All Chapters of MAKE ME SCREAM, DADDY: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The email comes at 6:47 PM.My office. Now., J. MercerThree words. No context. No please. No salutation. That’s how James Mercer communicates, in commands so efficient they feel like slaps. I’ve been his intern for six weeks and I still don’t know his middle name, what he eats for lunch, or whether he’s capable of smiling. What I do know is that he’s the youngest CEO in the firm’s history, that he fired the last intern for being “aggressively mediocre,” and that every time he looks at me across the conference table, my underwear gets a little wetter.I close my laptop. The floor is empty, everyone cleared out by six on Fridays. The cleaning crew won’t start until nine. It’s just me and the fluorescent hum and the long walk down the hall to his corner office where the glass walls look out over the city skyline.His door is open. He’s behind his desk, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened. Dark hair pushed back. Jaw that looks carved from something expensive. He’s

The glass is cold against my cheek.He sinks into me inch by inch, and I can see the city lights through the conference table, the skyline glittering forty stories below, the world going about its Friday night while my CEO splits me open from behind in his corner office.“Tight.” He says it like a clinical observation. Like he’s noting it for a file. But his grip on my hip tells a different story, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Very tight. How many men have you been with?”“Two.”“Two.” He pauses halfway in. I can feel the stretch of him, the thick intrusion testing my limits, and the fullness is already more than I’ve ever handled. “College boys?”“Yes.”“Did they make you come?”“No.”“Of course not.” He pushes the rest of the way in and I cry out, my hands splaying on the glass, breath fogging the surface. He’s deeper than I thought possible, the head of his cock pressing against my cervix, and the pressure is right on the border of pain and bliss. “Boys don’t know how

I don’t leave.I clean up. Pull my skirt back on. Button my blouse with shaking fingers. The elevator is right there. Home, a shower, a hot bath and a glass of wine to sort through what just happened. All of that is waiting.Instead I stand in his doorway.He looks up from his laptop. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes travel down my body, my flushed face, my wrinkled blouse, my bare legs because my underwear is in his trash can, and something tightens in his jaw.“You’re still here.”“I’m still here.”Silence. The city hums forty stories below.“Come here,” he says.I walk to his desk. He pushes his chair back and pulls me onto his lap in one motion, legs straddling him, my skirt riding up my thighs, and I can feel him hardening under me. Already. Again.“I should send you home,” he murmurs, hands sliding up my thighs under my skirt. “This is a liability. You’re my employee. This could end both our careers.”“Then send me home.”His fingers find me bare and wet, his cum stil

CI’ve been planning this for three weeks.Three weeks of knowing that tonight, Friday night, Ryan would be home sick, knocked out on NyQuil by nine, and his three best friends would be in our basement watching the fight because our house has the big screen and the good couch and they’ve been coming here every Friday since I was fifteen.I was fifteen when I started wanting them. Fifteen and invisible— Nate’s little sister, the one they ruffled hair on and called squirt and talked over like furniture. I sat on the stairs and watched them through the banister, Knox with his jaw and his tattoos, Levi with his quiet intensity and his hands that could palm a basketball, Marcus with his pretty mouth and his laugh that made my stomach flip. Three boys who grew into men in my living room while I grew into a body none of them ever looked at.I’m nineteen now. I’m not invisible anymore.I know because Knox stares at my ass when I walk through the kitchen in shorts. Because Levi’s eyes drop to

The stretch splits me open and I scream.Knox catches the sound with his hand, palm flat over my mouth, his eyes fixed on mine, and pushes deeper. The resistance is sharp, bright, a burning pressure that makes my eyes flood, and then something gives. Something shifts and opens and suddenly he’s sliding in, thick and endless, filling me with a fullness that I’ve imagined a thousand times but never accurately because nothing compares to this.“Breathe,” he says through clenched teeth. His jaw is rigid, his arms shaking with restraint. “Fuck, you’re tight, breathe, Lena.”I breathe. His hand lifts off my mouth and I gulp air, my fingers digging into his shoulders, and the pain is fading, not gone, but folding into something else. Something warm and liquid and expanding. He’s halfway inside me and I can feel every inch, every vein, the thick head pressing against walls that have never been touched.“More,” I whisper.“You sure?”“Give me all of it.”He sinks to the hilt. His pelvis grinds