Chapter 6: The Admiral's Daughter
The coffee maker gurgled its last breath, and Ty reached into the cabinet for two mugs, his boxers riding low on his hips. Morning light cut through the loft in sharp gold bars, catching the dust motes floating lazy above the kitchen island. He found the mugs—one navy, one white—and set them on the quartz with a soft clink.
Behind him, the bedroom door creaked open.
Kara shuffled out in an oversized Navy t-shirt that hung past her thighs, her hair a disaster, her eyes still half-lidded with sleep. The white ankle socks were back on her feet—fresh ones, pulled from her dresser drawer sometime in the gray hour before dawn when she'd gotten up to pee and decided her feet were cold.
She looked like she'd been hit by a truck. A very good truck.
Ty grinned. "Morning, Mitchell."
She grunted. Not a word. Just a sound somewhere between acknowledgment and threat.
He poured coffee into both mugs, black, no sugar. The smell curled through the kitchen, mixing with the faint ghost of lavender and whatever else she kept in those expensive candles on the counter. He slid the white mug toward her as she climbed onto one of the barstools.
She wrapped both hands around it like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.
"You always this chatty in the morning?" Ty asked.
"Fuck off."
He laughed, leaning his hip against the counter. The boxers did nothing to hide the morning situation, and he caught her eyes flick down before she took a sip of coffee.
"See something you like?"
"I see something I already had," she said. "Twice."
"Three times, if we're counting."
She flipped him off over the rim of her mug.
He was about to say something else—something clever, something that would make her roll those hazel eyes at him again—when her phone buzzed on the counter. It skittered across the quartz, vibrating against a stack of mail. The screen lit up with a contact photo: a man in dress whites, gray at the temples, smiling with the kind of authority that came built-in.
ADMIRAL DAD.
Kara's expression shifted. The sleepy irritation melted into something softer, something that looked almost like guilt. She reached for the phone, hesitated, then hit the speaker button.
"Hey, Dad."
"Lieutenant Mitchell." The voice that came through was gruff and warm, the kind of voice that had commanded carrier groups and still called his daughter by her rank when he was proud of her. "That was some flying yesterday."
Kara's cheeks went pink. She took another sip of coffee, buying time. "You saw?"
"Of course I saw. You think I'd miss my daughter buzzing a stadium full of sixty thousand people? I had three different buddies call me before the national anthem even finished."
Ty raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug cradled in both hands. He was watching her with an expression that was half amusement, half something hungrier.
Kara ignored him. "It was just a flyover, Dad. Standard pre-game."
"Standard my ass. That was a four-ship formation with you on the wing, and you were thirty seconds ahead of schedule. I checked."
"Of course you checked."
"I still have contacts at Pensacola, kiddo. You think I don't keep tabs on my own blood?"
Kara smiled despite herself. She tucked her feet up on the barstool, her socked toes curling against the leather. Ty moved around the island, closer, and she shot him a warning look.
He didn't stop.
"So," the Admiral continued, "how's the squadron treating you? Still giving you hell for being the only woman?"
"They give me hell for being the best," Kara said. "Which I am."
"That's my girl."
Ty was behind her now. She felt his presence, the heat of him, the way he loomed without touching. Her shoulders tensed.
"Listen," her father said, and something in his voice shifted. Sincere now. "I wanted to talk to you about something. The promotion board meets next month. Captain Hendricks called me—"
"Dad." Kara's voice tightened. "You're not pulling strings for me."
"I'm not pulling anything. I'm just telling you that your name came up. In a good way. You're on the short list for O-4, and if you play your cards right, you could be looking at squadron command in two years."
Kara's throat constricted. Squadron command. It was what she wanted. It was what she'd been working toward since she'd earned her wings. And yet—
She felt Ty's hand slide under the hem of her t-shirt.
Her breath caught. She didn't move, didn't speak, just felt his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh, feather-light and deliberate. He was testing her. Pushing. And she was letting him.
"That's—that's great, Dad." Her voice came out a little too high. She cleared her throat. "I'll keep my head down and do the work."
"That's all I ask. Well, that and maybe finding a nice man to settle down with." The Admiral chuckled, oblivious. "Your mother's been on my case about it. She thinks you're going to end up alone with a bunch of cats and a hangar full of airplanes."
