Page 11 of Fame
“Now, are you ready to answer me?” I let her catch her breath before pulling her to her feet, the wobble in her legs and fucked-out haze of lust on her face nearly as much of a turn on as her perfect lips around my dick.
Am I ready for the answers I’m demanding? No. Am I willing to abandon the game and give up on making her answer me? Also no.
CHAPTER 12
LEELEE
Abig part of me wants to lie and tell Shaw that Zinovy and I touched. Kissed. Fucked. A part of me is still angry about the way he pushed me away for so long. Denied everything between us. Called me a mistake.
“Only a lie would be the wrong answer, Duchess.” Shaw steps backward, pulling me with him, until he can sit on the edge of his bed. He tugs me until I’m straddling his legs, the hard cast on his right leg forcing my thighs so wide I have no choice but to press my aching center against his spit-slick erection.
My dress rides up between us, the soaked cotton gusset of my panties the only barrier separating us from being skin to skin. I want to feel him moving inside me, making me his, more than I want to punish him for hurting me. Hurting us.
“In the office, with you and my father today, is the first time Zinovy and I have been in the same room for over a year. He’s never touched me. You heard him. I’m not his…” I pause, “type.”
“Thank fuck for that. The Beast putting his hands on you would be a crime against decency,” Shaw growls.
“I don’t want to talk about Zin anymore.” I pout. “I only wanna talk about us, Daddy.”
When I call him daddy, Shaw’s cock flexes where its pushing the cotton of my panties between my lower lips. I rock against it, my body knowing what I need even before my brain does.
“What’s there to talk about? You’re mine. Not his. End of discussion.” His jealousy is a turn on, and I file it away for later. Jealousy will be a handy distraction to make sure I always get my way when I need it.
“You say I’m yours, and you told my father the wedding date should stay the same, but don’t you think you’re missing a couple steps?” So sue me; I need the words.
“Does my baby girl need a demonstration?” he purrs. His hand slips between us to nudge aside my panties before he lifts me high enough to notch his cockhead at my entrance.
Maybe, another time, foreplay will be a priority, but right now, we’re on the same page. All I want is to be split wide open on his cock, seated on it like a queen on her throne.
“Show me!” I command. Arousal makes my voice a reedy whine. I’m still fully dressed, the sweaterdress I wore to try on gowns rucked up around my waist, my panties pushed to the side. My breasts feel heavy and hard in the trap of my bra, but I am fully without the patience to undress.
My hips wiggle and fight against his hold, each swivel pushing me down in tiny increments. I want more. I want all of him. My hands grip his shoulders and tug at him, trying to lever myself enough to break loose and sink down.
“Kiss me, and I’ll give you what you want,” he demands.
I obey, my mouth crushing to his without hesitation. There’s no finesse. No gentle exploration. This kiss is unleashed power and desperation. Teeth clashing and biting at lips, tongues fighting for control. Just when oxygen deprivation sets in, Shaw pulls away his head, dropping his face to lick and suck at my neck while his hands rock me down over his cock.
One long, so long, drop down and he’s buried so deep inside me I can feel him in my eyebrows. My body stretches and strains to take his thick length, Shaw holding us both still while I adjust.
“I needed this for so long, Daddy,” I whine, writhing on him. Impaled.
“I know, Duchess. I fucked up and hurt us both by fighting this. By thinking I wasn’t good enough for you. I’m not. No one is. But you’re fucking mine anyway. And every bit of me is yours. Forever,” he swears.
His hips thrust from under me, grinding the broad base of him against my clit until my eyes cross with the orgasm bearing down on me. I try to bounce on him, but my legs are spread too wide to get purchase. Shaw helps, lifting and dropping me in time with his own forceful drives.
“Tell me you love me, LeeLee. Give me the words.” His sweet demand is made harsh by the bites and sucks on my neck in between each word.
“You,” I pant. “You go first!”
“You always come first. Come for me, and you can have them.” The direction goes directly from his lips to my core, toppling me over the edge into an incandescently bright orgasm.
Cliché fireworks explode outward from inside me, each one a blinding wave of climax that pops and fizzles until the next surge ignites a fresh storm of clenching muscles reaching for more satisfaction. At some point, I recognize the hot wash of Shaw’s release spurting deep within my body, no barrier to contain his spend.
There’s a sharp sting of his teeth on my earlobe, ripping me back from the tracks of the panic train hurtling toward me.
“I love you, Baby Girl. I love you more than you’ll ever understand. I love you, and every baby we’ll make together. Including the one we just made.” Determination stamps truth on every word.
“How do you know we just made a baby?” I hiccup. Tears are an appropriate response to getting everything I ever dreamed of, right?
