The bass from the main house is a distant, muffled throb. Here, in the sunroom, it’s just the rain tapping the glass and the steady rhythm of my own breathing. Daddy sits in the high-backed leather chair, one knee crossed over the other, a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. He isn’t drinking. He’s watching me.
I know it. I’ve known it since I slipped away from the crowd. He’s been tracking me. With his eyes. With his presence. With that quiet, heavy gravity that pulls me toward him like gravity itself.
I’m wearing the silk slip he told me to change into. Thin straps. Cool against my skin. Hem riding high on my thighs. I should leave. I should walk out those French doors and disappear into the night before I lose my mind.
I don’t move.
He doesn’t either. He just holds my gaze. Dark. Heavy. Unblinking. Letting the want pool in my stomach. Letting it drip down my thighs. Letting it burn.
“You’re trembling,” he says. Voice low. Rough. Like gravel dragged over velvet.
“I’m cold,” I lie.
He smiles. It’s not a kind smile. It’s a claiming smile. It tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing. Exactly what I need. Exactly what I’m going to give him.
“Come here, baby girl.”
I step forward. The floorboards don’t creak. I’m barefoot. He didn’t ask for heels. He likes feeling my skin against his. Likes knowing I’m bare. Unprotected. Ready.
I stop at his knee. He reaches up. Fingers hook into the thin strap of my slip. Tugs it down. Just enough. The silk pools at my elbows. My nipples harden against the cool air. I bite my lip. Don’t make a sound.
He likes that. I know he does.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do. His eyes are black. Heavy with want. With purpose. With a kind of ancient, possessive hunger that makes my knees weak.
“You think I came back here for the champagne,” he murmurs. “You think I kept you close all night because I enjoy your company.”
He shakes his head. Slow. Deliberate.
“I kept you close because I was waiting. For you to realize what you need.”
My breath hitches. I do realize. God, I do. The way he looked at me at the bar. The way he pulled me aside. The way his hand rested on my lower back, heavy and certain. He didn’t ask for permission. He took what he wanted. And I let him. I begged for it.
He stands. Tall. Broad. The kind of man who fills a room and owns it. He steps between my legs. One hand slides up my thigh. Fingers dig into the soft flesh. He pushes the silk past my hips. I step out of it without breaking eye contact.
He doesn’t kiss me. Not yet. He grips my jaw. Thumbs pressing into my cheekbones. Forcing my head back. Exposing my throat.
“You’re going to take me,” he says. “Everywhere. All night. And you’re going to carry my mark inside you. You’re going to let me fill you until you’re dripping with it. Understood?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Daddy.”
He drops to his knees. No warning. Just sudden weight between my thighs. His hands grip my hips. Fingers digging into my soft flesh. He looks up. Eyes black. Hungry.
“Open,” he orders.
I spread my legs wider. He doesn’t hesitate. Mouth presses against me. Tongue drags through my slick. I gasp. Back arches. Fingers tangle in his hair.
He eats me like he’s starving. Like he’s been dying for this. Slow at first. Teasing. Then deep. Rhythm taking over. One hand slides up my stomach. The other grips my ass. Pulls me down onto his face.
I’m shaking. Drool on my thighs. My clit throbs. I’m close. Too close.
“Not yet,” he growls against me. “You wait for me. You take what I give you. You carry my seed. You don’t come until I tell you.”
I whine. Nod. Try to hold it back. My body betrays me. I clench. He pulls back. I’m already dripping. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Stands.
“Upstairs,” he says. “Now.”
He doesn’t carry me. He doesn’t need to. He leads by the wrist. Up the stairs. Past the spare rooms. To his master suite. The door clicks shut. Muffles the party. Muffles the world.
He shoves me onto the bed. Not rough. Just firm. Inevitable. He kicks off his shoes. Unbuttons his shirt. Drops it. Follows with his belt. Pants hit the floor. Boxers too.
He’s already hard. Thick. Veined. Aching. He doesn’t strip me further. Doesn’t need to. He’s already inside me.
I cry out. Back bows. Fingers claw at the sheets. He’s so big. Stretches me. Fills me. Claims me.