Ty's hand reached the apex of her thighs. He found her thong—still damp from the night before, still tasting faintly of her—and slid the fabric aside with one finger.
Kara's jaw clenched. She took a sip of coffee, buying herself a second. "Mom's been on my case about that since I was eighteen."
"She means well."
"She means well loudly."
Ty's fingers slid through her folds. She was already wet—betrayed by her own body, by the lingering memory of last night, by the way he'd used her and the way she'd loved every second of it. His thumb found her clit and circled it, slow and unhurried.
Kara's fingers tightened around her mug.
"So are you seeing anyone?" her father asked.
The question hung in the air. Ty's thumb pressed harder, and Kara had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.
"No," she said. "Not—not really."
"Not really meaning what?"
"Meaning it's complicated."
Ty leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. "Complicated?" he whispered, so soft only she could hear. "That what you're calling me?"
She wanted to elbow him in the ribs. She wanted to spread her legs wider and let him do whatever he wanted. She did neither. She just sat there, frozen, as his fingers slid into her pussy.
One finger. Then two. He curled them inside her, finding that spot with the kind of precision that should have been illegal, and Kara felt her vision blur at the edges.
"Complicated how?" the Admiral pressed.
"Dad, I really—" Ty's thumb pressed her clit again, and she lost her train of thought entirely. "—I really don't want to talk about my dating life right now."
"Fair enough. I just worry about you, that's all. You work hard, you fly hard, and I know what that squadron's like. You deserve to have someone who makes you happy."
Kara's eyes were stinging. She blamed the coffee. She blamed Ty's fingers, which were moving inside her now, slow and deep, curling and pressing, building something that was going to crash over her if she didn't get off this phone.
"I'm happy, Dad."
"Are you?"
"Yeah." Her voice cracked. Ty's fingers didn't stop. "I'm—I'm happy."
The Admiral was quiet for a moment. Then: "Alright. I'll let you go. But I meant what I said about the promotion board. Keep your nose clean, Mitchell. I'm proud of you."
"I know you are."
"I love you, kiddo."
"Love you too."
She hung up. The phone clattered onto the counter, and Kara exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for an hour.
Ty didn't stop.
"You," she said, her voice shaking, "are a fucking menace."
"You love it."
She spun on the barstool, her knees knocking into his hips, and looked up at him. His eyes were dark, his mouth curved into that wolfish grin, and his hand was still between her legs, still inside her, still moving.
"Your father seems nice," he said.
"I'm going to kill you."
"You're going to come first."
He pulled his fingers out and spun her around, grabbing her hips and bending her over the kitchen island. Her empty mug skittered across the quartz, and she barely caught it before it tipped over the edge.
"Ty—"
He yanked her thong down. It slid over her hips, down her thighs, and she kicked out of it, letting it fall to the floor. Then he was behind her, pushing her t-shirt up her back, baring her ass and pussy to the golden morning light.
"You're already wet," he said. "You were wet the whole time you were talking to him."
"I hate you."
"You were dripping down your thighs while you told your dad you were happy."
"I hate you so much."
He pushed into her in one stroke. No warning, no preamble, just his cock filling her in a brutal, perfect slide. Kara cried out, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the quartz, her whole body arching.
"Say it again," Ty grunted. "Tell me how much you hate me."
She couldn't speak. He was moving, driving into her with a rhythm that made the counter creak, made the coffee mugs rattle, made her whole world narrow to the point where his body met hers.
"You let me finger you while you talked to your father," he said, his voice low and ragged. "You let me feel how wet you were while he told you he was proud of you. You're a dirty girl, Kara. The dirtiest."
She moaned, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts with her own. The slap of their bodies echoed through the kitchen, mixing with the faint sound of a siren somewhere in the city below.
"Say it."
"I'm—" She gasped as he hit something deep inside her, something that made her knees buckle. "I'm a dirty girl."
"You're my dirty girl."
"I'm your—oh God—"
He reached around her, fingers finding her clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, and Kara lost it. She came with a scream that she couldn't muffle, her whole body convulsing, and the force of it sent her elbow into the white mug.
It flew off the counter and shattered on the hardwood.
Coffee splashed everywhere—across the floor, across the lower cabinets, across Ty's bare feet. Neither of them noticed.
