Chapter 123: Sugar Daddy Chronicles 02

The bedroom was still dark when I woke, the only light coming from the faint glow of the city beyond the windows. Victor’s arm lay heavy across my waist, his chest warm against my back, his breathing slow and even. I could feel the sticky evidence of earlier between my thighs, and the thought alone sent a fresh pulse of heat through my core.

I shifted slightly, pressing my ass back against him.

He stirred immediately. A low hum vibrated in his throat, his hand slid down my stomach, fingers splaying possessively over my lower belly before dipping lower still. When he found how wet I still was, he let out a soft, approving groan.

“Couldn’t sleep, baby?” His voice was rough with sleep and something darker.

“I was thinking about you,” I whispered.

His fingers slipped between my folds, slow and easy, spreading the mess we’d made. “Yeah? What part?”

“The part where you stretched me open.” I arched just enough to feel the thick length of him hardening against my ass. “And how full I felt when you came inside me.”

He pressed a lazy kiss to the back of my neck. “You liked that, didn’t you? Feeling me drip out of you afterward.”

I nodded, biting my lip.

His middle finger circled my clit, teasing me, then slid lower, pushing inside me with no resistance at all.

“Still so soft and open for me,” he murmured against my ear. “Perfect little pussy just waiting for another round.”

He added a second finger, curling them slowly, stroking that spot that made my toes curl.

I whimpered.

“Shhh,” he soothed, even as he pressed deeper. “Let me take care of you.”

He worked me like that for long minutes—slow, deep strokes of his fingers, thumb brushing my clit every few passes, building the ache until my hips were rocking helplessly against his hand.

When I started to tremble he pulled his fingers free, and brought them to my mouth. I sucked them clean without being asked, tasting salt and sweetness and him.

“Good girl,” he breathed.

Then he rolled me onto my stomach, nudged my thighs apart with his knee, and settled behind me.

I felt the blunt head of his cock drag through my wetness, coating himself, and teasing my entrance.

“Tell me what you want, Sophia.”

I pushed back against him. “You. I want you inside me, please.”

He didn’t make me beg twice, with one smooth, steady thrust and he was buried to the hilt.

I moaned into the pillow, fingers clutching silk sheets.

He didn’t rush, he stayed deep, hips flush against my ass, letting me feel every thick inch, and every subtle throb.

Then he started moving—long, luxurious strokes that dragged over every sensitive place inside me. He pulled out until only the head remained, then back in until I was full again. Over and over, patient, deliberate, like he wanted me to feel every second of it.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned against my shoulder. “So tight, so wet and so perfect. This pussy was made for this cock.”

I pushed back to meet each thrust, matching his rhythm, the wet sounds of our bodies filling the quiet room. His hand slid under me, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing slow circles that matched the drag of his hips.

Pleasure coiled tight and hot in my belly.

“Daddy—” My voice cracked.

“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you.” He picked up the pace deeper, harder, still controlled but now undeniable.

I came first.

It hit me like a slow wave, rolling through my whole body, making me shake and clench around him. I cried out softly into the sheets, my walls pulsing, milking him.

Victor cursed under his breath. He fucked me through it, drawing it out until I was whimpering, oversensitive, and pleading, then he finally let go.

A few more deep, powerful thrusts and he buried himself completely, hips jerking as he came with a low, guttural groan. I felt him pulse inside me—hot, thick spurts that filled me all over again.

He stayed there afterward, softening slowly, kissing the back of my neck, my shoulder, and the curve where my neck met my shoulder.

When he finally eased out I felt the warm trickle follow, sliding down my thigh.

He turned me gently onto my back, spread my legs, and looked down at the mess he’d made with quiet satisfaction.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Then he lowered his head and licked a slow path through my folds, tasting us both.

I gasped, my hips twitching.

He ate me softly—gentle laps, tender sucks—cleaning me up while I trembled beneath him, too sensitive and yet already aching for more. When he finally lifted his head his lips were shiny, eyes dark with hunger.

He crawled up my body and kissed me deeply, letting me taste everything.

“Sleep now,” he whispered against my mouth. “We’ve got all weekend.”

I curled into his chest, still buzzing, still dripping, still completely his. And as I drifted off I realized something dangerous:

I wasn’t just in this for the money anymore.

I was in it for him, for this, for the way he made me feel wan

ted, filthy, and safe all at once. And I had a feeling I was already in way too deep.