I nodded my head vigorously against the leather cushion, tears of pure pleasure pricking the corners of my tightly shut eyes. "Yes... oh god, yes, Easton. Please... just fuck me. Please, just ride it." Instead of giving me the fast pace I was desperately begging for, Easton bent his towering frame over my body even more, flattening himself against me until his broad, muscular, rock-hard chest was brushing heavily against my bare, arched back. The sheer weight of him was crushing me into the sofa, making me feel completely consumed by his massive size. He reached down with both of his large hands, grabbing both of my ass cheeks and squeezing the soft flesh softly, using the grip to force my body into a slow, agonizingly deep grind right against his cock inside me. I let out a loud, breathless whimper, my restraint completely shattered. My left hand shot up to my chest, my fingers squeezing one of my own breasts desperately, pinching the hard, sensitive nipple through my sh

RINA I spent the next few hours in my room, huffing angrily like a caged animal as I sat on the edge of my bed. My hands were clenched so tight into fists that my knuckles were stark white, and I could feel my pulse throbbing in my palms. I let out a long, shaky exhale, trying to blow out some of the heat rising in my chest, and ran a frustrated hand through my long, tangled hair. "God, he’s such an asshole," I muttered grittingly to the empty room, my voice cracking with a mix of fury and genuine hurt. Desperate to share the rage with something, I kicked the flower vase at the foot of my bed off with a violent flick of my ankles, watching it fly across the rug, and curled into a tight ball on top of my bed. I felt incredibly stupid. And even worse, I felt angry at myself for being stupid. I knew I was wrong for even bothering to bring up last night in the kitchen. I should have known better. I should have known that the second the sun came up, Easton would go right back into h

RINA My knees hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud right in front of his feet. A sudden, surprised gasp tore out of my mouth as I looked up at him from my knees, my hands landing on his heavy thighs to steady myself. The physical dominance of the move left me completely breathless, my core turning into a literal puddle inside my underwear. Easton looked down at me, his face completely cold and brutal as his hand went directly to the waistband of his low-slung gray sweatpants. With one swift, deliberate motion, he moved the fabric down past his hips, letting his sweatpants bunch around his thighs and his hard, rigid length snapped free, pointing straight at my face. I swallowed hard, my throat bobbing up and down as I stared at the absolute size of him. He was completely, violently hard. The thick, veiny shaft was throbbing with a heavy life of its own, and I could see the clear, glossy precum already pooling right at his swollen tip, glistening under the light of the lamp. East

RINA I couldn't stop. My hand worked faster and faster against my own wet flesh, my fingers sliding through the slick, hot cream coating my pussy. The friction was like a sharp, blinding wire of pure electricity shooting straight to my brain. I was panting now, my chest heaving up and down as I watched Easton through a thick, heavy haze of absolute lust. I was trying so hard to find my own release, but Easton wasn't helping my state of mind at all. He was standing right over me, stroking his massive cock in a completely desperate, heavy manner, pumping the thick shaft so fast that his tattooed hand moved in a complete blur under the dim light. The length of his manhood seemed to have completely doubled in size, the veins bulging aggressively like thick cords along the skin, and the width looked absolutely massive. It was a terrifying wall of rigid authority pointing straight at my face. The brutal sight of him treating himself so roughly made the knot in my belly tighten to a

IVY The freezing air of the Wolf’s Hockey Arena bit sharply at my bare skin, but the absolute, hot fury coursing through my veins was more than enough to keep me warm. I sat in the front row of the plastic bleachers, right up against the thick plexiglass barrier, fuming with a rage that made my chest heave beneath my blazer. It was yet another grueling, ungodly early training session at the arena. Another miserable day of my life dedicated to creating a squeaky-clean, pristine public image for a bunch of overpaid, reckless jocks who made up Dale University's star hockey team. My literal full-time job as a professional PR expert was to spin their latest frat-boy disasters into wholesome charity work, painting their chaotic, alcohol-fueled lives to be infinitely less scandalous than they actually were. But honestly, the most tasking, soul-crushing part of my entire existence wasn't dealing with the media or the players. It was having to endure Coach Wayne’s constant, relentless