Daddy’s Dirty Boss Page 15

  “I’ll always like the outfit,” I told her and held up a wine bottle in offering. “Believe me, I’ll never grow tired of you in school uniform.”

  She gave a yes, please to the wine and looked strangely curious as I poured her a glass and handed it over.

  “What is it?” I asked. “You look like you’re trying to work out the meaning of life.”

  I adored the way she so often paused for a dithering second before coming out with her answer.

  “It’s just…” she started, and took a sip of wine. “It’s just I was wondering… what it is that makes a schoolgirl uniform such a hot thing for you? I mean I guess it’s the girl thing, but is that really what it is? Because you didn’t look at me like that when I was actually in a school uniform…”

  I checked the oven for the status of our meal before answering.

  “You’re wondering why I get a hard on when a girl is in a school uniform?”

  She laughed and gave me a nod. “Yeah. Unless you don’t know. I don’t know why I like you fucking my ass, I guess. I just do.”

  But I did know. I knew absolutely why I got a hard on when a girl was in a school uniform.

  I took the pasta and garlic bread out of the oven and gestured her on through to the dining room with a smirk. It was all laid out and waiting. Candles burning, and places set and everything just so for my princess and her first little foray into the us she wanted.

  “Wow,” she said, and meant it.

  Her eyes were sparkling a deeper blue as she turned to face me near the candlelight.

  I put the dishes in the centre of the table, and pulled out her chair for her. She dropped into the seat with such a dainty motion, and I enjoyed a breath of her perfume. Light and floral. Sweet. Always so sweet.

  I cleared my throat and grabbed my own glass of wine before joining her.

  And then I spoke.

  I spoke about something I’d never spoken about, in fact. Something I’d never once felt drawn to discuss.

  “My interest in school uniforms has a very definite origin,” I started and offered her the serving spoon to take her pasta.

  “It does?” she quizzed, and she was eager for it. Truly eager for my words.

  It was in her excited little breaths, hitching just right. In the way her eyes struggled hard not to burn on mine, but failed miserably.

  “Yes,” I told her. “It does.”

  I waited for her to finish dishing up her meal and took my own before I continued.

  “When I was a boy at school. At the same school you attended actually,” I gestured at her outfit. “I was lucky enough to have the same academy school badge on my blazer.”

  “You went to Arlock Academy?” she asked, and I nodded.

  “Yes, I went to the academy. At the same time your father did.”

  She tore a piece of garlic bread and took a bite, covering her mouth with her hand as she spoke. “You went to school with Dad?”

  I nodded. “He was in an older school year, but yes, I did. We’ve been friends a long, long time. Long before we worked together.”

  The thought was enough to bash me with another wave of guilt at the betrayal of such a longstanding friend of mine, but now wasn’t the time to be dwelling on it.

  “I think I kinda knew that,” she said. “I think I’ve heard that before, I’ve just never really heard it to know for sure.”

  The girl was so glorious in her innocence. Her language, her smile, her everything. Not just the baby girl uniform.

  “There was a very noticeable girl in our school,” I shared. “Her name was Catherine Whitehurst. She was smart and beautiful. A blonde siren with this absolutely stunning cascade of hair down her back.” I met her stare. “Gorgeous blue eyes, so striking. Like another special little lady I know.”

  She blushed and smiled, then tore another strip of bread. “I’m a bit like Catherine, am I?”

  I laughed a little. “You are both exceptional creatures who have managed to captivate me at very different points of my life.”

  Watching her dainty fingers pull some of the cheese from the garlic baguette was enough to captivate me in this one.

  “So,” she pushed. “Was she your girlfriend? This lovely Catherine?”

  I took a sip of wine, then tore a strip of bread of my own. “I certainly wanted her to be. She was the pinup of the whole school. She was the captain of the netball team, and the head questioner on the debating group, and she always represented the school on open days and town events.”

  “Quite a good girl, then.”

  “Indeed, she was a good girl.” I smirked. “Or so I thought.”

  She raised her eyebrows before forking up some pasta. “She was a bad girl?”

  “Yes,” I said. “She was a very, very bad girl.”

  And then I told her the story.

  I told her how Catherine Whitehurst had been the girl of my dreams through the years of high school right through until we were leaving. I told her how I was obsessed with her brilliance. Her perfect laugh, and her great manners, and how incredible she was at every good little task she was given.

  Faith listened so intently that she barely ate any pasta, the fork pausing midway to her mouth as the story took a very sharp turn for the bad.

  It felt strange to voice the tale aloud, having never done so. But I did.

  “It was a Thursday,” I told her. “I’d finished up my game with the after school football team and needed to drop my Physics assignment back into Mr Harrington’s class before I left for the day. It was just a stupid oversight on my part, I should have dropped it on his desk before lunch was done, but I’d got distracted by the sports field.” I took a breath and another sip of wine. “Anyway, school was clear and I made my way to the science block, not thinking anything of it in the slightest. I walked right on in without knocking, convinced it would just be a quick case of drop the assignment and go, but when I stepped on inside I was faced with an entirely different scenario.”

  “Go on,” she said, and that fork was still hovering.