Ty fucked her through the orgasm, not stopping, not slowing. If anything, he went harder, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks.
"That's it," he said. "That's my good girl. Coming all over my cock while your daddy's proud of you."
She couldn't answer. She was still coming, still shaking, still riding wave after wave of something that felt like it might never end.
He pulled out suddenly, and she whimpered at the loss. He spun her around, lifted her onto the counter, and pushed back into her before she could catch her breath.
Now he was facing her. Now she could see him—the sweat on his brow, the way his jaw clenched, the intensity in his eyes. He fucked her like she was the last thing in the world, and Kara wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.
"Your father asked if you were seeing anyone," Ty said, his voice broken by his own harsh breathing. "What are you gonna tell him next time?"
"I don't—I don't know—"
"I'm not complicated."
She stared at him. The morning light caught the curve of his shoulder, the angle of his jaw, the faint scar on his forearm from some football injury years ago. He was so fucking beautiful it hurt.
"What are you, then?" she asked.
He didn't answer with words. He kissed her instead—hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting like coffee and sleep and her. And he kept moving, kept fucking her, kept building something that was more than just physical.
She came again, clenching around him, and this time he followed—pulling out just in time to spill across her stomach and the hem of her shirt, hot and thick and obscene.
For a long moment, the only sound was their breathing, harsh and ragged in the quiet loft.
Then Ty pulled back, looking at her—sprawled on the counter, covered in his cum, shattered mug on the floor, coffee pooling on the hardwood. A complete disaster.
"Your kitchen's a mess," he observed.
"No shit."
He grinned. That wolfish grin, the one that made her want to punch him and kiss him and drag him back to bed all at once.
"Worth it?"
Kara looked at him. At the man who'd shown up in a bar expecting a forgettable night and had instead stayed. At the man who'd just fucked her against her own kitchen island while she talked to her father. At the man who—against all logic, against all her carefully constructed walls—was starting to feel like something more than a one-night stand.
She didn't answer. She just reached up, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him down for a kiss that tasted like surrender.
The coffee was cold by the time either of them moved. The mug was still in pieces on the floor. And somewhere outside, the city kept moving, indifferent to the fact that something was shifting between them. Something that neither of them was ready to name.
But it was there. Sharp and golden as the morning light, rising slow and inevitable between them.
The kiss deepened, and Kara let herself sink into it—the taste of coffee and salt, the scratch of stubble against her chin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her palm where it rested on his chest. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing harder, and the kitchen smelled like burnt coffee and sex and something else she couldn't name.
"We should clean this up," she said.
"Yeah."
Neither of them moved.
Ty's hands were still on her hips, his thumbs tracing idle circles on the bare skin above her ruined shirt. She was acutely aware of the mess between her legs, the sticky evidence of everything they'd just done, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not with him looking at her like that—like she was something worth staying for.
"You're staring," she said.
"You're worth staring at."
She snorted. "That's a line."
"It's the truth." He said it simply, without the grin that usually accompanied his flirtation, and that made it worse somehow. Made it feel real.
She looked away first, sliding off the counter and grabbing a dish towel to mop up the coffee. Her legs were unsteady, her thighs slick, and she could feel his eyes on her as she moved around the kitchen in her ruined shirt and nothing else.
"You know," Ty said, settling onto one of the barstools, "I've got a game in six hours."
Kara paused mid-swipe. "You're going to be late."
"Probably."
"Your coach is going to kill you."
"He'll get over it." Ty shrugged, that easy confidence settling back over his shoulders like a familiar coat. "I've got a private jet waiting at the airfield. I can leave in an hour and still make warm-ups."
Kara tossed the towel in the sink and turned to face him. He looked absurd sitting there in her kitchen—all six-foot-four of him, boxers and bare feet, coffee mug in hand, surrounded by the wreckage of her morning.
"So why haven't you left yet?"
He considered the question. Took a sip of coffee. Set the mug down with a deliberate click.
"Because I'm not done with you yet."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Kara felt her pulse quicken, felt that familiar heat begin to coil low in her belly.
She should tell him to go. That was the smart play. The one-night-stand that had somehow become a two-night-stand was already veering into dangerous territory. He was an NFL star with a game in six hours and a life three thousand miles away. She was a Navy pilot with a promotion board and a squadron that would never let her live this down if they found out.
