Make Me Yours, Devil Daddy

Maya

Am I gay?

The question kept echoing in my head like a broken record, louder than the pounding music vibrating through the strip club. I sat frozen on the red velvet couch in the VIP section with my half empty glass of vodka sweating in my hand.

It burned down my throat every time I took a sip, but it did nothing to thaw the weird numbness settling in my chest.

Right in front of me, one of my friends, Jax, the baseball captain I'd been crushing on for months, was ballsdeep in one of the dancers. His cock slammed in and out of her pussy. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess in his fist as she bounced on his lap, moaning like she was getting paid extra for the performance. Which, honestly, she probably was.

Jax's head was thrown back and his eyes halfshut in bliss. His hips snapping up to meet her every time she sank down. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with her highpitched cries

"Fuck, fuck, baby, yes, give me more!"

She cried out, head thrown back and her nails digging into his shoulders while she bounced on his lap, thighs slapping against his.

Wetness. Heat. That familiar throb between my legs that usually hit me the second I pictured a man taking what he wanted. Anyone would be dripping right now hell, half the room probably was.

The scene should've made anyone's blood run hot. I should've been dripping. I should've been squirming, thighs clenched, imagining myself in her place. I'm not some prude. I'm the girl who gets soaked just from a certain kind of stare.

But watching this? Watching him? Nothing. Not even a flicker of heat between my legs. Just this hollow, confused ache. My body stayed stubbornly cold and traitorous, while my mind screamed the truth I'd been running from for years. It wasn't that I was broken. I was still the same horny twentyyearold who could get soaked from nothing more than a dark, commanding gaze. The problem was... that gaze had to belong to him.

Tristan Desmond.

My father's cousin. My uncle in every way that mattered on paper, distant enough on the family tree to make the fantasy feel dangerously possible but close enough to make it utterly, unforgivably wrong.

Even here, surrounded by sweat and perfume and sex, my body only woke up when I let myself picture him.

Tristan Desmond was The Devil in a black suit. Sleek black hair swept back, tattoos curling like sin up his neck and disappearing under starched collars. Veiny forearms that flexed when he rolled up his sleeves. Those long fingers that looked made for pinning wrists above heads, for sliding between thighs, for making a girl beg and strong enough to snap me in half or pin me down until I begged.

And those thick thighs... God, the way his tailored pants hugged them, promising power, promising ruin.

I clenched my thighs together under my short skirt, feeling the slickness already coating my panties. Not because of Jax and the stripper but because of the image that flashed behind my closed lids.

Image of me, spread open on silk sheets and Tristan's rough hand sliding up my bare thigh, knuckles brushing the damp lace before pushing it aside. I could almost hear his low, gravelly voice whispering filthy things against my ear.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, biting my lower lip so hard I tasted blood.

He was every dark, filthy dream I'd ever had since I was old enough to understand the ache between my legs.

Fuck! Tonight was supposed to be different. This night was supposed to fix me.

"Operation Forget Tristan" my best friend had called it when she dragged me here. Get drunk. Dance. Maybe hook up with someone hot and uncomplicated. Prove to myself that I could want someone else. Anyone else. Because Tristan Desmond was my father's cousin. A family, even if distant. Forbidden. Impossible. A line I could never cross. But my stupid heart and worse, my stupid body didn't care about lines.

I gulped the last of my drink, the alcohol scorching my throat, and slammed the glass down on the low table. The clink was lost in the music. My head was spinning, a whirlpool of shame, frustration, and that relentless, throbbing need that only he could ignite.

I clenched my thighs hard and the urge to touch myself only grew. I had to get out of here. I glanced around. My friends were scattered, some grinding on strangers, some making out in dark corners, all of them blissfully drunk and oblivious. Perfect.

I grabbed my purse and stood up. My legs wobbled as I tried to keep my balance. The room tilted as I grabbed the wall for balance. My heels clicked unevenly across the sticky floor as I stumbled toward the exit.

