Judge Me, Abby Knox [i love reading txt] 📗

of not having him claim me all the way yet.

My body, as it turns out, loves torture. I can tell by the way my toes curl, and the swell of pleasure rises inside me.

“Philip, I—”

Swiftly, Phillip’s body covers me from behind. I’m still gripping the back of the sofa, and his ragged breath is in my ear. “In here, in the paddling room. You. Address. Me. As. Daddy.”

His chest pressing down against my back, his hands over mine, his legs brushing the backs of my thighs, and his groin grinding against my pussy, all of it pushes me closer to the edge. I can barely function, let alone speak. “I…” I swallow. “Daddy, I…I’m sorry, but I think I’m about to come.”

“Wait,” he says, low and gravelly in my ear.

Oh god, that’s not helping me dry up.

“I…it’s too much to hold it in. Please, please, please stop torturing me, Daddy. I promise I’ll be good.”

With a wicked, frustrated snarl, he orders me to spread my legs. When I do, a whole new sensation hits me. His fingers slip inside my wet folds as his big hand claims me, slicking in my wetness. The newness of it all, the greediness, the wet sounds, the groans from him that vibrate through me—it’s so much more than my mind and body can take.

Still, I can’t control my smart mouth. “See, I told you my pussy was ready for you, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he exclaims again. The erudite Englishman is at a loss for proper speech. Unexpectedly, he sinks one finger into my channel and moves it around.

“Oh!” I cry.

“Good?” he asks, still gravelly and sexy in my ear.

I whimper, “Mmhmm,” now at the point of no return as the walls of my sex clamp down around his thick digit. More. I want more, and I want it deeper. I need it. I nearly had it bare in my hands last night; why can’t I have it now?

I cry actual tears when he removes his finger from my cunt, and with a flick of my clit, pushes me over the cliff entirely. The waves of my release crash over me, and it’s so powerful I might pass out.

My knees do indeed buckle, but Phillip’s got me.

I shudder through wave after wave of my climax as he carries on manhandling my pussy.

When he’s decided I’ve had enough, Phillip swoops me onto the sofa. With me in his lap, his hand remains between my legs, massaging my thighs. The contact pulls two, three more involuntary spasms of pleasure out of me.

Finally, his healing kiss on my lips restores my coherent thoughts. “All right, love?”

I nod. “Yes, Daddy,” I breathe, shuddering.

“Can you stand? Stand up, and let’s see the red bottom.”

I obey, of course, and let him lift my skirt. He tsks. “I’ve left a bit of a handprint, haven’t I? Shall I kiss it for you?”

I simply nod, overwhelmed by his sudden change from domineering to caring. He kisses my cheeks one by one, then gently rubs the red spots. “Did I hurt you?”

I turn and throw my arms around his neck. “No, not at all. I know you would never.”

He laughs, and the vibrations warm me all over. “Come here,” he says, drawing me closer so that I’m straddling his lap. Phillip kisses me all over my face, smoothing out my clothes. His hands are everywhere, rubbing my arms and legs from one end to the other. I feel like a precious jewel in his arms. I knew. I always knew he was wonderful; I had no idea how wonderful he could make me feel.

“Now, Daddy? Now can I have my present?” I run my hand down his front and rest it over his groin. The rigid cream horn is ever-present; I don’t even know what his body would feel like flaccid.

Phillip whispers in my ear, “Tomorrow.”

I whine and heave myself against his body, my words muffled in his shirt. “Why not now?”

“Now, now. None of that. Must save your energy for Cake Day.”

Chapter Ten

Phillip

Jamie, the director, waves his clipboard in the air, looking like he might walk off the set at any moment.

“You have to get control of the situation.”

I keep my voice calm and measured. “The situation is well in hand.”

Jamie points at me threateningly, and one quick quirk of my eyebrow lets him know I do not appreciate people pointing their fingers at me. “You know damn well this looks like favoritism.”

This accusation makes me belly laugh for the first time in ages. No, wait. Chloe made me belly laugh the other day in the elevator.

“Jamie, how in the world could it possibly look like favoritism when there’s no way she’s going to win?”

Georgianne clears her throat. “Which brings up another question. How did she get here?”

Jamie and Georgianne look at me questioningly. I have a choice now. I could blame it on the assistant producers, say they somehow let her slip through the cracks, or worse, decided to bring her on as comic relief. Either of those explanations would get someone fired. I can’t have that.

So I tell the truth. “Me.”

Georgianne narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t quite understand. Jamie’s jaw drops, and he points at me with his clipboard. I wish he wouldn’t do that. “You designed all this?”

Georgianne snorts. “What do you mean ‘designed’?”

I cross my arms in front of my chest and say not another word.

Jamie is a smart man, and he can explain it to her. “Essentially, what we’re talking about here is a casting couch audition. She slept her way to the show.”

Wait a minute.

Just then, the executive producer, Harlow, walks up looking excited. Her face falls when she sees the other two appalled and upset. “Uh-oh, what’s happening, people? What did I just walk into the middle of?”

With a handle on my blood pressure at the implication that my Chloe “slept her way to the top,” I explain things calmly.

Jamie exasperatedly waves his hands around. “And meanwhile, you could have