But when she opened her mouth, what came out was: "You want more coffee?"
His grin was slow and knowing. "I want a lot of things."
She poured them both another cup, and they sat together at the island—her on the stool she'd just been bent over, him on the one beside it. The shattered mug had been swept into a corner, the coffee mopped up, the thong discreetly kicked under the cabinet. It almost looked normal. Like two people having a quiet morning together.
Almost.
Kara wrapped her hands around her mug and tried not to think about the ache between her legs. Tried not to think about the way his cum was still drying on her stomach under the shirt. Tried not to think about the fact that she hadn't stopped blushing since she'd sat down.
"You're thinking about it," Ty said.
"Thinking about what?"
"Last night. This morning. All of it." He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're replaying something in your head and trying to decide if you should be embarrassed about it."
Kara's cheeks burned. She took a long sip of coffee, buying time, and Ty laughed—low and warm, not mocking.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I've been thinking about it too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He set his mug down and turned on the stool to face her fully. His knee pressed against hers, and she didn't pull away. "You want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
"Last night. The way you asked me to hold your belt. The way you called me Daddy." His voice dropped, intimate and serious. "Is that something you're into? The whole dynamic?"
Kara's throat tightened. She stared into her coffee like it held the answers, but all she saw was dark liquid and her own distorted reflection.
"I don't know," she said. "I mean—yes. But it's not—" She stopped, frustrated. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
She looked at him. He was watching her with an patience she hadn't expected, no judgment in his expression, just curiosity and something that might have been understanding.
"I like it," she said finally. The words came out quiet, almost reluctant. "The dom/sub thing. I like not having to think. Not having to be in charge. Every day, I'm making decisions that affect lives. I'm flying a jet that costs more than most people's houses. I'm responsible for my squadron, my crew, my own damn self." She took a breath. "Sometimes I just want to turn my brain off and do what I'm told."
Ty nodded slowly. "And calling me Daddy?"
Her blush deepened, but she didn't look away. "I like that too. I like being your good girl. Your—" She stumbled on the word, then forced it out. "Your slut. Whatever you want. I like belonging to someone, even if it's just for a night."
"Just for a night?"
She didn't answer that.
"I've never done this before," she continued, the words tumbling out now, like a dam breaking. "Not like this. Not with someone I—" She stopped again, caught herself. "I've had hookups. Plenty of them. But I've never trusted anyone enough to let them see this side of me. Not in years. Not since—"
She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
Ty was quiet for a long moment. The city hummed outside, indifferent, and Kara felt her pulse pounding in her throat. She'd said too much. She always said too much. This was why she didn't do mornings, didn't do seconds, didn't do anything that gave a man the ammunition to hurt her.
Then Ty stood up. He took her mug from her hands and set it aside. He pulled her to her feet, and when her legs wobbled, he caught her.
"You're a good girl for telling me that," he said.
Something cracked open in her chest.
The words shouldn't have meant anything. They were simple, almost throwaway. But they landed somewhere deep, somewhere she'd kept locked up for years, and Kara felt her eyes sting.
"We're going to talk more about this later," Ty said. "But first—"
He picked her up.
Kara yelped, grabbing his shoulders as he carried her out of the kitchen and down the hall. She could feel the strength in his arms, the ease with which he held her weight, and something in her stomach flipped.
"Ty—"
"Shut up."
She shut up.
He kicked open her bedroom door and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced, her ruined shirt riding up around her hips, and by the time she'd scrambled up onto her elbows, he was already climbing over her.
"Take this off," he said, tugging at the shirt.
She pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. Naked now, except for the ankle socks that had somehow survived the chaos, she lay there under him and tried to remember how to breathe.
"You said you wanted to turn your brain off," Ty said. "You said you wanted to do what you're told."
"Yes."
"Then here's what's going to happen." He traced a finger down her sternum, between her breasts, across her stomach. "I'm going to tie you to this bed. I'm going to tease you until you're begging. I'm going to spank you until you can't sit down without feeling me. And then I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name."
Kara's mouth went dry. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Please."
He smiled. That wolfish smile, the one that made her want to surrender everything.
"You said you have ropes."
She hesitated. Then, voice barely above a whisper: "In the closet. Top shelf. Back of the corner."
