“Your thighs are so hard,” I said, palms flat against him. “Like I know you could crush my skull with them and I’d say thank you. And this—” I rubbed over his bulge, slow and wicked, and my eyes rolled back a little because f**k, “—this is why I’m not okay. You’re already so hard. And I haven’t even begged yet. I haven’t even started.”
I pressed my cheek to his thigh and moaned like a needy little thing in heat.
Then I looked up again.
“You’re so mean, Daddy,” I whispered. “Just standing there. Letting me fall apart down here. My mouth’s watering, my thighs are stuck together, and you’re just watching like you’re not seconds away from wrecking me.”
I slid one hand between my legs and touched myself—lightly, just enough to smear slick on my fingers—and then I held them up to him.
“Look
