The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

growl works up through his chest again. “Brace yourself, baby, and remember your safe word if it gets too much, because Daddy’s not stopping for any-fucking-thing else.”

I’m sure I hear my pussy squee, and then I can’t hear anything but the slapping of his skin against mine, his harsh breaths in my ear as he hammers into me.

I cling tighter to him, trying to take his brutal thrusts. He was not kidding. The pounding he’s giving me makes the first five minutes seem slow and measured by comparison. This is Master Logan, fucking the beejeezus out of his subbie. I hold on to him, lift my knees as high as I can, and let him ream me with his cock. With him pistoning this hard, what were spikes of pleasure-pain become carving daggers in my belly. I howl and beat my heels against his ass, but I wouldn’t ever ask him to stop because thrust by thrust, the pain is tripping that crossed wire in my brain and ecstasy is rising, shimmering, simmering, up through my blood and bones to dance right at the surface of my bruised, abraded skin. It’s unbearable, unendurable, and I never want it to stop. Finally, the battering ram tears me open, spills all that sensation over and out of me. I scream with the profound release of it, throwing myself up against his body, forcing his cock even deeper. With a guttural growl, Logan collapses on me and I lie shaking under him, lost in the white haze of my orgasm.

An evil chuckle in my ear brings me back up from a place I have no name for. It’s not subspace. It’s not little space. It’s silence and white noise and brain fuzz, overloaded nerves and over-stimulated tissues. Except for my heart beating in my ears and deep in my pussy, I can’t feel my body. I’m floating somewhere far above where I lie on his bed, crushed under his hot, sweaty, suffocating weight.

My foot twitches at his chuckle, the first part of myself I feel connected to. I wriggle a little, and feel his cock like a giant rebar still buried in me.

“Hard enough for you, naughty baby?” he growls.

“Yes, Daddy.” My voice is so small compared to his.

“Good. Turn over. I’m not fucking done with you.”

Omigod. More? I’m so floppy I don’t think I can even twitch. After two false-starts where I just manage to flail my arms around, Logan takes pity on me, lifts my leg in a way that would be painful if I wasn’t so limp, and rolls me over. He slides his arm under me and grabs my mons. The pressure reignites the stars bursting behind my eyes and I curl against his too-much touch. “Daddy, no.”

“So sensitive. I love how sensitive you are, Emmy. I adore this needy little cunt.”

That needy little cunt is pretty crazy about him, too. So much so that I’m totally fine with him calling it a cunt. I’m also totally fine with it when he starts up again without giving me more than two minutes to recover, rolling his hips so he slides within me. He has the most amazing hip action. No wonder his ass is so firm. The motion makes my eyes roll back in my head.

He starts thrusting, not the insane, agonizing hammering of the last time, but a measured snap of his hips against my ass. He pins me face-down on the bed, his hand in my hair pressing my cheek into the towel beneath me, his other hand gripping my pussy. I thought I couldn’t feel any more mastered than when he held me down in that sixty-nine position, but I was wrong. He’s even more dominant in this position. He’s holding himself up on his elbows and knees, but most of his weight is on me. He’s so much bigger than I am that I’m completely enveloped by his body. He spreads his knees, forcing my legs apart, lifting my hips with the pressure of his palm against my mound. My ass rises and with the next thrust, he’s banging against my cervix again. I wail with the intensity of it.

Logan grunts, deep and pleased. His hand slides from my hair, under my head to cup my face in his hand. I expect him to pull my head back so he can kiss me, but he doesn’t. He just holds my face as he begins to pump, fucking me hard and deep again. “Don’t touch yourself,” he growls. “Just feel me, Emmy.”

I wouldn’t touch myself without his permission anyway, and I don’t need any clitoral stimulation, because he’s shoving across my G-spot with every thrust and the unbearable, delicious tension is building again.

Keeping his hand on my face, Logan releases my pussy, reaches up and grips my hair. Hair-tugging, done right, makes me absolutely wild. Logan knows exactly what he’s doing, pulling hard enough to be perfectly painful without making me feel like he’s tearing my hair out. I writhe under him and he takes that as a signal to unleash on me. His hips hammer against my ass and I go over the edge again, without even reaching for it, making a high whining sound that doesn’t sound human as my whole body shakes, shoulders to toes. As the first wave passes and I think I’m done, Logan grabs my hair tighter and pounds even deeper, drawing out my orgasm into a series of impossible waves that crest and roll as I draw up against him, pushing back against his chest and belly. He groans, again and again, his body flexing deep within me. I feel his hot surge right up into my belly.

He drops his face against my temple and settles onto me. He leaves his hand on my face, which somehow feels more intimate than having him inside me. Where he remains, softer but still sunk deep, gentler but no less in possession. The energy pulsing between us is almost tender in the