Daddy's Worst Nightmare

“Yes. I am.” I go toward him, running my hands up the front of his chest. “I might be sheltered, Damian, but I know my father and his associates are just as corrupt as the men they prosecute. I hear the deals he makes, deals that hurt the people he’s meant to serve. Just because his corruption is prettier doesn’t make it better.” I go up on my toes and kiss his chin, his cheek, his mouth. “And maybe you’re a killer. Maybe you are a little—or a lot—bad. But you’re not bad to me.”

“Never,” he vows, dropping his forehead into the crook of my neck. “Never, never.”

“Since you did all this for me, Damian…” I tease the button his jeans with my fingertip. “Let me claim a little responsibility. That way we can be bad together.”

“No.” He surges forward and takes my mouth in a fervent kiss, his hands plowing into my hair to move me how he wants me. “No, you’re too sweet.”

“Then I can be sweet enough for the both of us,” I whisper.

He pants against my mouth while unzipping his jeans. I’m still reeling at the sight of him, thick and ruddy, protruding from a nest of black hair, when he reaches up and plucks an orange from one of the trees. He takes a bite and spits out the peel, then squeezes the orange over his erection, leaving it dripping in juices. I’m quaked by the inundation of lust inside me and it triples when he strips off his shirt, revealing a climbing wall of flexing muscle and sinew.

And there across his belly, my name is tattooed in blue ink.

“Damian,” I whisper, shaken.

His shaft stretches and lifts when I say his name. “Redeem me, Arya.”

You’re going to wrap your pretty mouth around my big bad cock so often, it’s going to taste like home.

I recall him telling me this in the SUV, but it was a someday thing. A skill to be learned later. But with the moment upon me, I am so eager to taste him, I shock myself by peeling the robe off my body and dropping it, falling to my knees in front of him and nuzzling my face in his lap. “Tell me what to do,” I whisper, looking up at Damian.

His eyes are almost black with arousal, chest heaving.

He grips a fistful of my hair and guides me closer. “Just suck the juice off for me, sweetheart.”

My lips stretch around his hard pole and as usual, the scent, the very hint of oranges makes my nipples bead, only now I know why. I know why my folds grow slick and why I writhe my hips up and back in the air while bobbing my mouth up and down on his thickness. His groans encourage me, as does his hand shaking in my hair.

“Oh fuck, Arya. Jesus. I can’t believe you’re here, sucking me off. Doing it so well, too, aren’t you, sweetheart?” His hips jerk up and back, spearing himself in and out of my mouth. “That’s my girl. That’s a good girl. A little deeper for your man. Please. Please. Just another inch.”

After only a few minutes with Damian in my mouth I’m already addicted. Having this powerful man shudder and gasp at the tiniest lick of my tongue or stroke of my hand. I’m never going to get enough of it and I show him that by opening my throat, letting him in deeper until I choke, tears springing to my ears, but it’s worth it. So worth it when he barks a curse and pulls out, my name heaving on his stomach.

He goes down on his knees and spins me around, pushing me forward onto my elbows. “Bend over and give me that tight pussy to finish in. Now.” His chest presses down on my back, his hot breath filling my ears, and then he fills me in one savage thrust. And he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause for even a second before he’s hammering into me, forcing screams from my throat that echo around the enclosed orange grove. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was worried you’d run from me. But you want to know a secret?” He sucks the side of my neck without gentleness, no doubt leaving another mark. “I was only worried you’d try. You wouldn’t have gotten far. The walls are high, my love. My obsession. You’re never getting away from me.”

God help me, that admission, delivered as his hips slap loudly against my bottom, makes my sex tremble and clench, release stampeding through me and leaving me facedown and sobbing while Damian works in and out of my spent flesh, finishing with a shout of triumph.

“I love you,” he grates into my neck, his sweat dripping onto my back and rolling down my spine. “You get one more surprise before I feed you and put you to bed.” He rolls me into his arms, stands and strides from the grove. “We’re getting married in the morning and I want you to be well rested.”