He found them—soft cotton ropes, black, coiled neatly. She'd bought them two years ago, after a deployment, and they'd sat unused ever since. She'd never found anyone she trusted enough to use them with.
Ty pulled them down and tested their weight in his hands. Then he turned back to her, and the look in his eyes made her skin prickle.
"Arms up."
She raised her arms above her head, wrists together, and watched as he looped the rope around them. He was careful—checking the tension, making sure the knots wouldn't slip—and that care made her chest ache in a way she couldn't name.
Then he tied her wrists to the headboard.
The position stretched her out, baring her whole body to him. Her breasts, her stomach, the dark triangle of hair between her legs. Tied up, feet flat on the mattress, legs bent at the knee. The white socks looked absurd against the silk sheets, and she loved it. Loved the contrast. Loved the way it made her feel vulnerable and innocent and completely at his mercy.
Then he tied her ankles.
One to each corner of the bed. Spreading her legs, baring her pussy to the morning light. Kara tugged at the ropes—testing, not fighting—and found that she couldn't move more than a few inches in any direction. She was pinned.
"You comfortable?" Ty asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
He stepped back and looked at her. Just looked. His gaze traveled from her face to her bound wrists to her breasts to the wet, swollen flesh between her legs. He took his time, and Kara felt every second of it, her cunt clenching around nothing.
"Beautiful," he said quietly. "You're fucking beautiful like this."
Then he slapped her thigh.
Kara gasped. The sting bloomed across her skin, sharp and hot, and before she could process it, he did it again—other thigh, same spot as the first. Then again. Then again.
"Count," he said.
She counted.
Each slap was followed by a number, her voice getting higher as the sting built into something warmer, something that pooled low in her belly and made her hips shift involuntarily. By the time he reached ten, her thighs were pink and her pussy was dripping.
"You like that," Ty observed.
She didn't deny it.
He moved up her body, kneeling between her spread legs. His hands found her breasts, cupping and kneading, thumbs dragging across her nipples until they were hard and aching. Then he pinched—both nipples at once, hard enough to make her cry out.
"Daddy!" The word tore from her throat before she could stop it.
Ty's breath caught. His cock, still trapped in his boxers, twitched against her belly.
"Say it again."
"Daddy. Please, Daddy."
He pinched harder, and Kara moaned. She could feel herself soaking the sheets, her cunt clenching and releasing in a rhythm she couldn't control.
"You like calling me that," he said.
"Yes. Yes, I—" He twisted, and her words dissolved into a whimper. "I love it. I love calling you Daddy."
"Why?"
"Because—" She gasped as he released her nipples and ran his palms flat down her body. "Because it makes me feel—small. Safe. Like I'm yours."
"You are mine."
"Yes."
"Say it."
"I'm yours, Daddy. I'm your good girl."
He spanked her pussy.
The impact was electric—a sharp, bright burst of pain that radiated through her entire body. Kara screamed, her hips bucking against the ropes, her vision going white at the edges.
Then he did it again. And again. And again.
Each slap made her wetter. Each one made her moan louder. By the time he stopped, her cunt was dripping down her thighs, and she was sobbing from the need.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, Daddy, I need—"
"You need what?"
"I need to come. I need you to let me come."
He sat back on his heels, looking at her. His boxers were straining, a dark wet spot at the tip where his pre-cum had soaked through. But he made no move to touch himself.
"I want to ask you something," he said. "And I want you to be honest."
Kara nodded, too far gone to argue.
"What do you fantasize about? When you're alone, touching yourself, what do you think about?"
Her face burned. Not from the spanking—from the question.
"I—"
"Tell me."
She closed her eyes. Opened them. Forced herself to look at him.
"Being used," she said. "Being tied up and used. Being told what to do and having no choice but to take it. Being filled in every hole until I can't think about anything else."
Ty's breathing changed. Got louder. Rougher.
"And toys? What do you have?"
"Just a dildo. The pink one you—you saw. That's it."
"That's it?"
She nodded, cheeks flaming.
"Bullshit. You don't have a vibrator? A plug? Anything?"
"No. I never—" She squirmed under his gaze. "I never bought anything else. I was always too—"
"Embarrassed?"
"Yes."
Ty was quiet for a second. Then he reached for his phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Shopping."
