Chapter 136 Daddy Fucks Me during the World Cup Match (3)

Chapter 136 Daddy Fucks Me during the World Cup Match (3)
~JOYCE~

Holy fucking fuck.

Did Marcus really just ask me to come sit on his lap?

Or was I having one of those crazy, ridiculously realistic wet dreams again—the kind where he fucked me until I woke up sore and limping?

Because there was no way he had actually just said that.

"Come sit," he repeated, tapping his lap again.

My entire body locked up, my fingers digging into the couch cushion as if I needed something to hold on to.

"I should sit where?" I asked, pretending I hadn't heard him the first time.

"On my lap," he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"No, there's no need." I shook my head quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks. "I'm okay here. Really."

He shook his head. "Actually, there is. I've noticed you barely pay attention to the match when you're sitting all the way over there. Half the time, you're staring into space or scrolling through your phone." He tapped his lap again. "So, come here. If you're sitting with me, I can make sure you actually watch the game."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he beat me to it.

"Or are you scared of me?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy and charged. His dark eyes bored into mine, searching, waiting.

"Of course not," I answered quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.

His brow lifted. "Then why are you declining my offer?"

"I..." My mind raced for a convincing excuse, but nothing came. "No, it's just..." I trailed off, letting out a shaky breath.

Damn it.

There was no way I could keep refusing without making him suspicious.

And if Marcus became suspicious, there was no telling what he might start questioning. He might even figure out exactly what I was trying so desperately to hide.

"Okay," I finally muttered.

The smile that spread across Marcus's face was wide, warm, and absolutely devastating.

He tapped his lap again. "Hurry up. Come sit, kiddo."

I swallowed hard and gave him a reluctant nod.

My legs felt like jelly as I pushed myself up from the couch and slowly made my way toward him. With every step, my anxiety climbed higher.

This was it.

This was going to be one of those moments I would look back on and curse myself for not owning a single pair of clean panties.

Hopefully, he wouldn't notice.

Hopefully, the jersey was long enough.

And hopefully, for the love of God, I could keep myself together long enough not to do something monumentally stupid.

When I reached him, I turned around and carefully lowered myself onto his lap, settling against his thighs.

The heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of our matching jerseys, and I became immediately aware of every hard line of muscle beneath me.

He was solid and warm and far too close.

Close enough that I could catch the faint trace of his cologne beneath the buttery scent of popcorn.

"See?" he murmured, his voice low beside my ear. "This is better, isn't it?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice enough to answer.

Apparently satisfied, he held out the bowl of popcorn he'd been eating from. "Here. Have some."

I shot him a quick glance over my shoulder before accepting it.

I scooped up a few kernels and popped them into my mouth. They were warm, sweet, and salty, and for some reason, the familiar taste helped ground me.

For the first few minutes, I tried to focus on the match.

But it was impossible.

I was painfully aware of every point of contact between our bodies. The backs of my thighs rested against the tops of his, while his chest formed a solid wall against my back.

Every now and then, his breath stirred the hair near my temple.

How the hell was I supposed to pay attention to a football match like this?

Yet as the minutes ticked by, the awareness gradually faded into the background.

My shoulders loosened first, followed by the rest of my body, until I found myself settling more comfortably against him.

His breathing was slow and steady behind me, and somehow, I began to fall into its rhythm.

Twenty minutes slipped by before I realized how completely I'd relaxed.

The match continued in front of us, players sprinting across the bright green pitch while the commentators' voices filled the room. This time, I actually followed the game.

But somewhere along the way, I'd settled deeper into his lap, my spine curving naturally against his chest.

I hadn't consciously decided to move closer. My body had simply stopped resisting.

The faint scent of his cologne lingered around me. Beneath it, I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my back.

Something inside me softened.

It felt right.

Dangerously right.

For days, I'd been carrying a tension I couldn't seem to shake. Yet here, with Marcus, it was finally slipping away.

It felt like home.

I didn't want to leave.

I didn't want to move.

God, I didn't even want the match to end.

A ridiculous, selfish part of me wanted to stay right there forever.

"Are you enjoying the match?" he asked, his voice a low rumble near my ear.

"Mmm," I hummed around a mouthful of popcorn, nodding as a genuine smile tugged at my lips.

"I'm glad," he murmured.

A moment later, he shifted beneath me, adjusting his position for a better view of the screen.

The movement made the muscles in his thighs flex beneath my weight, and I instinctively shifted with him to keep my balance.

My hand immediately dropped to the hem of my jersey, tugging it down to make sure it still covered me properly.

The last thing I needed was for the fabric to ride up and expose the fact that I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Once I was sure everything was still in place, I turned my attention back to the TV.

But this time, I couldn't seem to concentrate.

Something felt... off.

At first, I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I was comfortable—maybe a little too comfortable—but beneath that ease lingered something else. A subtle sensation that had crept up on me so gradually I hadn't noticed it until now.

Then I felt it.

A firm, insistent pressure against the curve of my ass.

I shifted slightly, assuming it was his phone. Or the remote. Or literally anything else that wouldn't send my brain into complete meltdown.

But the pressure didn't go away.

If anything, it grew more pronounced.

That was when the realization hit me, rushing through my veins with a sudden, breathless jolt.

What was pressing against my ass wasn't his phone, nor was it the remote.

It was Marcus's cock.

My breath caught in my throat.

He was hard.

Rock fucking hard.

For a moment, I could only stare ahead in stunned silence.

Every coherent thought dissolved beneath a sudden rush of heat, want, and pure, electric shock.

What the...

He shifted his lower body, causing his cock to press firmly against the crack of my ass.

The sensation sent a rush of wetness pooling between my thighs, and I instinctively clenched them together, my heart slamming wildly against my ribs.

I didn't move.

I didn't say anything.

I just sat there, completely frozen and painfully aware of the thick length pressed against me.

And for the life of me, I couldn't remember how to fucking breathe.