Chapter 191 Daddy's Little Secret Slut
He's splitting me open and I can't think straight.
Ethan's cock is buried to the hilt, thick and unrelenting, stretching my pussy so wide it borders on pain—but the good kind, the kind that makes my toes curl and my eyes roll back. The workbench digs into my hips with every brutal thrust, tools rattling beside me like they're cheering him on. Sweat drips from his chest onto my back; I can smell motor oil, his clean musk, and the sharp tang of my own arousal coating his shaft.
I've never felt this full. Never this owned.
"Fuck, Ava," he growls against my ear, voice wrecked. One hand clamps around my throat—not choking, just holding—while the other fists my hair, yanking my head back so my spine arches. "This tight little cunt was made for Daddy's cock, wasn't it?"
"Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy." The word spills out like a prayer, makes my walls flutter around him. I push back, greedy, chasing more. "Been dreaming of this for years. Fingering myself raw thinking about you wrecking me."
He slams in harder, punishing. The slap of skin on skin echoes louder than the classic rock still thumping from the old speaker in the corner. "You think I didn't know? Every time you came over in those tiny skirts, bending over my toolbox, flashing that perfect ass. Teasing me. Making me hard in my own goddamn house while my daughter was upstairs."
Guilt spikes through the haze—Sophie—but it's gone in a flash, drowned by the next deep stroke that hits that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
"I couldn't help it," I gasp. "Needed you to notice. Needed you to want me like I wanted you."
He pulls out suddenly—too suddenly—and I whine at the emptiness. Spins me around like I weigh nothing, lifts me onto the workbench so my ass is on the edge, legs spread wide. Tools clatter to the floor. Doesn't care.
"Look at me." His voice is gravel. Fingers dig into my thighs, spreading me obscene. I'm dripping, glistening, clit swollen and throbbing. He drags the head of his cock through my folds—slow, teasing—coating himself in my slick. "Look at how soaked you are for an old man. For your best friend's dad."
I meet his eyes—dark, feral, pupils blown. "I don't care. I want you to ruin me, Daddy. Mark me. Make me yours."
Something snaps in his expression. He drives back in—one hard, punishing thrust—and I scream his name. He doesn't let up. Fucks me like he hates me and worships me at the same time. Hand slides between us; rough thumb circles my clit in tight, merciless strokes.
"Come on my cock," he orders. "Come like the dirty little slut you've been hiding from everyone. Show Daddy how bad you've wanted this."
The command tips me over. Pleasure coils tight, then explodes. I shatter around him—pussy clenching, thighs shaking, a gush of wet heat soaking us both. My nails rake down his back; I bite his shoulder to muffle the sobs ripping out of me.
He doesn't stop. Keeps pounding through my orgasm, drawing it out until I'm oversensitive and whimpering. Then he pulls out again, hauls me off the bench, spins me, bends me forward over it once more—but this time he drops to his knees behind me.
"What are you—oh fuck—"
His mouth is on me before I finish the sentence. Tongue lapping broad stripes from clit to entrance, sucking my swollen folds, drinking me down like he's starved. Fingers spread me wider; he buries his face deeper, tongue fucking into me while his thumb presses my clit in slow, firm circles.
I buck against his mouth. "Daddy—too much—gonna come again—"
"Do it." He growls into my pussy, vibrations sending shocks up my spine. "Drench my face. Let me taste how much you need this."
I do. Second orgasm hits faster, harder—legs buckling, vision blurring. He holds me up, laps every drop until I'm trembling, boneless.
Only then does he stand. Flips me onto my back on the workbench—cold metal against fever-hot skin. Hooks my legs over his shoulders, folds me in half. Lines up and sinks back in—deeper angle now, hitting places that make me see white.
"Look at you," he rasps, watching where we join. "Taking every inch like a good girl. My good girl."
His pace turns brutal. Short, sharp thrusts that slap against my ass. Hand wraps around my throat again—firmer this time. "Say it. Tell Daddy whose pussy this is."
"Yours," I choke out. "All yours. Fuck—please—come inside me. Fill me up. Breed me like you've always wanted."
The words break him. His rhythm stutters. Low, guttural groan tears from his throat. He slams in one last time—deep, grinding—and comes hard. Hot pulses flood me, spilling out around his cock as he keeps rocking, milking every drop.
We stay locked like that—panting, sweat-slick, hearts hammering. His forehead drops to mine. For a second it's almost tender.
Then reality creeps in. Sophie's face flashes in my mind. The house. The risk.
He pulls out slow—his cum leaking down my thighs—and I feel empty again. But his hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing my swollen lips.
"This isn't over," he murmurs, voice rough. "Not by a long shot. But we have to be careful. Sophie can't—"
"I know." I nod, still dazed. "But I don't regret it. Not one second."
He kisses me then—slow, claiming, tasting of me and him. "Good. Because Daddy's not done with you yet."
Snow keeps falling outside. The garage is quiet now except for our breathing.
And I already know—I'm going to sneak back here tomorrow. And the day after. Until we can't anymore.
Or until we don't care.