  “He was in there with her,” I said. “Mr Harrington with Catherine. She was still in her uniform and was bent forward over his desk with her sweet little tits hanging from her bra and her blouse opened wide. Her tie was still around her neck and so was his hand, holding her real fucking tight.”

  I loved how wide her eyes were as she listened.

  “He was fucking her hard. Real fucking hard. She was crying out and bashing into the desk, and I’ll remember those whimpers as long as I live. I’ll remember her expression as long as I live too. She was loving it, of that there was no doubt. She was crying out for more and she wanted it. But it was hurting. There was no doubt from the way she was crying out that it was hurting.”

  “Wow,” she said, and finally took the pasta from the fork.

  “I didn’t know how to react. I had my assignment in my hand and must have been staring like an idiot, but my dick was absolutely pulsing in my pants, and I couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t stop wanting more.”

  “What did they do?” she asked. “What did the teacher do? I mean surely he freaked out and bailed out of there, right?”

  I took a sigh before carrying on, “Not exactly,” I said. “He stared right back at me and kept on fucking her, and there was this smirk on his face. So filthy and so proud.”

  “Like you,” she giggled, and I laughed along with her.

  “Quite.”

  “I like you like that.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. “Anyway, he kept on fucking her, real fucking hard, and she was taking it, still whimpering for more, and I wanted so fucking much to put my hand down my pants and milk one off to her, but I couldn’t. I was stood like a statue, mouth open wide, just aching to touch that girl for myself. It physically fucking ached too. I’d been jerking off to that girl for years, and there she was right in front of me with her tits out being pounded by our Physics teacher.”

  “That must have been crazy.�
�

  I nodded. “Crazy and quite an experience. If that wasn’t intense enough, Mr Harrington called right on over to me. He told me I was a sick fuck with a hard on in his pants, and if I had any sense I’d keep my mouth shut about that bullshit.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said nothing, just stared.”

  “And he kept on fucking her?”

  I smirked again. “He kept on fucking her and I kept on watching, and it was such a contrast, the innocence of that girl I’d dreamed of for so long mixed up so hard with the dirty little slut bent over that desk that day.”

  “A contrast you liked.”

  I smirked harder. “A contrast I very much liked. A contrast I liked enough to jerk one off to at every opportunity for years to come. The amount of different scenarios I pictured became quite a selection. I pictured her hurting more. I pictured him fucking her harder. I pictured him calling me over and insisting I choke her with my dick while he fucked her asshole so hard she bled for him.”

  She straightened in her seat at that. “Did you ever see her again? Over his desk, I mean.”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t, but the fantasy struck pretty strong. Last thing I heard she was Mrs Davis and holed up in Bosbury village with two kids and a poodle. Fuck knows what happened to Mr Harrington.”

  She giggled. “Maybe you should hunt her down, see if she wants to be done over a desk again for another go, for old time’s sake.”

  There was no way she was serious and I knew it. Her eyes were sparkles of mischief, full of desire, and there was only one little girl in a uniform I was interested in at this point in time. She knew it too. It was alive in the air like electricity. Catherine Whitehurst was long gone from my fantasies.

  “I’ve pushed so many limits with so many women dressed up for me in school uniform, Faith,” I told her. “But trust me, this is going to be a whole other league now you’re the dirty little slut for me.”

  “This is lovely pasta,” she said, but her breaths were quick. Her eyes were fixed on mine as she ate another forkful, but we were both done with the food and we knew it.

  We moved at once, both of us in unison, but it was me moving faster. I reached her before she was fully out of her seat and pulled her hard to standing. Her mouth was open wide before mine reached her, her tongue already desperate for mine, and fuck, how I gave it to her. I kissed her like a storm. A desperate fucking storm with thunder roaring right the way through us both.

  This was beyond Catherine Whitehurst and the legacy she’d left in my mind. This was Faith Martin and her being my fucking everything, just as she wanted to be.

  “Stretch me,” she whimpered with her mouth still to mine. “Make it hurt like you want it to. I just want to take it. I want to take it all.”

  I loved her stutter. I loved her desperation. I loved how wet those cotton fucking panties were when my fingers reached up under her school skirt.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” I said, but she was smiling. Smiling and wriggling against my touch.

  “I’m wishing for it all,” she told me. “I want it all.”

  I hitched her up against me, and she wrapped her legs around my waist to hold herself firm.

  “Then it’s time I fucking delivered it,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Faith

  I was scared.

  My nerves were flapping around with the butterflies, my arms squeezing him tight as he actually carried me upstairs. I felt so small against him. But I also felt safe.

  And I wanted this.

  I wanted this so bad.

  “There’s a strange place between pleasure and pain,” he said when we reached the landing. “I’m going to take you there and you can judge for yourself how good it feels. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  Being anywhere close to the man of my dreams after so long spent dreaming was going to feel real good. Pleasure or pain regardless. There was no way he was ever going to disappoint me. Not in a million years.

  There was a tingle there, down deep already. More than nerves. More than anything. A tingle that wanted the forbidden. A tingle that wanted the pain he would give me. That wanted to feel him there for days. To strain so hard to have him inside me that I couldn’t imagine him ever pulling out. To see that filthy Miles Lindon smile as his fantasies came true.

