Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) by Becca Jameson (best books to read fiction .TXT) 📗

He watches my face as he drags his fingers through my wetness and circles my clit.

I bite my lip and dig my heels into the bed.

He slips one finger slowly into me. So slowly. Too slowly. I’m writhing by the time his palm is flattened against my clit. “Davis…”

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Please…” I put my hand on top of his and push, or maybe I pull. I need more.

Ignoring me, he eases his finger out and adds a second before pushing back in.

I gasp. It feels so damn good.

He pumps those two fingers in and out, still watching my face. “You want my cock, sweet girl?”

“God, yes. Please, Sir.”

I miss his touch when he pulls his fingers out, but I’m mesmerized when he licks them clean, moaning around my flavor. And then he rises up and shrugs out of his sleep pants.

I let my gaze roam down his body, taking in the tattoos on his biceps and then his firm pecs and six-pack abs before I reach his erection and try not to react. It’s the first actual penis I’ve seen in real life and it’s so huge. He’s kneeling next to me, his hand wrapped around his length, languidly sliding up and down. He’s giving me time to look at him.

“May I touch, Sir?”

He takes my hand and wraps my fingers around his girth. I’m shocked when he releases me and drops his hands to his sides, letting me explore.

I’m stunned by how soft and smooth his cock is. And so big. Jesus. I’m trying not to be cliché and ask how the hell it’s going to fit, but seriously?

“Trust me, sweet girl, your body will stretch around me.”

I nod and trail a finger up and down the shaft until I reach the tip. Semen is leaking out and I drag my finger through it and bring it to my mouth. I want to taste him.

He groans while I lick the salty flavor off my finger. Before I have a chance to resume my exploration, he leans over me and reaches for the bedside table. A moment later, he’s back, rolling a condom down his length. “You’re going on birth control Monday morning, sweet girl.”

“Okay.” I’m not opposed to that plan.

He climbs between my legs and pushes them wide. His hands find mine and he threads our fingers together and presses our combined hands into the pillow above my head.

He holds my gaze. “Trust me, sweetie, okay?”

I nod. I’m scared though.

“I’ll go slow. It will hurt at first, but then your body will relax and it will change to the most exquisite feeling you’ve ever experienced.”

“How can you be sure?” I’m serious. Half the women I’ve heard in the dressing room at the club complain that sex is overrated and not worth it.

“Because we love each other and we want to please each other. And, well, because I’m not the kind of lover who would take from you without making sure you come at least two times to every one of mine.”

I giggle. “Then I’m way ahead of you and you have some catching up to do. I think I’ve come four times a day since I got here.”

He grins. “We’re on track then. I’ve come twice a day since you got here.”

I flush. My eyes go wide. “You get to masturbate and I don’t?”

“Yep.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, sweetie. I’m the Daddy. I make the rules. That rule does not change after I’ve had my cock inside you. This pussy is mine. I decide how and when and where still. You don’t get to touch yourself or orgasm without my permission.”

I give him a fake pout, but then I gasp when he nudges my entrance with the tip of his erection.

He drags my palms together and clasps both wrists with one hand. He eases the other down my body, cupping my breast on the way and pinching my nipple hard enough to make me arch.

His hand continues downward until he reaches between our bodies and strokes my clit. For the first time since he started touching me a week ago, he doesn’t take his time. There is an urgency in his touch. He thrusts two fingers into me and then rubs my clit again. He repeats this over and over, his hand moving faster while he watches my face. “Come, sweet girl. Come against my fingers and while your pussy is pulsing, I’ll enter you.”

At his command, my orgasm washes through me. My pussy pulses, gripping at nothing. And then he’s pushing into me. He does so carefully and slowly, but the stretch shocks me and stills my orgasm.

I grit my teeth and try to relax while he fills me more with every pass. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It hurts, but the pain is also kind of welcome.

“Fuck,” he moans as he thrusts all the way in. His forehead comes to mine, and he’s panting with the exertion, but I’m struggling not to cry out from the pain.

If my hands were free, I would push him off me. Instead, I drag in a breath and then another and another, until finally, the pain subsides.

When I open my eyes, he’s watching me. His expression is filled with a combination of love and concern. “Better?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He eases out a few inches and then back in.

Holy shit. My mouth falls open. The discomfort is gone. The pressure has switched to something exquisite. The next time he slides out of me and back in I gasp and start to struggle against his hold.

He grips my hands tighter.

“Please,” I moan. “Oh, God. Do that again.” I’m desperate.

He smiles and obliges me, though I’m not sure how he can be so calm. Again. And again. I can’t breathe. Nothing could have prepared me for this. It’s so much better than the orgasms he’s given me with his fingers or his mouth or even the old ones I gave myself with my vibrator.

He cups my breast again and squeezes