Amelia gulps down her tears, and then grips two handfuls of my T-shirt, beseeching me like she’s been wandering in the desert for days and I’m here to rescue her.
“Fuck me, daddy, please. Hard.”
Dom lifts me up so my ass is on his desk and pushes down his sweatpants. His cock springs free. I stare at him. Wow. He got hard doing that to me. Really hard.
He pulls my leggings and underwear down over my shoes. I can’t even remember what I was being so bitchy about now. All I’m thinking about is my burning ass and the sight of him rolling a condom along his length.
“Owww,” I moan, leaning back on my hands. “My poor behind is all sore, and now you’ve got me sitting on it.”
Dom’s golden eyes are blazing. “Daddy wants you to remember your punishment while he fucks his little brat.”
I hiss in a breath hearing him talk like that. Then I blink hard, so that the last of my tears run theatrically down my face. Then I pout up at him. “Ow. So mean. Poor little me.”
“Poor little peaches,” he agrees, pressing my thighs wider with one hand and holding his cock with his other. He rubs thoughtfully up and down his length, looking at me with my legs splayed for him. Then he impales me hard and deep. I cry out, my head tipping back.
He holds tight to my hips, repositions me, and then thrusts again.
“You’re not even sorry,” I gasp, and lean back on my elbows to draw him deeper, and he rides me hard.
“About your little red ass? What gave that away? Play with your clit, baby. I love watching your little fingers.”
I reach forward, doing as I’m told, biting my lower lip as the pleasure and heat spreads through me.
But as soon as I’m about to come, he grabs my hand and pulls it away from my clit.
“No! What are you doing?”
“Who’s daddy’s little brat?”
I scowl up at him.
“Say it, and I’ll let you play with your clit again, you dirty little girl.”
Damn him. I really really want to come. With a glower, I tell him through gritted teeth, “I’m daddy’s little brat.”
He grips my wrist tighter. “Again. Keep saying it. I want to make sure the message sinks in.”
He releases me and I do as I’m told, my expression of fury melting into bliss as my climax grows again. “I’m daddy’s little brat. I’m daddy’s little brat. I’m daddy’s little—ah, oh god!”
Dom lifts my hips up off the desk as he continues to thrust into me as I come. “Fuck, yes, you are, peaches. Daddy’s perfect little brat.”
He climaxes with a roar, gripping my ass hard and pounding me mercilessly. When he finally eases me back down again, I collapse back onto his desk, weak with release and gasping for air. His keyboard is digging into my shoulder, but I don’t even care.
Dom gets rid of the condom and tucks himself back into his sweats. Then he leans over me, his hands braced either side of my head. “Well, then? What’s eating you today, peaches?”
Oh, that. It’s the last thing I want to talk about right now. I just want to enjoy the feeling of being well fucked by him. Dom’s brows are drawn together, but in concern, not anger. I rub my finger over my lower lip, thinking.
“Maybe I can help you, if you trust me,” he offers. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine too. But I’d love it if you confided in me. I promise I’ll listen and I’ll never, ever laugh at you.”
I duck my chin as tears come into my eyes again. Tears of anguish this time, not pain. His torso in his black T-shirt and the letters that spell DOM get blurry.
“I just feel so helpless,” I manage, before my voice cracks.
“Ah, babygirl,” he murmurs sympathetically, pulling me up and into his arms. He draws me against his strong chest. I resist for a moment, and then I’m bawling into his T-shirt, my arms wrapped around his neck. He rocks me side to side as I cry, stroking my hair.
“Tell daddy what happened.”
His warm words curl around me. Wrung out and heavy in his arms, I feel safe enough to tell him the truth. I take a shuddering breath, and without lifting my cheek from his chest, I start talking about my shitty day. “You know I work as a journalist, but I’m an artist, too. That’s my real passion. Painting.”
I feel him look down at me in surprise. “Peaches, I had no idea you were so talented.”
I shrug a little, but I can’t deny it feels nice when he says that. Not that he’s ever seen any of my work. But it’s lovely he believes in me. “I visit all the city’s galleries, the ones that exhibit contemporary art, and fantasize about one day seeing my work hanging on the walls. There’s one gallery in particular in the inner east that’s like my Mecca. It my goal to be exhibited there one day.”