Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy

Chapter 161 - 162 | Every Night

She slid off the table and I watched her stand there in her uniform blouse and that criminally short skirt, violet hair messed up from my hands, lipstick smudged across her chin like evidence of a crime. Looking at me like she was about to commit a felony and didn’t care who knew.

"Turn around," I said.

"Excuse me?"

"Turn. Around."

She crossed her arms, and the gesture pushed her small breasts up against the white fabric of her shirt. "Why?"

"Because I’m going to bend you over this table and you’re going to stop arguing with every instruction I give you."

Her breath hitched. The drain pulsed harder, feeding off the spike in her arousal.

"That’s..." She tried for indignant. Landed somewhere closer to intensely interested. "Presumptuous."

"You want soft and romantic, go find Nolan."

Wrong thing to say. I knew it the moment the words left my mouth.

Her expression went cold. Arctic. The temperature in the room dropped five degrees. "Don’t."

"Then stop performing." I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. "You came here for answers. I’m giving you exactly what you asked for."

"I asked for information about your Essentia."

"Liar."

"I’m not—"

I grabbed her waist and spun her around, pressing her front against the table before she could finish the protest. She gasped, her palms flattening against the wood, fingers spreading wide for balance.

"Rome, what are you—"

I pushed her skirt up slowly, watching the black fabric bunch around her waist. Black lace panties underneath, already wet enough that I could see the dark patch spreading across the silk.

"Fuck," I said.

"Don’t—" She squirmed, but not away. Toward me. "Don’t look."

"Too late."

I hooked my fingers in the waistband and pulled them down slowly, inch by inch, watching her hips shift as the silk dragged across her skin. When they hit her ankles, she kicked them away without prompting, the gesture automatic.

The drain opened wider without me touching it, reacting to the visual alone. She was perfect. Smooth and pink and so obviously ready that I had to close my eyes for a second to keep from doing something stupid.

"You’re beautiful," I said.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

She tried to push up off the table but I put my hand between her shoulder blades, holding her flat. Not hard. Just firm enough that she knew I could. That she was staying down because I wanted her to, not because she couldn’t get up.

"Stay."

"This is—" Her voice shook, but not with fear. With anticipation. "This is insane."

"Yeah."

"We’re going to get caught."

"Maybe."

"I’m supposed to hate you."

"I know."

"So why—" She gasped when I ran my hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, between her thighs where she was warm and wet and trembling. "Oh god."

"Still hate me?"

"Yes." But her hips pushed back against my hand, chasing the contact.

I circled slowly, feeling how wet she was, how her body responded to every tiny movement. "Liar."

"I’m not—fuck—I’m not lying."

"Then why are you dripping?"

She made a strangled sound, half embarrassment, half arousal, the kind of noise someone makes when their body betrays everything they’re trying to pretend. "Shut up."

"Answer the question."

"Because you’re—" She bit off whatever she was going to say, teeth clicking together.

I added pressure, fingers sliding through the wetness. "I’m what?"

"Insufferable."

"And?"

"Arrogant."

"And?"

"And I—" Her breath caught, voice breaking on the words. "I can’t stop thinking about Friday."

There it was. The admission I’d been waiting for without realizing I was waiting for it.

"What about Friday?"

"When you kissed me in the hallway. How it felt. How I felt afterward." She pressed her forehead against the table, voice muffled by her hair. "I’ve touched myself every night thinking about it and I hate myself for it."

My brain stuttered. Crashed. Rebooted.

"Every night?"

"Don’t make me repeat it."

I leaned over her back, my mouth next to her ear, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. "You touch yourself thinking about me?"

"I said don’t—"

"Tell me what you think about."

"Rome."

"Tell me."

"Your hands." Her voice went quiet, almost whisper-soft. "Your mouth. How the drain felt when you kissed me. How you looked at me like—" She stopped.

"Like what?"

"Like you saw me. Really saw me. Not the Stark heiress or the tactical genius or the girl who’s supposed to hate you. Just... me."

Something twisted in my chest. The same thing that happened with Cheon when she dropped her perfect facade. With Mera when she stopped calculating the angles and just existed in the moment. The feeling that this was supposed to be transactional and kept ending up somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere that mattered.

I kissed her shoulder blade through her blouse, tasting fabric and the faint salt of sweat. "I do see you."

"Then prove it."

I straightened and positioned myself, the head pressing against her entrance. She tensed, every muscle in her body going tight.

"Relax."

"I can’t."

"Yes you can." I rubbed slow circles on her lower back, feeling the tension gradually leave her spine. "Breathe."

She took a shaky breath.

"Good girl."

"Don’t—" She gasped. "Don’t call me that."

"Why not?"

"Because it makes me—"

I pushed in slowly, just the tip, and her words dissolved into a long moan that echoed off the conference room walls and went straight to my brain stem.

Holy shit.

Tight. So tight I had to stop and breathe through it, every instinct screaming at me to just drive forward and bury myself completely.

"Fuck, Noel."

"Is it—" Her voice cracked. "Is it in?"

"Barely."

"It’s too big."

"You can take it."

"I can’t."

"You will." I pushed deeper, inch by careful inch, watching her hands fist against the table, knuckles white with the effort of staying still. "Breathe."

She whimpered but relaxed fractionally, letting me sink deeper. The drain opened on instinct, pulling her Essentia in waves that tasted like melting ice cream laced with lightning. Sweet and sharp and absolutely perfect.

When I bottomed out, fully seated inside her, we both groaned.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "Oh my god, Rome, you’re—"

"Too deep?"

"So deep." Her thighs trembled against the table edge. "I can feel you in my stomach."

I pulled back slowly and thrust in again, watching her whole body jerk forward. Her feet lifted off the floor entirely, legs dangling, supported only by my hands on her hips and the table edge pressed against her stomach.

"Fuck!" She reached back blindly, grabbing my wrist with desperate fingers. "Wait!"

I stopped immediately. "Too much?"

"No. Just—" She looked over her shoulder, face flushed and hair wild, lips swollen from kissing. "Give me a second."

"You okay?"

"You’re huge and I’m tiny and my feet aren’t touching the floor."

I grinned. "Problem?"

"Yes!" But she was smiling too, that surprised laugh bubbling up from somewhere genuine. "This is ridiculous."

"Want me to put you down?"

"No." Fast. Honest. No hesitation. "Keep going."

So I did.