Chapter 89 - EIGHTY NINE

Chapter 89: Chapter EIGHTY NINE

ANGEL

He started to move.

He was not gentle. Not careful. He fucked me like he was trying to break the couch. Like he was trying to break me. Like every week of restraint was a wave and they were all crashing at once. His hips slammed against my ass with a force that drove me forward into the cushions and his hands dragged me back onto him with each thrust.

The sounds filling the room were obscene. Wet. Raw. Skin meeting skin. My moans were muffled by the cushion. His grunts low and animal behind me.

I could feel everything. Every thrust pushing deep, pressing against my cervix, sending jolts of sharp-sweet sensation up my spine. I could feel how wet I was — drenched, dripping, his cock sliding in and out of me with a slick friction that made filthy sounds with every stroke. I could feel my own arousal running down my inner thighs, pooling on the couch beneath my knees.

"Daddy—" My voice was a mess. I was pushing back against him, matching his rhythm, taking him deeper with each stroke. "Don’t stop — god, don’t stop—"

"God’s not here." He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "Just Daddy."

His hand fisted my hair and he fucked me harder. I was screaming now — not words, just sound, raw and broken, my body taking what he was giving and begging for more. Each thrust knocked the breath from me and filled me with something electric.

He pulled out. I whimpered at the emptiness — sudden, like something vital had been torn away. Before I could protest he flipped me over.

Onto my back. He grabbed my thighs and yanked me to the edge of the couch, standing between my spread legs and drove back inside me.

This time I saw his face.

His eyes were black. Wild. His shirt was still on — open, spattered with the stranger’s blood — and the sight of him above me, half-dressed, bloodied, his cock buried inside me, his face twisted with a mixture of fury and hunger and something that looked almost like anguish — was the most beautiful, terrifying thing I’d ever seen.

"Look at me," he ordered. His hand gripped my jaw. "Don’t close your eyes. Look at what you did."

I looked. Holding his gaze while he fucked me. I watched my Daddy’s face contort with each thrust. The man I’d been dismantling for weeks finally came apart.

He grabbed my hips and angled them up and the next thrust hit something so deep I saw white. My back arched off the couch and a scream tore from me. He hit it again. And again. Relentless. Driving against that spot with a concentration that was making my mind dissolve.

I was close. The orgasm was building — fast, violent, a tightness in my core that was winding tighter with every stroke.

My thighs were shaking around his waist. My cunt was gripping him, pulsing, clenching.

"You don’t come until I say." He leaned down. His forehead resting against mine. Both of us breathing the same ragged air. "You won’t dare."

"I can’t hold it—"

"You will." He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. I screamed. "Because I’m telling you to. Because you’re mine and you do what I say."

"Daddy — please—"

He fucked me through it. Keeping me on the edge. Every time I got close he’d change the angle — pull back, slow down for three agonizing strokes, then slam deep and hard again. Building me up and pulling me back. Over and over. It was cruel. Pure, calculated cruelty. The same discipline he used for everything else in his life turned into a weapon against my body.

I was sobbing. Begging. My nails raking his chest through his open shirt, leaving red trails. My legs locked around his waist. My body a live wire and him the hand on the switch.

"What are you?" he asked. His voice was strained. Close. I could feel it — the tension in his body, the way his rhythm was starting to fray at the edges.

"Yours."

"What else?"

"Your girl. Your sick, twisted, fucked up girl—"

"And what do you want?"

"I want you to fill me up." I pulled his face to mine. Our lips brushing. "I want to feel you come inside me. Deep. I want to walk around this house tomorrow with you dripping out of me."

Something behind his eyes combusted.

He grabbed my hips with both hands. Slammed into me so hard that the couch hit the wall.

Again.

Again.

The rhythm was gone.

Just raw, desperate, animal need pouring out of him in violent thrusts.

His face was buried in my neck and the sounds he was making — low, guttural — were the sounds of a man who had stopped fighting.

"Cum with me," he growled against my throat. "Now."

My body obeyed. The orgasm crashed through me like a shockwave — my back arching, my cunt locking around him in violent, rhythmic pulses, my scream tearing through the dark house.

The intensity was blinding. Every muscle in my body was seizing, releasing, seizing again while wave after wave ripped through me.

He buried himself to the hilt. And held there. His whole body was rigid. I felt him pulse inside me — hot, thick, filling me in deep, heavy waves. Each one pushing further. Each one claiming something deeper.

Then, he pumped through it. Grinding deep. His hands were bruising my hips. I felt every pulse of myself being filled.

I could feel his warmth spreading inside me, thick and claiming. My cunt was milking him through every wave and the sensation of his cum flooding me — hot, deep, so much of it — made me cum again.

An aftershock that rippled through me while he was still pulsing and I clenched around him and he made a growling sound against my neck.

We stayed there. Connected. His weight on me. His face in my neck. His cock still inside me. I could feel everything — the warmth seeping out where we were joined, the wetness trickling between my thighs, pooling on the couch beneath us.

The house was silent except for the sound of his heartbeat hammering against mine. Our breathing slowly unwinding from the wreckage.

I ran my fingers through his hair. Gently. The way he used to stroke mine when I pretended to have nightmares.

His body was starting to tense. Reality flooding back. I felt it — the slow stiffening of his muscles, the change in his breathing.

I held him tighter, wrapping my legs around him. I wouldn’t let him pull away.

"Daddy?" I whispered against his ear.

His breathing hitched.

I pressed my lips closer. "I love you, Daddy," I whispered.

His arm came around my waist. And then—Daddy held me back.