Daddy's filthy little pet
Not yet.
Next bite: croissant, flaky and buttery. She hummed happily, eyes closing for a second. I fed her yogurt next — spoonful at a time — wiping the corner of her mouth with my thumb when a bit of honey clung there.
She caught my thumb between her lips, sucked the sweetness off, and I groaned low in my throat.
“Careful, kitten.”
She smiled around my thumb — wicked, innocent — then released it with a soft pop.
I fed her more — mango slice, kiwi, another strawberry — watching every movement of her mouth, every flutter of her lashes, every small sound of pleasure she made.
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