  That’s what I wanted.

  He took me through to his bedroom and this time dropped me straight down flat on the bed. He pulled away and unbuttoned his shirt, and I stared up at him with my legs spread wide.

  He was so muscular. So much of a man with the plains of his chest, and the darkness of the train of hair down his stomach. My eyes followed it down to the huge pole of a dick he pulled out from his pants.

  “You look so good,” I whispered. “I’ll never ever get used to how amazing you look.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Says the perfect little siren staring up at me. Trust me, Faith, it’s you that looks amazing in this room tonight.”

  His words made me tingle even harder.

  I felt so right lying there on that bed as he dropped his trousers to the floor. I felt so right in my own skin in front of him, such confidence in being myself as he stared down at me. But he’d always made me feel like that, so right and so confident. So wanted. Even when I was a tiny little girl wanting to be told she was clever enough, funny enough, kind enough. Good enough.

  Now I was a woman so hungry to be told she was beautiful enough by the man she loved, and he always delivered. Always delivered so much.

  But it was more than that. He was more than that.

  He’d been so much to me that he’d helped me believe it myself. Believe in myself.

  “Spread those legs nice and wide,” he said, working his cock.

  I did as I was told, spreading my thighs wide open and pulling up my skirt to show him my white panties.

  “Rub that clit for me,” he said, and my fingers went straight down, working in circles through the cotton.

  I knew what was coming when he dropped to his knees at the side of the bed and pulled me close to the edge. His mouth was so hot over my fingers, his tongue squirming hard between them to press in just the right spot. It was such a natural shift for my fingers to move to his hair, and it was so slick, so neat to be disturbed, so perfect to be grabbed at.

  He made me moan. Made me wriggle. Made me buck against his face like a desperate little bitch.

  He made me beg him to show me what he wanted. What he needed. What he was going to take from me that would leave me sore for days.

  “Patience,” he said, and kept that tongue teasing. Coaxing. Pushing me to the edge.

  Until I crashed over it. Hard.

  I couldn’t hold back. I tipped my head back and breathed so fast, arching my back and pressing tight to his mouth while I whimpered his name.

  But he kept on going. Kept on licking. Kept on sucking.

  He pulled my knickers to the side and pushed two fingers in deep, and I loved it. I needed it.

  I cried out as he pushed two into my ass, four of them in me at once, and it hurt. It hurt but felt so good.

  “I wish you could appreciate how fucking beautiful you look with your tight little holes gripping my fingers. You’re so fucking tight, Faith. So fucking tight.”

  It felt so raw as he fucked me with them. Long thrusts back and forth, mixed with circles to ease me looser. I could feel it. I gripped at the bedsheets and moaned for more, even though it was tender. Really, really tender.

  “I’m going to get such big fucking toys for you to take for me, Faith. I can’t wait to show them to you. Such perfect gifts for my perfect girl.”

  My perfect girl.

  How much I wanted to be his perfect girl.

  “More,” I whispered. “Please, Mr Lindon. More.”

  “Say that again,” he said, and I cried out loud as his other hand came up to join the one inside me.

  It was double. Double the finger
s in both of the holes. I knew it must be. I felt it so hard.

  “Say that again like a good girl,” he repeated, and I really was gripping at those bed sheets.

  “More,” I said, louder. “Please, Mr Lindon. More. More, please, more!”

  And fuck, how he gave it to me.

  I could hear the wetness of my pussy so loud as he slammed me with those fingers, and my ass was burning so sore but wanted so much. I grunted and cried out, and tried to pull my thighs shut on instinct, but he shouted right at me, shouted at me to be a good girl and keep those legs wide open. And I did. I kept my legs wide as his fingers worked me.

  “This is just the beginning, little girl,” he said. “There’s such a long fucking night ahead of us.”

  I could only sigh at that. Sink into the soft warmth of his bed and thank my lucky stars for this man.

  My man.

  All mine as he twisted those fingers inside me.

  I was losing track of everything by the time he climbed up on the bed on top of me. His mouth had been such a crazy pleasure amongst the strain of taking his fingers, holding me on the edge of coming like a highly strung violin squealing out a desperate tune.

  That’s what I was.

  Desperate.

  Desperate for more, desperate for less, desperate for him. Always him.

  His elbows were either side of my face, holding him above me. His eyes were burning mine, knickers still pushed to the side as he eased his cock inside me, nice and slow, nice and tight as he pushed all the way deep, and then he started pumping those hips.

  It was the best fucking thing I’d ever felt.

  Or so I thought until he changed the angle and hit a whole new spot.

  “That’s it,” he growled at me. “That’s your sweet little cunt finding her perfect little groove.”

  I couldn’t stop myself wrapping my legs around his waist and coaxing him in for more. I could hear the squelches and feel the thrusts and knew this was just the beginning of him opening me up, even though I already felt so full. So beautifully full.

  My ass was still raw, still burning from where his fingers had stretched me, but still I wanted him in there again. I wanted to feel the strain, and this was about more than pleasing him. This was about pleasing me, too.