Dinner dragged on like sweet, unbearable torture. Every second I sat across from Mr. Rossi—Daddy—my body burned. My p***y was a slick, throbbing disaster, the lace thong completely ruined and clinging obscenely to my swollen folds. I could feel my juices slowly trickling down my inner thighs, threatening to leave a wet spot on the elegant chair.
My n*****s strained painfully against the thin emerald fabric of my dress, hypersensitive with every slight shift. I smiled and nodded at Nicolos’s stories, but my eyes kept drifting to his father. Those dark, commanding eyes that had watched me choke on his enormous c**k just minutes ago. The taste of him still lingered on my tongue—salty, masculine, addictive. My throat felt deliciously used, a constant reminder that made my c**t pulse harder.
