Chapter 90 - NINETY

Chapter 90: Chapter NINETY

VINCENZO

I woke to a wet heat around my cock.

My eyes opened. Angel was between my legs, her dark hair fanned across my thighs, her lips stretched around me. She looked up when she felt me stir. Those eyes — wide, innocent, deranged — locked onto mine.

"Good morning, Daddy," she said with her mouth full of me. The vibration traveled the length of my shaft and settled at the base of my spine. Precum leaked from my tip and she caught it with the flat of her tongue, dragging it across the slit in one slow swipe. Then she moaned. Soft. A sound designed to make me produce more of what she wanted.

It worked. My cock pulsed and another bead of moisture swelled at the tip. She lapped it up like it was honey.

"You taste different in the morning," she murmured, her tongue circling my tip lazily. "Thicker. Saltier." She sucked just the head into her mouth and pulled off with a wet sound. "I’ve been down here for twenty minutes waiting for you to wake up. I couldn’t help myself. I woke up and it was right there. Hard. For me."

"It’s called morning wood, Angel. It’s not—"

"It’s for me." She said it with absolute certainty. Like the sun rising for her was a fact she didn’t need confirmed. "Your cock knows I’m here even when you’re sleeping. It gets hard because I’m in the bed." She licked a long stripe up the underside. "Because your body wants to be inside me even when your brain is off."

Fuck. The way her mind worked. The deranged logic of it. Every biological function reinterpreted through the lens of her obsession.

The worst part was she wasn’t entirely wrong. I’d been dreaming about her when I woke up. My cock wasn’t just hard from blood flow. It was hard because even in sleep my body had registered her warmth, her scent, her proximity. Three times inside her since midnight and my unconscious mind was already hunting for a fourth.

I lay there staring at the ceiling while my daughter sucked my cock in my bed and I thought about how we’d gotten here.

I hadn’t meant to fuck her last night. The last thing on my mind when she suggested dinner was that the evening would end with me buried inside my own daughter on the living room couch. But she’d pushed. She always pushed. The white dress. The ice cream dripping between her tits. The cherry stem tied in a knot and placed on a stranger’s table like a business card. The man in the bathroom with his pathetic cock out, his hands on her strap, his mouth calling her a slut while my bug fed every word directly into my ear.

She’d pulled and tugged at my restraint for weeks. Sleeping in my bed. Grinding against me in the dark. Walking through my house in those tiny shorts with her nipples pressing through thin cotton. And last night, with ice cream running between her breasts and a stranger’s eyes on what was mine, the wire had finally snapped.

I wouldn’t lie to myself about what I’d felt. Her obsession with me — the tantrums, the provocations, the desperate, deranged need for my attention — it turned me on. Knowing my daughter would orchestrate an entire evening of chaos, destroy a man’s life, just to see if I loved her enough to lose control. That was fucked up. And it made me harder than anything Jillian had ever done.

Her pussy was perfect. Tight. Hot. Gripping me like it was built to fit me and no one else. Those nipples — pink and hard and sensitive, the way they’d puckered when I bit them, the sounds she made when my teeth closed around them. I could still taste her skin. Still feel the way her back arched when I hit deep.

But as I’d taken her, a dark, ferocious part of my brain had kept circling back to one thought. Damien was her first. That dead bastard had been inside her before me. Had touched what was mine before I even knew it was mine. Had made her moan and come and call him daddy while I was out there burning the world down trying to get her back.

It made me angrier than I’d ever been. A rage so deep and irrational it had no bottom. I’d wanted to fuck Damien out of her. Erase him. Replace every memory of his cock with mine, every moan he’d pulled from her with louder ones, every orgasm he’d given her with something so much more devastating that his name would dissolve from her vocabulary.

He was ash now. And she was here. In my bed. With my cock in her mouth.

Mine.

Angel hollowed her cheeks around me, then pulled off and moved lower. Her tongue found my balls. She took one into her mouth and sucked gently, then harder, earning a hiss through my teeth that I couldn’t contain. She smiled against my skin. Proud of herself.

"I love these," she said, nuzzling against me. "I love how heavy they are. Full of all that cum you’re going to pump into me later." She kissed them. Gentle. Almost reverent. "I want every drop, Daddy. Every single one. I don’t want you wasting it in showers anymore. It belongs inside me."

Fuck. And was going to kill me with those words.

She moved back up. Took my cock into her mouth again. Deeper this time. I felt the back of her throat constrict around my tip and she gagged — a wet, choking sound that made her eyes water — but she didn’t pull off. She pushed further. Took more. Her throat working around me while tears streamed down her cheeks and saliva ran from the corners of her lips.

My hand found her hair, gripping.

A knock sounded on the door.

Angel stiffened. Just slightly. Her mouth still around me. My hand still in her hair.

It had to be Martha. She never entered without permission, but the knock meant she was right there. Two inches of wood between her and the sight of my daughter choking on my cock at eight in the morning.

Angel pulled off me with a wet pop. I saw the flash in her eyes before I recognized it. That glint. That deranged, wild gleam I’d been trying to ignore for days. Her mind shaped around an idea and I could see the exact moment it formed, could see the madness crystallize in her pupils.

I reached for her. I was too fucking slow.

"Come in!" she called out cheerfully.