Negotiation: Daddy P.I. 0.5, E Frost [best thriller novels of all time txt] 📗

my butt before spooning in behind me. He slides his arm under me and twists my shoulders, so they’re flat on the bed, while holding my hips flush against his. His erection presses in between my butt-cheeks. I lift my left leg a little to ease the strain on my back and hip. It’s a position I’ve done in yoga class and seen in porn videos, and it’s not really very comfortable.

Logan must see the discomfort on my face. “Just for a minute, baby doll. I want to see your eyes as I enter you.”

That makes it okay. I relax against him, sliding my leg over his. He runs his hand up and down between my breasts and my belly before cupping my mons and holding me still while he pushes into me from behind. I meet his eyes, those dark werewolf eyes, glowing a little in the red morning light, as he stretches and fills me. I lose his gaze when my eyes roll back, but not before I see the savage pleasure fill his face.

“Good girl.” His praise fills something else in me. “Turn so you’re comfortable, sweetheart.”

I shift my shoulders so I’m no longer twisting and Logan pulls me tight back against him as he starts to thrust, grinding his cock head over my G-spot. He props himself up on his elbow and leans over me, pressing his cheek against mine, and speaks into my ear. “Beautiful baby. You feel so good. Daddy’s going to take this slow. Slow and sweet and deep. Do you like it that way?”

“Yes, Daddy.” What I don’t like is the lack of connection in this position. Although I love what his cock’s doing inside me. I can’t see him without twisting my neck, or touch him, the way I could when he was on top of me last night. And he’s not mastering me the way he did that made me so crazy. “Daddy, can I please have your weight again? Please-please?”

He presses his lips against my cheek, breathing warmly against my skin. “Not feeling this, little girl?”

I shake my head. “I love what your, um, penis is doing, Daddy, but I can’t see you or touch you.”

“Fair enough, sweetheart. I just don’t want to crush you.”

“I’m super-tough. Un-crushable me. Promise.”

“Un-crushable you, huh?” He chuckles into my hair. “Okay.”

He withdraws from me, rolls me onto my back, kneels between my spread legs and scoops up my hips, drawing my lower body up against his at a right angle, while my shoulders and head are still on the bed. I wrap my legs around his hips, locking my ankles behind him. The iron-hard bar of his forearm slides under my ass, supporting me and reminding me of the soreness of my backside. He’s not giving me his weight, but I have no control in this position. I’m at his mercy, with only one choice: submit or struggle. With a wriggle, I happily choose to submit. He slides his wet length along my slit, then angles his hips back, lines himself up and pushes into me, holding me steady for his entry. I arch at the delicious sensation that runs all the way up my spine. His slow penetration pushes a long moan out of me.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he groans. “Let me see your eyes, baby.” I twist and lift my head so I can meet his gaze. “Oh, yeah. That’ll never get old.”

I’ve got no idea what he sees in my eyes when he enters me. I know I’m wide open to him in that moment. Anything he asked of me, I’d do; anything he wanted, I’d give. Maybe it’s that vulnerability he sees. Whatever it is, it darkens his eyes and fills his face with primal satisfaction.

He spread his knees and begins thrusting, that hard snap of his hips he used the third time last night. In this position, he’s shoving right up into my G-spot with each thrust, surging against my cervix at the end of the stroke, and I keen with the sharp onslaught of pleasure. “Daddy, Daddy!”

“Mmm,” he growls. “I think someone likes this position.”

I nod fervently, my hair foaming around my face. I shake it back and reach for him, wanting that connection our last position lacked. I find his thigh with one hand and grip it, feeling the firm muscle flex under my hand as he thrusts, using his back and ass and thighs.

As I grope at him with my other hand, Logan reaches down and threads his fingers through mine. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Oh, God, he does. He holds me tight while he fucks me. Last night was Master fucking his subbie. This feels more like Daddy fucking his baby girl. There’s something tender and sweet about it even while it’s hot and strenuous and right on the edge of too much. It undoes me in minutes. I’m shivering all over, my toes curling, legs clasping at him as though I could somehow pull him deeper. I remember to beg before I go over, arching up, my head grinding back into the mattress.

Logan pulls my hand to my belly and clasps our hands there, flat on my belly, pressing down against his upward thrusts. I gasp out each hard contraction of my body. This orgasm sucks in-in-in instead of splintering me outward, and for a second, I feel connected with everything: Logan, the bed, the ground under his house, the Earth, the eight and a half million sleepy souls of the city. The moment stretches, drawn out by Logan’s slow, deep thrusts.

I sob dryly, “Daddy, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy. Ta, ta, ta so much.”

“Good girl. That’s it. Let it out, baby doll.”

I do, releasing whatever strange energy he’s filled me with. I sink back into the bed and dissolve into delirious tremors. Logan keeps thrusting, not pounding, just a liquid gliding from my opening all the way to my core, over and over. His motion fills me, sates me. It’s mellow and hot and sharp