She swallowed hard, the heat crawling from her throat to her cheeks. Her voice shook as she whispered, “I want you to breed me…daddy”
His smile was both dangerous and delightful. That word—bred—set him ablaze.
"That’s my girl." He loved it when she called him daddy because it simply meant that it was time to wreck her to skin and bones.
His fingers sank into her then, deep and deliberate, the stretch of it enough to make her back arch. She gasped, fingers clutching the edge of the table. He pumped them inside her in a rhythm that didn’t let her breathe, circling her clit with his thumb in tandem—his eyes locked on hers, never losing her sight.
Her body trembled beneath the weight of his words, and she whimpered.
He leaned over her, one arm pinning her hips down as she writhed. His mouth ghosted over her throat, and his voice dropped lower.
"Do you know what you do to me, babygirl? The way your body begs for me, the way you ache to be filled… It makes me lose every ounce of control."
Then, without warning, he gripped her hips and pulled her down the table—fast, unforgiving—lined himself up, and slammed into her in one savage thrust. Her scream was broken, but gloriously echoed. He paused, fully buried to the hilt, his breathing ragged against her ear.
"Mine," he growled. "Every inch of this perfect little body—mine to fill, mine to breed, mine to break if I choose."
She nodded, lips parted in shock and surrender, hips already rolling to take more. She was enchanted, in a wild trance. Like he held her in a hypnotic state.
"Please… don’t stop," she begged.
He began to move harder and deeper, relentlessly. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the night, mingling with her gasps, his low groans, the creak of the wood under their fury. His hand stayed on her clit, never letting her fall behind. Every thrust knocked the air from her lungs, and still she begged for more.
"You’re going to come when I tell you," he said, voice tight with control. "Not a moment before. Do you understand?"
“What?” she breathed, dazed. “Huh…?”
But she wasn’t asking for clarity. She was adrift in the way his voice poured over her. She loved how it wrapped around her like a leash. His instructions blurred into background noise; it wasn’t the meaning she craved, it was the tone—the way he spoke to her as if her body belonged to him by divine right.
She was spread across the heavy teakwood table on the deck, legs parted, heels brushing the air, the warm breeze catching the edge of her hair. Her breath hitched as his palms pinned her thighs open, thumbs pressing into the softest flesh with reverence and threat all at once. His eyes, shadowed and dark, flicked from her parted lips to the place between her legs where his fingers moved in cruel, deliberate circles.
“You don’t get to zone out on me,” he asserted. “Not when I’m right here… giving you everything you beg for.”
His fingers stroked her in slow, studying spirals, feeling how her body pulsed for him—wet, aching, hungry. And she was hungry. Her hips shifted without permission, chasing his touch, her body greedy, needy, unruly.
She arched and cupped her breasts, rolling her thumbs over sensitive peaks as if her touch might anchor her—but it didn’t. It only set her adrift, made her moan softly, like a prayer half-said.
“I can feel how much you want it,” he whispered, leaning in so his breath ghosted over her neck. “You want to be full of me. Used. Claimed.”
She whimpered, trying to say yes, trying to beg for more, but he stole even that from her. His fingers stopped.
And then, without warning, he pulled her sharply toward him, her back bowing in surprise, and positioned himself at her entrance. Her breath stuttered, and just as she thought he’d ease in, he drove into her with a force that made her cry out in surprise.
She clenched around him, tight and instinctive, her body reacting before thought could intervene. He groaned low, dragged back an inch—and she tightened again, deliberately this time, mischief flickering in her eyes.
“Oh?” he smirked, breath ragged. “You think you can keep me?”
She held him with her body, like her core was starving—like it would swallow him whole. Her lips curved into a playful, defiant smile.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she managed to say.
His jaw flexed. Her words, her body, her need—lit something in him. Something darker. Something primal.
His voice dipped lower, dangerous now.
“You want to be filled, babygirl?” he asked, each word coated in possession. “You want to be so full of me that it drips out of you for days?” His pause at every word felt like the death to her.
She whimpered—no words this time. Just a broken, desperate sound that told him everything.
His hands gripped her hips hard enough to brand, dragging her to meet every brutal stroke. Her moans grew louder, but beneath them was something else—something wild, something soft. She didn’t just want release. She wanted to be marked, claimed, made his in every way. Owned.
She tilted her head back, eyes glassy, lips parted, a flush blooming across her chest as her body trembled.
His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, desperate. And through it all, he watched her face—watched her fall apart, watched her fall deeper into his grip.
She clung to him now; her nails raking his back, arms locked around his shoulders like she might float away if she let go. Her moans were less sounds now, more like confessions slipping from her soul. The kind she couldn’t say in daylight and couldn’t even admit to herself.
But he saw them all. He heard them in the way her body tightened around him when he whispered mine. Felt it in the quiver of her thighs when he held her still and made her feel everything—every inch, every intent.
He was still inside her, so deep she felt split open in the most exquisite way. Her legs trembled where they wrapped around his waist, her chest pressed to his, sweat-glossed and breathless.
And then he paused—not out of mercy, but to watch her unravel, eyes heavy-lidded as he whispered,
“You’re made for this. Made for me.”
The words lit a fire in her chest, hot and consuming. Her lips brushed his cheek, soft and reverent, as if kissing something holy.
“I want to be,” she whispered. “Want you to… make it real.”
His thumb traced her lower lip, and she took it into her mouth with aching devotion—tongue swirling slow, eyes never leaving his. A silent promise. A submission.
He pulled out just enough to make her whine, her body gripping him to keep him close, and then drove back in with such force that her head fell back, mouth open in shock and pleasure. And this time, he didn’t stop. He took her like he was engraving something eternal into her bones—with purpose, with dominance, and with something terrifyingly close to worship.
Her body tensed—on the edge of something she couldn’t name. And in that moment, his voice wrapped around her again, low and ragged.
“Let go, baby. Give it to me. ”
And she did. She broke.
A cry escaped her lips—raw, shaking, and soaked in surrender. Her whole body convulsed with release, and he followed, deeper than he’d ever been, with a growl that sounded more like a vow.
As silence settled between them, the only sounds were the ocean’s whispers, the distant breeze, and their breath—broken and intertwined.
He remained inside her, still throbbing, his hand gently pushing back the damp strands of her hair, treating her like the most precious thing he'd ever known.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured against her temple. “Mine.” He kissed her lips with a tenderness that seemed to breathe life back into her.
This time, her answer wasn’t in words but in the way her body softened into his, as if she had always belonged there.
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