“Mine,” he grunts. “Every inch. Every drop.”
He sets the pace. Hard. Fast. Rhythmic. Each thrust drives the air from my lungs. Each pull drags a moan from my throat. He grips my thighs. Lifts them higher. Opens me wider.
“Take it,” he commands. “Take all of it. I’m going to breed you. Right here. Right now. You’re going to feel it. You’re going to carry it.”
I nod. Sob a little. I don’t care. I want it. I need it.
He bottoms out. Hits that spot deep inside. I’m trembling. He changes angle. Drives deeper. I’m slick. So slick. He’s moving in and out like a piston. Grunting. Cursing.
“Look at you,” he pants. “Dripping for me. Open for me. Ready to take my seed.”
He grabs my hips. Drums his thumbs into my skin. I’m close. I can feel it building. But he’s not letting me go. Not yet.
“Come,” he orders. “Let me feel you clench around me. Let me know you’re mine.”
I shatter. Waves of pleasure crash over me. I scream his name. My womb contracts. I feel him pulse inside me. First load. Hot. Thick. Deep.
He groans. Buries himself to the hilt. Holds me down. Lets me feel every drop. Every thick pulse.
I’m panting. Shaking. He doesn’t pull out. Just rests his forehead against mine. Breathes.
“That was just the beginning,” he murmurs. “You’re not done.”
He flips me onto my stomach. Chest against the mattress. Hips raised. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust. Doesn’t wait for me to recover. He lines up. Pushes in.
I gasp. Groan. The stretch is different. Deeper. More raw. He grips my ass. Fingers digging. Pulls back. Slams in.
“You’re going to carry it,” he says. Voice rough. Possessive. “You’re going to walk around with my baby growing in you. You’re going to feel it. Every day. Every hour. Starting tonight.”
I nod. Whimper. I don’t argue. I can’t. I want it. God, I want it.
He sets a punishing rhythm. Back and forth. Hard. Relentless. Each thrust bottoms out. Each pull drags at my cervix. I’m crying out. Fingers grip the sheets.
He leans over me. One hand snakes around my waist. The other grips my throat. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to claim. To remind me who’s in control.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say who’s filling you. Who’s making you pregnant.”
“Daddy,” I sob. “It’s Daddy. Only Daddy.”
He growls. Drives harder. Faster. I can feel his cock swelling. Thickening. Pre-cum mixing with my slick. He’s building toward it. I can feel it.
He stops. Pulls out. I whine. Immediately. I miss the stretch. The fullness.
He turns me over. Pins my wrists above my head. His weight settles over me. He lines up again. Pushes in.
This time, he drags it out. Slow. Agonizing. Each millimeter a claim. A promise. A brand.
“You’re going to be so full,” he pants. “So heavy. So mine.”
He starts moving. Deep. Slow. Then faster. Harder. I’m lost in it. In him. In the breeding.
He grips my hips. Drums his thumbs. I’m close again. The pressure builds. Coils tight in my belly.
“Let go,” he orders. “Let me fill you.”
I break. Scream. Clench around him. My body convulses. He groans. Buries himself deep. Holds me down.
The second load hits me. Hot. Thick. Floods my womb. I feel it. I feel every pulse. Every thick drop. He empties himself inside me. Again.
I’m trembling. Whimpering. He doesn’t pull out. Just stays buried. Breathing heavy.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “So good. Taking it. Carrying it.”
He rolls onto his side. Pulls me against his chest. One arm wraps around my waist. The other strokes my hair. His cock is still inside me. Still twitching. Still leaking.
I should be sore. I should be exhausted. I’m neither. I’m buzzing. Alive. Claimed.
“You’re already pregnant,” he says. Not a question. A fact. “I can feel it. My seed is settling. It’s already taking root.”
I nod. Smile through the tears. “Yes, Daddy.”
He kisses my forehead. Gentle. Possessive. “You’re going to stay here. Until I say otherwise. Until your body tells me you’re carrying. Until you’re swollen with my child.”
I swallow hard. “Yes, Daddy.”
He shifts. Pulls me onto my back. Knees bracketing my hips. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. Doesn’t give me time to breathe. He lines up. Pushes in.
