Chapter 98: NINETY EIGHT

ANGEL

"I was being civil to the help so she wouldn’t quit on day one." His thumb pressed against my lip. Parted it.

He pushed inside my mouth past the first knuckle. I sucked it. Instinct. My tongue curling around the pad of his thumb, tasting his skin, and his pupils blew wide.

"The only person in this house I give a fuck about is the one sitting on my lap."

I sucked his thumb harder, holding his intense gaze as I hollowed my cheeks. A low grunt rumbled from him.

"You want to know what I was thinking?" He pulled his thumb from my mouth. Wet. He dragged it down my chin, my throat, between my collarbones, leaving a glistening trail on my skin. "While you were on the floor? On your hands and knees, crawling around in my shirt, picking up glass like a good little girl?"

"Tell me, Daddy."

"That shirt rode up every time you reached for a piece." His hand found the back of my neck. He gripped firmly. Hard enough that my breath caught.

His eyes were darker, if that were even possible.

"I could see your cunt, Angel. Bare. Right there. Every time you crawled forward your thighs spread and I could see how pink you were. And I had to sit there and discipline you when what I really wanted was to get on the floor behind you and shove my cock inside you while you picked up glass."

My cunt clenched. A pulse of heat so sharp it was almost painful.

"Daddy—"

"So don’t tell me I picked her side." He pulled me closer by the neck until his lips brushed my ear. "I was on your side the whole time, baby. My cock was aching for you the entire time you were on that floor."

A giggle escaped me. Wet. A half-sob, and half-laugh.

"Then why—" My voice was shaking. My thighs were shaking. Everything within me was shaking. "Why did you make me wait? Why did you make me clean while you sat there wanting me?"

"Because." He took my jaw in his hand, making me look at him. "If I’d fucked you the second you got on your knees, you’d learn that throwing plates gets you what you want. And that’s not the lesson." His thumb pressed into my cheek. "The lesson is that you clean the mess, you take the punishment, you cry and crawl and hate me — and then, only then, Daddy gives you what you need."

"What do I get now?" I said, too eagerly, rolling my hips against him. Slowly. I felt his cock twitch beneath me.

I bounced slightly on his lap. Eager. Tears still drying on my face. I probably looked deranged — crying one second, bouncing on Daddy’s cock the next. Welcome to my brain.

"I did everything you asked. Good girls get rewarded, right daddy?"

"Off my lap."

I stared at him in disbelief. "What? But you said—"

"Don’t worry, you’re getting rewarded." He grinned wickedly, nudging me off his lap.

He stood up, those dark eyes travelling over me with the kind of attention that made every inch of my skin feel like it was being touched.

"Take off the shirt."

A thrill ran down my spine and pooled between my legs. "Yes, Daddy."

I pulled the shirt over my head and dropped it on the tile. I stood naked in the kitchen. Bare breasts. Bare everything. The morning light from the windows falling across my skin.

Daddy didn’t touch me yet.

He just looked.

His eyes started at my flushed face and traveled down. Burning down my neck. My breasts, where my nipples were already tightening under his gaze like they had their own relationship with his attention.

His gaze lingered on my stomach until I felt my slit clench with need. Because his eyes were hazy, I knew what he was thinking. About my belly swollen with what he wanted to put inside me.

He was thinking about it right now, staring at my flat stomach like he could will it into existence.

The thought made my pussy clench and more wetness gathered and spill. I could feel it sliding down my inner thigh.

A slow, wet trail that crept down my skin in the quiet kitchen.

He watched it, the glistening trail on my skin. His eyes tracked it the way a predator tracks blood, following the path from between my thighs down to my knee.

His tongue moved across his lower lip. Unconscious. Hungry. Like he wanted to drop to his knees right there and lick it off my skin.

"You’re making a mess," he said, his voice was thick and raspy.

"Your fault, Daddy." I shifted my weight and felt more wetness seep from me.

"You can’t say those things to me and expect me to stay dry."

"I don’t expect you to stay dry." His eyes came back up to mine. "I expect you to do what I tell you. On the table."

"What?"

"Sit on the table. Where she served your breakfast."

I turned and hopped up. The wood was cool against my bare ass and I gasped — sharp, involuntary — the shock of it making my nipples peak even harder. My legs dangled off the edge.

"Spread."

I spread my legs. Wide. Sitting on the breakfast table. Naked. My cunt swollen and glistening and on full display.

Vincenzo walked to the kitchen door. I watched him. He gripped the handle.

And opened it wider.

A grin broke across my face. Slow. Delighted. Wicked.

Because this — this was my language.

He walked back to me and stood between my spread legs, his hands on the table on either side of my thighs. "You wanted everyone to know who this house belongs to. So let them."

His hand slid up my inner thigh. So slow I could feel every callus on his palm, every ridge of his fingerprints against the sensitive skin.

My breath was coming in shallow little pants. He stopped right at the crease where my thigh met my hip. His thumb pressed into the hollow there and held. I could feel the heat of his hand so close to where I needed him but not touching. Not yet.

My hips bucked. Involuntary. Chasing his hand.

"Patience," he murmured, looking amused. "Daddy’s not done looking at his pretty little pussy."

He stepped back, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sleep pants. He pulled them down slowly.

His cock sprang free. Hard. Flushed dark. The head swollen and glistening with a bead of precum that caught the morning light. Heavy. Thick. Curving upward slightly like it was reaching for me.

I stared at it, my mouth watering hungrily. It’s been days of having him inside me, yet the sight of his cock still messed up my brain.

The size of it.

The weight.

The way the veins stood out along the shaft.

The one that stretched me open and made me forget my own name.

"You like looking at Daddy’s cock?" Vincenzo chuckled. He wrapped his hand around the base, holding it and letting me look.

"I love looking at Daddy’s cock." My voice came out breathless with the confession. "Before you started giving it to me, I used to touch myself just hearing your zipper."

"Is that right?" He stroked himself. One slow, deliberate pull from base to tip. I watched the head swell, another bead of moisture form and hang there, translucent.

"Show me." His voice dropped. "Show Daddy how you touched yourself when you were thinking about his cock."

My hand slid down my stomach. Between my thighs. My fingers found my clit — swollen, throbbing, slick — and I circled it. Slow. My eyes locked on his cock while I touched myself on his kitchen table.

"Like this, Daddy." My breath hitched. "I’d rub my clit and imagine you were on top of me."

"Did you put your fingers inside yourself?"

"Two." I pushed two fingers inside me. The wet sound was moist and filthy in the quiet kitchen. "But they were never enough. They were never as thick as you. I’d fuck myself with my fingers and cry because they weren’t your cock."

His hand was stroking faster. His eyes fixed between my thighs, watching my fingers disappear inside my cunt, watching me fuck myself for him.

"Take them out," he commanded. His voice was rough now. Thicker.

I pulled my fingers out. They were glistening, coated with my juices.

"Hold them up."

I held them up, he leaned and took my wrist. Then, he brought my fingers to his mouth. I gasped at the warmth of it as he sucked them clean.

My cunt clenched around nothing. The sight of Vincenzo — my daddy, this powerful, dangerous, terrifying man — sucking my taste off my fingers with his eyes closed and his mouth working — was so depraved and so beautiful I felt tears prick my eyes again. Not sad ones. The overwhelmed kind. The kind that came from loving someone so much your body didn’t know what to do with it except leak from every opening.

He released my fingers and licked his lips.

"Sweet," he said huskily. "My little girl tastes sweet."

"Daddy. Please. Touch me." I begged.

"I’ll do more than touch you."