“You make mewant, baby bird, and I’m so fucking addicted to you justtryto run from me.”
My chest collapsed, hips thrusting as I silently begged for more. One by one, his fingers wrapped around my cock, tugging just enough that I sprang free.
Cool air touched my heated skin, sending a ripple of uncertain pleasure through each one of my nerve endings. It was almost too much for me to take, and I stared at the top of his head, gaze heavy as I watched him use his tongue to catch a bead of moisture that had slipped down the ridges of my cock.
“More.” I gasped.
Daddy licked his lips before wrapping them around me, sucking me into his throat with a deep growl. I came off the table. He was quick to slap a heavy hand on my stomach, forcing my hips still. He made a noise as though it wasn’t enough, as though that first taste made him insatiable, and he’d spend the rest of his life hungry.
Something in my chest began to stir, the breath punching out of my lungs. Pieces of me fell, and when I reached out to catch them, I only found him. Fingers still latched on to his nipple, I anchored myself to his body, tangling my other hand in the collar of his shirt. I tugged him closer, forcing my cock deeper into his throat, worried he might leave before putting me back together again.
“Daddy, please.”
Panic and pleasure were a knot in my stomach, and I wasn’t sure what I was begging for when I arched my back and widened my thighs. My waistband bit into my tender, flushed skin. Heat rose up my neck, leaving my mouth in harsh, unstable pants. Tears crested the corners of my eyes, and I swore I was floating. The novelty of the pleasure, the unfamiliar bliss, frightened me as much as it turned me on.
I’d never flown this close to the sky before.
The muscles in my belly tightened, my toes curling. The cords in my neck nearly burst from my skin when a groan left my throat, and I spilled across his tongue.
Jaw slack, my head rolled, but he held it steady in his palm, licking me clean and leaving a trail of wet kisses up my cock.
“You’re a work of art, baby bird.” He whispered, nuzzling his nose in my neck. His tongue painted pictures in the crook of my skin, using his teeth to tug the supple flesh into his mouth. Daddy sucked as he worked, undoing his belt with an unsteady hand. I watched with a blur in my eyes, as he tugged his cock from his briefs and jerked it in perfect sync with my breaths.
I fixated on his cock, noting the veins that throbbed beneath his angry, red skin, and how much bigger it looked in his hand than mine. His balls hung heavy between his legs, swaying with the motion of his hips. Fingers leaving his nipple, I reached for them, a pathetic whine escaping my throat when I realized I was too far away.
Daddy shifted a little closer, tugging me so deep into his chest, I was no longer on the table. My legs were nearly folded in half, my muscles burning as I captured his balls in my palm and squeezed. He growled, and I felt the sharp bite of his teeth when he sank them into my neck. His lungs filled, hips faltering. His movements were jerky as he shoved my shirt up my chest, bunching it beneath my chin. I held his balls in my hand, and he emptied himself across my stomach.
I melted against his sweaty skin, pressing our foreheads together. My eyes touched his, the dark circles wild and dilated. His lips were swollen, wet with saliva that dripped down his chin. Daddy looked feral.. debauched and dirty, andoh,I hoped I looked the same.
I slipped my fingers across my wet stomach, dragging them through the puddle he left me. Bringing my thumb to my mouth, I painted his come across my lips and used my tongue to lick it clean. Hand on his jaw, I forced his lips on mine and gave him a taste.
His body jerked as though his knees went weak, and then he laughed. “You’re going to kill me.”
I hoped not.
CHAPTERELEVEN
ROMAN
Sebastian spent his life trapped in a labyrinth of pain, screaming at an octave nobody could hear. His wounds bled and then scabbed over, leaving scars on his skin like stars in the sky.
A person could only be stabbed so many times without dying that eventually they begged for relief.
I wondered how long Sebastian begged.
I wondered how loud he cried.
I wondered how often he bled before his scream turned to silence.
It was interesting, really, that the moment he stopped speaking was the moment someone wanted to listen—not because they wanted to hear what he had to say but because they were afraid of the words he’d eventually speak.
The littlest birds sang the scariest songs.
“I learned something in science class the other day,” he whispered, and I couldn’t decide what drew me in more, the words he spoke or how he sounded.
It was like music—a timeless, sacred song, and only the most worthy of people could hear its melody.
How fucking lucky was I to be one of those people?