All Chapters of MAKE ME SCREAM, DADDY: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

But Levi doesn’t slow down. His strokes get harder, deep, punishing, his lean body driving into me with a force that betrays the calm in his voice. His thumb finds my clit and presses in tight circles and I’m climbing again, impossibly, my body wrung out but still responding, still chasing—“Come on my cock,” Levi says. “I want to feel what Knox and Marcus felt.”He thrusts deep and grinds and I come, muffled against Marcus’s palm, my body convulsing, my pussy clamping around Levi in spasms that make him groan through clenched teeth. The orgasm pushes more of Knox and Marcus’s cum out of me, and the hot, wet flood between us makes Levi’s next thrust slide in so easily he bottoms out with a sound that fills the room.“Gonna come,” he says, and his composure finally cracks, his voice breaking, his rhythm stuttering. “Gonna add to this. Fill you up with the rest. Three loads, Lena. Three loads inside your virgin pussy.”“Yes, please, fill me up, I want all of you inside me—”He drives de

He pulls me forward. I stand on unsteady legs and he guides me onto his lap, straddling him, my knees on either side of his thighs on the hard plastic seat, my dress riding up to my waist. His cock is between us, hard and hot against my stomach, and the heat of it through the thin fabric of my dress makes me gasp.“There you are,” he murmurs, and his hands settle on my hips. Not grabbing. Resting. Letting me feel the weight and the warmth. “What’s your name?”“Does it matter?”“No.” His thumb traces circles on my hipbone, dipping under the hem of my dress. “I’ll call you whatever you want me to.”“Don’t call me anything.” I shift on his lap, and his cock presses against my pussy through my underwear and we both inhale. “I don’t want this to be personal.”“It’s already personal.” His hands slide around to my ass. Cup both cheeks. Squeeze. His fingers are as big as they looked, spanning the width of me, digging into flesh through the thin lace of my underwear. “The second you didn’t run

He starts to move. Not fast, the train sets the pace. Every sway forward pushes him deeper. Every sway back pulls him out. He uses it— rolls his hips with the rhythm of the car, grinding deep on every forward rock, the motion smooth and undulating and relentless.“Look at you,” he murmurs, one hand braced beside my head, the other finding my breast, rolling my nipple. “Taking a stranger’s cock on public transit. Soaking wet. Already squirted once. If someone walked through that door right now, if someone stepped into this car and saw you—”“Don’t—”“They’d see a girl with her dress around her waist and her tits out getting fucked by a man she doesn’t know. They’d hear the sounds your pussy is making—” He thrusts deeper and the wet squelch rings. “— and they’d know exactly what kind of girl you are.”“What kind?” I gasp, because even the humiliation turns me on, even the degradation feeds the fire.“The kind who needs it so badly she’ll spread her legs for a stranger. The kind who’s so

I come pressed against the pole. My forehead hits the cold metal, my legs shake, and my pussy clamps around him in violent contractions while my fingers keep working my clit through every wave. Wetness floods down my thighs, not squirting this time, but a gush of arousal so heavy it drips to the floor of the train.He doesn’t come. He keeps fucking me through it, slower now, grinding — and when the aftershocks fade, he pulls out.“On the seat. On your back. Legs wide.”I collapse onto the seat. He kneels between my legs and his mouth is on me before I’m settled, tongue flat, licking from my entrance to my clit in one broad, slow stroke that makes me wail. I just came. My clit is screaming. But his tongue is soft and insistent and he eats me like this is the last meal he’ll ever have.“Too sensitive, please, I can’t—”“You can.” He sucks my clit into his mouth. Gentle, wet suction. His tongue flicks the tip, light, teasing, and despite the oversensitivity, my hips push toward him. “You

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter and I don’t think twice about leaving it there.A hundred chances to think this through, and I’ve never taken one. The texts I’ve been sending aren’t the kind that should exist on an unlocked phone in a house where my mother’s stepbrother is staying for the month. But I’m nineteen and reckless and the guy I’ve been sexting, Jake, twenty-two, met him on an app, never actually met him in person— keeps asking for more and I keep sending more because the attention fills something in me that I’m too young to name.Uncle Dean has been living in our guest room for four weeks. Mom’s stepbrother, no blood relation, which shouldn’t matter and absolutely does. He’s thirty-eight, divorced, staying with us while his apartment’s being renovated. Built like he works construction because he does— thick arms, calloused hands, a jaw that’s permanently set in an expression somewhere between irritation and assessment. He barely talks to me. When he does, it’s clippe