As soon as I stepped out, the cool night air hit me like a slap, making me whimper. I stood on the sidewalk, chest heaving, trying to breathe through the fog of vodka and unwanted desire.

My thighs rubbed together with every shift of weight and the wetness between them making me hyperaware of how empty I felt. How desperately I wanted to be filled. Not by Jax. Not by any random guy.

Only by him.

A yellow taxi pulled up almost immediately, like the universe was mocking me. I slid into the backseat and gave the driver my address. I let out a deep sigh and bit my lower lip, feeling the intense racing of my heart.

Soon, The cab lurched to a stop outside the gates, and I somehow managed to shove enough crumpled bills into the driver's hand without dropping them all over the backseat.

My fingers felt numb, clumsy. I stepped out and the night air was cooler than I remembered and sharp against my flushed skin, but it did nothing to clear the vodka fog in my head.

I stood there for a second, swaying, staring up with my drunkard blurred vision at the dark silhouette of the mansion. No lights in the windows. Mom and Dad were still in Paris on a business trip. The thought sent a strange thrill through me.

I was alone which meant freedom, danger and sweet.

I fumbled in my purse for the key card, nails scraping uselessly against lip gloss tubes and crumpled receipts. "Come on..." I hissed under my breath.

My head spun. Finally, I just pushed against the heavy front door. It gave way  Had I forgotten to lock it earlier? Didn't matter. I slipped inside, and the door thudded shut behind me.

Silence wrapped around me like velvet. Alone. Finally alone.

I took two steps forward and immediately stumbled over my own feet. My palm quickly slapped against the wall for balance. A shaky laugh bubbled up as I felt pathetic, really, but I swallowed it down.

I immediately kicked off my heels. They clattered somewhere into the shadows. My purse hit the floor next with a dull thud. I didn't care. I could take care of tomorrow.

The tight fabric of my dress was suffocating. I grabbed the hem and yanked it over my head in one rough motion, letting it fall wherever it wanted. Cool air kissed my bare skin, raising goosebumps all over my body.

I stood there in nothing but the black lacy lingerie I'd stupidly chosen tonight, thinking maybe, just maybe, I'd let someone peel it off me. Someone who wasn't him.

Stupid.

My legs felt like jelly as I stumbled deeper into the house. I made it to the couch and collapsed onto it facefirst, then rolled onto my back with a long, relieved moan. The leather was cold against my overheated skin. Heaven.

I stretched my arms out to the sides, arching my back instinctively. My breasts pushed up against the lace bra and I felt my nipples tightened into hard peaks that ached with every breath.

A soft whimper slipped past my lips. Between my thighs, my pussy throbbed, so hot, swollen and slick. I rubbed them together, desperate for friction, but it only made the ache worse.

God, I was soaked.

I bit my lower lip, eyes fluttering closed, then opened again. The room wasn't completely dark. It was enough to see him. My breath caught. Across from me, a figure stood, leaning casually against the far wall like he belonged there.

His wet black hair slicked back, droplets still clinging to the ends. Face stern, unreadable, the way it always was. A loose black shirt clung to his lean and sculpted chest. Grey sweatpants hung obscenely low on his hips and the waistband teased the sharp V of muscle that disappeared beneath.

My mouth went dry.

Those intense black eyes locked on mine. His gaze was dark, burning and pinned me in place. A shaky breath rattled out of me.

"Tristan..."

Maya

His name came out small, trembling, almost a question. Like if I said it too loud he might vanish. But he didn't. He was there. Still.  This couldn't be real.

I blinked once. Twice. Three times. My lashes fluttered hard, like I could force the hallucination to shatter. But he didn't disappear.

Tristan was still there, standing at the edge in those lowslung grey sweatpants and that loose black shirt clinging to every carved line of his chest. Wet hair slicked back. Jaw tight. Eyes so dark and dangerous, they looked like midnight pools, pulling me under.

My heart slammed against my ribs and a ticklish feeling ran down my spine. The room tilted again, alcohol still swam thick in my veins, but the ache between my legs was sharper than ever. Realer than anything.