He found what he was looking for and turned the screen toward her. A high-end sex shop website, filled with things Kara had only ever looked at in incognito tabs. Gags. Vibrators. Anal plugs in graduated sizes. A collar with a little silver ring on it.
Kara's whole body went red.
"Ty—"
"Shh." He was scrolling, thumb moving fast. "I'm thinking the medium plug to start. You can work up to the big one. This one has a remote—" He added it to the cart. "And this gag. The ball kind. So you can still make noise but you can't talk. Unless you use your safe word."
Safe word. They hadn't discussed a safe word.
"Saffron," Kara blurted.
He looked up. "What?"
"That's my safe word. Saffron. I hate saffron. It tastes like dirt."
He laughed. Actually laughed, warm and genuine, and the sound made her heart stutter.
"Saffron it is."
He finished shopping—added a few more things Kara couldn't see, confirmed the order, chose expedited shipping—and set the phone aside. Then he turned back to her, and his face shifted. Softened.
"You're being really good for me," he said. "Telling me all that. Letting me see you."
Kara's throat closed up.
"I know it's not easy," he continued. "Trusting someone like this. Letting them see the parts of you that you keep hidden."
"It's not," she whispered.
"I'm glad you did."
He leaned down and kissed her. Gentle this time, almost tender, and Kara kissed him back with everything she had. When he pulled away, she was crying. Just a little. Just a few tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.
"Hey," he said. "No crying. Not yet."
"Happy tears."
"Still counts." He wiped them away with his thumb, then sat back and stripped off his boxers. His cock was hard—thick and ruddy and leaking—and Kara's mouth watered at the sight of it.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes, Daddy."
He positioned himself between her legs. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and he paused there, just breathing, letting her feel the anticipation.
"Tell me what you want."
"I want you to fuck me. Please, Daddy. I want you to use me. I want—"
He pushed in.
One stroke. All the way. Kara screamed, her back arching off the mattress, and he didn't give her a second to adjust. He just started moving.
Hard. Fast. Brutal.
The bed slammed against the wall with every thrust. Kara's wrists strained against the ropes, her fingers flexing and clenching. Her ankles twisted, trying to find purchase, but she was spread too wide, pinned too tight. All she could do was take it.
"That's it," Ty grunted. "Take it. Fucking take it."
She did. She took every inch, every thrust, every filthy word he gave her. Her head thrashed on the pillow, and when it dropped, he grabbed her hair and yanked it back.
"Eyes on me," he said. "Don't look away."
She didn't. She couldn't.
His cock hit something deep inside her—something that made her see stars—and Kara felt the orgasm building. It was coming fast, too fast, and she tried to hold it back, tried to make it last.
"Please," she begged. "Please, Daddy, I'm going to—"
"Not yet."
"I can't—"
"You can." He slowed down, just a fraction, just enough to keep her on the edge. "You can wait. You can be a good girl for me."
She sobbed. Actually sobbed, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking with the effort of holding back.
"Please. Please, I'll do anything. I'll be so good. Just let me—"
"Who do you belong to?"
"You. I belong to you."
"Who owns this pussy?"
"You do. You own it. It's yours, Daddy, it's all yours."
"Then come."
The orgasm hit her like a freight train.
She screamed—Daddy, oh God, Daddy—and her cunt clamped down around his cock, convulsing in waves that seemed to go on forever. Her vision went white. Her ears rang. She felt like she was flying, like she was falling, like she was coming apart at the seams.
Ty kept fucking her through it, not slowing, not stopping, drawing it out until she couldn't tell where the pleasure ended and the pain began. Then, with a guttural groan, he pulled out and came across her stomach—hot ropes of cum painting her skin, marking her as his.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Ty's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, his cock still twitching in his hand. Kara lay beneath him, bound and exhausted and utterly wrecked.
Then he leaned down, untied her wrists, her ankles, and gathered her into his arms.
"You did so good," he murmured against her hair. "So fucking good."
Kara couldn't speak. She just curled into him, her face pressed against his chest, and let herself disappear into the warmth of his body.
The city hummed outside. The morning light shifted across the floor. And somewhere in the distance, a phone buzzed—Ty's, probably, his coach calling to demand where the hell he was.
Neither of them answered it.
They just lay there, tangled together, as the world kept turning around them.