Chapter 91 - NINETY ONE

Chapter 91: Chapter NINETY ONE

VINCENZO

The door handle turned. I grabbed for Angel’s head, trying to yank her away from my cock—

Too late.

The door opened.

Mrs. Martha stood in the doorway. Her eyes found the bed. Found me. Found Angel between my legs with her lips red and swollen and wet and my cock glistening with her saliva inches from her face.

Martha’s mouth fell open. No sound came out. Her eyes went wide — wider than I’d ever seen them — and the color drained from her face in a rush that left her grey.

Angel looked over her shoulder at Martha. Then, like nothing in the world was wrong, she turned back to me and took my cock back into her mouth.

"Give me your cum, Daddy," she said, the words muffled and vibrating around my shaft, her eyes locked on mine while Martha stood in the doorway watching my daughter suck my cock.

The door slammed shut. Martha’s footsteps — fast, unsteady — retreated down the hall.

Something inside me detonated. Not arousal. Not shame. Fury. Pure, white-hot fury at the girl between my legs who was testing me all over again.

I grabbed her hair. Hard. My fingers fisting it at the root and yanked.

Her eyes watered, her mouth opening in a scream that didn’t make it out because I shoved my entire length down her throat.

She gagged. Her hands flew to my thighs. Her throat convulsed around me and I felt the muscles clamp and release, clamp and release.

I didn’t stop.

I held her there with my fist in her hair and I fucked her throat.

Fast.

Raw.

Brutal.

Her eyes were streaming tears. Saliva poured from her lips and ran down her chin and dripped onto my thighs. The sounds were nasty — wet, choking, gasping sounds that filled the bedroom.

I should feel guilty. Treating her like this — like a thing, a hole, a receptacle for my rage and my cum.

My daughter.

The girl I’d bathed and fed and nursed back from the dead. The girl I’d sworn to protect.

But my cock didn’t care about guilt. My cock was iron in her throat and the way she gagged around me, the way her throat tightened with each thrust, the way tears ran down her face while her eyes stayed locked on mine with that insane devotion — it was destroying me.

"You think that was funny?" I gripped her hair tighter. Pushed deeper. Felt her throat spasm. "Inviting Martha in? Letting her see you with my cock in your mouth?"

She couldn’t answer. Her mouth was full of me and her throat was convulsing and tears were pouring down her cheeks. But her eyes — her eyes were laughing. Even through the tears, even gagging on my cock, those blue eyes were bright with triumph.

She’d wanted this. The rage. The punishment. The brutality. She’d orchestrated Martha walking in because she knew exactly how I’d react. Because the thing that got Angel wettest wasn’t gentle touches or sweet words. It was my fury. My loss of control. The beast she kept poking until it bit.

What she did was wrong. Calling Martha in. Exposing us. And I’d be damned if I let it slide.

I came down her throat with a groan that I felt in my chest. I held her head against my pelvis while I pulsed, pumping into her throat, watching her neck work as she swallowed. She took every drop. Didn’t fight. Didn’t choke. Just swallowed and swallowed while her tear-streaked eyes looked up at me with something that was beyond submission.

It was worship.

I released her hair. She pulled off, gasping. A string of saliva connected her swollen lips to my softening cock. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and her voice when she spoke was a rasp.

"That was so mean, Daddy." She pouted looking almost genuinely wounded. "Are you upset Mrs. Martha saw your cock, or me sucking it? I don’t mind that she knows."

"What exactly don’t you mind about the housekeeper walking in on you with my cock down your throat?"

She shrugged. Casual. "She works in our house. She’s going to hear things. And see things. I thought she might as well know upfront." She traced a lazy circle on my thigh. "Besides. I liked it. Having an audience."

"That wasn’t an audience, Angel. That was a woman who’s known me since I was a child."

"Even better." Her smile was serene. Angelic. "Now she knows what her little Vin grew up to be."

Before I could respond to that, she leaned back down. Her tongue lapped at my cock — gentle now, cleaning, tracing every vein, licking the mess of saliva and cum from my shaft. She sucked the tip softly. Swirled her tongue around it. Not trying to make me come again. Just tasting. Savoring. Like my cock was a dessert she wanted to finish properly.

"I want her to know," Angel murmured against my skin. "I want her to know Daddy is my Daddy now."

Fuck.

I was getting hard again. In her mouth. While she cleaned me like a cat grooming its favorite thing in the world.

Her utter devotion was doing this to me. The madness of it. The obsessive, unhinged, total consumption of her attention — all directed at me, at my body, at my cock. Damien had trained her to worship and she’d transferred every ounce of that dark, fanatical devotion onto me.

The thought should disgust me. It made my cock twitch against her tongue.

I grabbed her hips and pulled her up my body. She straddled me, her thighs spreading over my hips, and I could feel her — bare, wet, scorching hot against my shaft. She’d been sleeping naked in my bed.

I gripped my cock and lined it up and sank her down onto me in one thrust.

Her mouth opened, her head falling back. She was already drenched — soaked, dripping, her arousal coating me before I was even fully inside her.

"Did sucking my cock do that to you?" I asked.

"Yeah, Daddy." She moaned it. Her hips were already moving. Grinding. Rolling. "Always. Just the taste of you makes me—"

"Makes you what?" I grabbed her hips and pulled her down harder. Filled her to the hilt. She gasped and her walls clenched around me so tight I saw white for a second.

"Makes me so wet I can’t think." She was breathless. Bouncing on me now, her pace desperate. "When I had you in my mouth I could feel myself dripping on the sheets. I was squeezing my thighs together trying to make myself come just from sucking you."

"Did you?"

"Almost." She ground down on me. Hard. "I was so close, Daddy. Just from having you in my throat. Is that sick?"

"Yes."

"Good." She rolled her hips in a way that made my eyes roll back. "I want to be sick for you. Only for you."

Watching her ride me — her glorious tits bouncing, her stomach flexing, her mouth open with sounds that were half moan, half sob — was the most beautiful sight I’d ever witnessed. Her breasts weren’t huge like Jillian’s. They were perfect. Firm and round and exactly the right size to fit in my hands. I cupped them while she rode me, squeezed, watched the flesh spill between my fingers.

All mine. Every inch. Grabbable. Suckable. Mine.

The thought of her belly swelling made my hips thrust harder. Involuntary. A primal, animal impulse that bypassed every rational thought I had left. My daughter. Round with my child. Her tits swollen with milk. Leaking through her shirt while she sat on my lap and the whole world thinking the baby was someone else’s when really it was mine. My blood growing inside my blood. My cum turned into a heartbeat inside the body I owned.