I cry out. Back arches. Fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s so hard. So thick. So insistent.
“Take it,” he commands. “Take all of it. I’m not done claiming you.”
He sets a slow, grinding rhythm. Each thrust drags a moan from my throat. Each pull sends a jolt of pleasure through my core. He’s not rushing. He’s savoring. Savoring me. Savoring the feeling of filling me.
“You’re going to feel me for days,” he murmurs. “You’re going to leak it. You’re going to know it’s mine. You’re going to walk around with it dripping down your thighs. You’re going to smile when you do.”
I sob. Nod. I love it. God, I love it.
He grips my hips. Drums his thumbs. I’m close. The pressure builds. Coils tight.
“Let go,” he orders. “Let me fill you again.”
I break. Scream. Clench around him. My body convulses. He groans. Buries himself deep. Holds me down.
The third load hits me. Hot. Thick. Overflowing. I feel it spill. I feel it settle. I feel it claim me.
He stays inside. Breathing hard. Sweat dripping from his brow.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “So good. Taking it. Carrying it.”
He rolls off. Pulls me against his chest. One arm wraps around my waist. The other strokes my hair. His cock is still inside me. Still twitching. Still leaking.
I should be sore. I should be exhausted. I’m neither. I’m buzzing. Alive. Claimed.
“You’re already pregnant,” he says. Not a question. A fact. “I can feel it. My seed is settling. It’s already taking root.”
I nod. Smile through the tears. “Yes, Daddy.”
He kisses my forehead. Gentle. Possessive. “You’re going to stay here. Until I say otherwise. Until your body tells me you’re carrying. Until you’re swollen with my child.”
I swallow hard. “Yes, Daddy.”
He shifts. Pulls me onto my side. Faces me. Knees bracketing my hips. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. Doesn’t give me time to breathe. He lines up. Pushes in.
I cry out. Back arches. Fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s so hard. So thick. So insistent.
“Take it,” he commands. “Take all of it. I’m not done claiming you.”
He sets a slow, grinding rhythm. Each thrust drags a moan from my throat. Each pull sends a jolt of pleasure through my core. He’s not rushing. He’s savoring. Savoring me. Savoring the feeling of filling me.
“You’re going to feel me for days,” he murmurs. “You’re going to leak it. You’re going to know it’s mine. You’re going to walk around with it dripping down your thighs. You’re going to smile when you do.”
I sob. Nod. I love it. God, I love it.
He grips my hips. Drums his thumbs. I’m close. The pressure builds. Coils tight.
“Let go,” he orders. “Let me fill you again.”
I break. Scream. Clench around him. My body convulses. He groans. Buries himself deep. Holds me down.
The fourth load hits me. Hot. Thick. Overflowing. I feel it spill. I feel it settle. I feel it claim me.
He stays inside. Breathing hard. Sweat dripping from his brow.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “So good. Taking it. Carrying it.”
He finally pulls out. I whine. Immediately. Miss the stretch. The fullness. He doesn’t let me recover. He grips my chin. Forces me to look at him.
“You’re mine,” he says. “Body. Womb. Future. I’m going to breed you until you’re swollen. Until you’re dripping. Until you can’t walk straight. And you’re going to love it. You’re going to thank me for it.”
I nod. Can’t speak. Can only feel. The weight. The fullness. The promise.
I’m his. I’m carrying his. And I’ll never let him go.
He wipes his cock on the sheets. Stands. Walks to the en suite. Returns with a warm towel. Kneels beside the bed. Gently wipes me down. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t apologize. Just cares. Just claims.
“You’re going to sleep,” he says. “I’ll bring you food. I’ll bring you water. I’ll keep you here. Until you tell me you’re pregnant.”
I reach for him. Pull him down. Kiss him. Deep. Hard. Possessive.
He groans. Returns it. Swallows my moans.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against my lips. “Now rest. I’ll be back soon. And when I return… I’m going to fill you again.”
I close my eyes. Listen to his heart. Feel the weight in my belly. Feel the slickness on my thighs. Feel the truth settling deep inside me.
I’m his. I’m carrying his. And I’m never letting him go.