"Tristan..." I whispered his name. It came out like a prayer and my voice cracked. My heart thumped as he took one slow step closer. Then another.

My teeth sank into my lower lip so hard I tasted the faint metallic tang of blood. My breathings turned heavier and my heart slammed against my ribcage hard. He stopped just two steps away close enough that I could smell him. The scent of clean rain, dark soap, spicy and something dangerously male and addictive.

His gaze raked over me, heavy and unreadable, while I stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes, even though my vision was blurred, drunk and dizzy but so painfully turned on.

"Iis this a dream?" The words came out slurred, whimpering, pathetic.

My hands moved before I could stop them. I cupped my breasts through the thin lace of my bra, squeezing softly while my thumbs brushed over my aching nipples. A broken moan slipped out of my throat.

Heat flooded my cheeks. My core clenched hard as a lump formed in my throat.  "You're so hot... even in my dreams," I mumbled, lips curling into a small, innocent smile despite the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

He shifted like he was about to turn away and Panic sliced through me. I couldn't let him leave, not in my dreams though. "No!"

I lunged forward faster than I thought my drunk body could move. My finger hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging sharply. He froze instantly, every muscle locking.

"Don't go," I whimpered. My voice cracked. Tears finally spilled over, hot and fast down my cheeks. "Please... don't leave me. Not even in my dreams. It hurts it hurts so bad..." I tugged again, softer this time, pleading.

I felt his gaze back on me and he stepped closer without resistance. Slowly, I leaned back against the couch cushions, but I refused to let go of that waistband. My finger stayed curled there like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. Or fantasy. Whatever this was.

"Am I... not beautiful?" My voice was small, trembling. I looked up at him through glassy green eyes, lashes wet with tears.

"I want to feel the pleasure too," I whispered. "No one else can do it. Nothing works. Nothing... but you."

I bit my lip again, hard and slowly, deliberately spreading my legs. Then I drew my knees up onto the couch. I kept my gaze on him as I spread my thighs, exposing everything to him.

My glistening inner thighs slick with my arousal, the soaked black lace of my thong clinging transparently to my swollen, dripping pussy. A soft, needy whimper escaped me.

My finger tugged his waistband down just a fraction enough to reveal more of that sharp Vline, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the fabric. I lifted my gaze back to his, innocent and desperate, and slowly licked my lips.

"Even if this is just a dream..." My voice shook. "I want you. I need to feel your hands on me. I need to know what pleasure feels like... with you."

I tugged him forward, harder this time. He lost balance and fell. His body came down over mine in a controlled crash, knees between my spread legs, palms slamming into the couch on either side of my head to catch his weight.

His face hovered an inch from mine and I felt his hot breath fanned across my lips, my cheeks, my neck. My body trembled slightly. I could feel himthick, hard, pulsing pressed right against my soaked panties. The heat of his cock seared through the thin fabric, right up against my aching clit and a long, broken moan tore out of me.

"Tristan~"

My hips arched up instinctively, grinding against him in shameless little circles. My breathing came in ragged pants against his mouth.

He didn't move. His fists clenched whiteknuckled into the leather on either side of me and I watched veins standing out in his forearms, jaw so tight I thought it might crack. Then, he growled my name. Low, rough, almost painful.

"Fuck, Maya..."

Maya

My eyelashes fluttered as his hot breath washed over my face. His exhale felt  like a spark against my already feverish skin. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his. Those endless black eyes that always looked right through me, even in my wildest fantasies.

For one dizzying second, the alcohol haze snapped away like brittle glass. This felt... real. Too real. The solid warmth of his body pinning me to the couch, the heavy press of his hardness right against my soaked pussy through the thin, drenched lace of my thong there was no way a dream could feel this vivid, this heavy and probably this aching.

My heart stuttered.  If this wasn't a dream... God, if this was actually happening... I didn't care. I wanted more. I needed more. Of him.

