I nodded, still feeling slightly out of it.

“My god, you are tempting,” he said, placing a hand between my legs to inspect my pussy. “Nice and wet. Such a good girl. You know, you haven’t had my cock the whole time we’ve been here.”

I stuck out my bottom lip. “I know.” Since we’d been in the hotel room, he’d made me come a dozen different ways, but he’d yet to actually fuck me with his cock. He’d shot his load down my throat, on my breasts, even on my face, but he still hadn’t given me what I wanted most.

“You’ve been such a good girl, maybe if you keep being good you’ll get it,” he said. Climbing on the bed on top of me, straddling my face with his hips, he shoved his cock between my lips. “Get it all nice and wet. Make it hard, bitch.”

His words had me wriggling with excitement underneath him. I opened my jaw as wide as I could and took him in my mouth. He plunged forward until the head of his cock nudged the back of my throat. I tried not to gag, and soon he pulled out and smacked my breasts with his erection before kneeling between my legs.

“Just a minute.” He got off the bed, rustled around in the bathroom, then I heard the unmistakable sound of a condom wrapper opening. He returned to the bed, a predatory gleam in his eye and his cock sheathed in a rubber. My stomach tightened. This was it. I was finally going to have him inside me.

Shamelessly, I opened my legs wide, beckoning him with my wetness to enter my folds. He licked his lips and pushed my thighs apart as wide as they would go. Then he positioned himself between them and pushed the head of his cock inside me.

Immediately, I lifted my hips to take him deeper. He met my efforts and drove farther into me.

“Your cunt feels so fucking good,” he said, his voice husky.

“Yes, sir. Your cock… It feels incredible.”

He nodded, consumed with the sensations. I could see his control slip for a split second, but then he got it back and began to pound into me.

His technique was amazing, the way he paced his thrusts and hit my G-spot with each one, but I think it was feeling the heft of him on top of me that I liked most. The way he spread my thighs as his hips ground against my pussy. The way he grunted into my ear as his balls slapped my ass.

“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted me as he fucked me harder.

“Yes, sir,” I whimpered.

“Then say it. Ask me. Beg for it.”

“Please, sir. I need you to fuck me. Please let me have your cock,” I pleaded.

Then he paused and I felt him slide something under my bottom, but I couldn’t see what it was.

The next time he pressed his cock inside me, I felt them. I knew those suckers so well, there was no mistaking them. The bastard had set a pair of forks underneath each of my butt cheeks so that each push brought an extra scrape and sting.

“Ouch!” I yipped.

He covered my mouth with a hand. “Quiet, you little bitch. Do you need me to gag you again?”

I shook my head and tried to squash my cries each time he plowed into me and those wretched forks bit into my ass.

He was right about the combination of pleasure and pain. Even though it hurt like the devil, I felt my arousal ratchet up a notch with each assault on my backside.

Just when I thought those forks would lead me to the Promised Land, he lifted my legs and hooked my ankles around his neck. This angle allowed him to dive even deeper into me, and every few thrusts I felt his cock bump my cervix. It hurt, but it felt good at the same time, and I felt I was drowning in a sea of pleasure and pain.

Balanced back on his knees, he reached out and grabbed my nipples between his fingers. First he squeezed and pinched them until they were hard as stone, then he pulled them high above me, as if attempting to lift me off the bed by my nipples. I cried out in a combination of agony and ecstasy, and he dialed it back to twisting them, all the while fucking my cunt like he owned it.

Soon I could feel him speeding up the pace, which told me he was close to his own orgasm.

“May I come, sir?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice. “Come all over my cock. I want those fuck juices all over me, trickling down everywhere. Do it! Fucking come now!”

His commanding voice always did it for me. That trigger helped release all the tension that had been building inside me. One more stroke broke the dam in a gush of silken girl-cum.

“You’re so fucking delicious,” he growled in my ear as he leaned over and kissed me. His tongue danced with mine as he buried himself as deep as possible inside me and, I could tell by the familiar catch in his throat, we fell over into the abyss together.

A few hours before Quentin’s plane left, we sat together on the couch in our room. I huddled next to him under a blanket. We were both naked, as I had been ninety percent of the weekend.

“I love the harsh way you talk to me. It makes me feel so dirty. I love it,” I giggled.

“It’s even more important when we’re not together. It establishes my authority, and reminds you of your place. As long as you’re a good girl, you will earn your pleasure and my soothing words. But if I believe you’re not giving me your all or you need more pain, you can expect my words to be mean and nasty.”

“Yes, sir.”

He tugged at my lip and I swung myself astride him, letting the blanket fall to the side.

“You’d better ride me, little girl. Ride me hard.” He smacked my bare bottom, and the slapping sound rang through the room.

I lifted up and fit his erection snugly inside me.

“That’s it. Ride me, you little bitch,” he snarled, but he wore a crooked grin on his face that made me unsure whether I wanted to kiss him or slap him. As if reading my mind, he grabbed my wrists and began pumping into me from underneath. The way our bodies joined together, moving as one, our passion for one another spilling until it was hard to tell where one of us ended and the other began.

I raised and lowered myself onto him.

“Fuck me like your life depends on it,” he growled.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and in that moment, as my hips undulated over him, taking his cock deep inside me—it did.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Two days after I returned from Houston, my mother called me. “Sophie, are you sitting down? I need you to sit down.”

I plopped onto the couch in my living room. “What is it, Mother?”

“Your father has had a heart attack, dear,” Bunny said, matter-of-factly.

“What? Is he okay?”

“Yes, the doctor says it was a mild one and they want to keep him here in the hospital for observation, but he’s going to be fine. That is, if he cuts back on the fried foods and takes his cholesterol medicine. I swear, that man…”

I breathed a sigh of relief and inquired about the hospital’s visiting hours.

“He’s sleeping now, but you might stop by this afternoon, dear.”

For all her irritating qualities, I had to hand it to her. Bunny Davenport was good in a crisis.

My relationship with my dad was complicated. He spent the majority of my life at work, so I didn’t know him the way I did my mother. But later that afternoon, when I saw him lying in that hospital bed, looking so small, all the walls we’d built up between us over the years crumbled, and I remembered the dad who used to stand in the pool and coax me to jump to him. I always feared water going up my nose, but he always caught me and showed me I didn’t need to be afraid.

“Hi, Daddy.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Sweetheart.” He smiled up at me with a weakness in his eyes I’d never seen before. “I guess your mother called you.”

I nodded. He reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. “Please do what the doctor says, okay?”