I'd never let anyone touch me before. I had never been kissed, never been fucked, never even let a guy get close enough to try. Every time someone leaned in, something inside me recoiled and pushed them away because the only one I wanted was here, in my dream.

But tonight my body wasn't listening to reason anymore. It was screaming. It was aching, throbbing, dripping, all for him.

This wasn't just the vodka. This was years of buried longing clawing its way out, refusing to stay silent any longer.

My chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. His face was just inches away from mine and our breaths tangled together in the tiny space between our mouths.

My whole body arched up instinctively, pressing closer, chasing that intoxicating heat radiating off him. A shuddering sigh slipped past my lips as I felt the thick outline of his cock shift against me. So hard, insistent, promising.

No one had ever made me this wet. Not with touches, not with words, not with anything. Only the thought of him. Only the dream of him, had me dripping hard. I gasped softly and lifted a trembling hand to his neck. My nails grazed the warm skin just under his jaw, feeling the faint stubble, the steady pulse beneath. Fuck, He felt so warm and .... Real..

He slowly straightened but was still kneeling between my spread thighs, towering over me even like this with his huge body.

Slowly, my hand moved on its own and drifted lower, curious and desperate. My fingers traced the front of his sweatpants, following the rigid length straining against the soft fabric.

The moment my palm cupped him, I gasped. " So... big. "

I felt it, I felt him. Thick. Long. Hot even through the cotton. He twitched hard under my touch, a low sound rumbling in his chest. It felt so fucking hot.

Before I could explore more, his huge hand shot out and caught my wrists in an iron grip. In one swift motion he pushed my arm back, pinning it above my head against the couch.

I gasped as his full weight settled over me again and he was now, chest to chest, hips aligned, his cock hovering so close to where I was burning for him.

My body tensed. The position felt filthy and exposed and so fucking tempting all at once. So fucking tempting that I wanted him to just take me in that position and fuck me till I was nothing but a breeding mess for him.

He caught my other wrist with the same hand, trapping both above my head. His free hand moved to my throat. I gasped as I felt his huge palm wrapping around the delicate column of my neck.

Not squeezing. Just... holding. A Firm and Possessive grip. A whimper spilled out of me before I could stop it.

My eyes fluttered up and I watched his jaw clench so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. Restraint flickered in his eyes, but it was fraying thin, brittle, about to snap.

Fuck. This dream was getting wilder by the second. And I was loving every filthy moment of it.

My wetness was dripping now sliding down from my pussy to the sensitive skin below, making me squirm. My pussy throbbed and unknowingly clenched, as more of my wetness oozed out. I swallowed hard. My lips parted on a shaky breath as his gaze dropped to my chest watching the frantic rise and fall, the way my nipples strained painfully against the black lace.

"Are you aware of what you're doing?" His voice came out deep, rough, gravel dragged over silk. It sent shivers racing straight to my core.

My breath hitched. Without thinking, I nodded. A small, quick, needy nod.  "I need words, princess."

So fucking dominating. My whole body clenched at the command in his tone. His voice was low, authoritative, impossible to disobey.

I bit my lower lip, savoring the sting, and my hips bucked up on instinct, chasing friction. But his free hand shot to my thigh, pinning my hips back down to the couch with effortless strength as a broken whimper tore out of me.

I felt like a desperate bitch in heat.

His fingers moved slow and deliberate, scratching lightly up the soft skin of my inner thigh. My eyes enlarged slightly and I gasped, thighs trembling.

Fuck, this dream was so sensual. So real. Was alcohol supposed to make dreams feel like this?

"What do you want, princess?" He raised one dark brow, waiting. I fought the desperation clawing up my throat, but the words tumbled out anyway. So raw, honest and shameless but I did not care.

"II need you, Daddy."

The word slipped past my lips like it had been waiting there forever. I bit my lip again, eyes glassy and stared up at him.

"I want to feel you, Daddy. I want to be touched... and fucked... by you."

I watched as he let out a shaky sigh almost pained. I could see the leash on his control cracking, splintering. Holy shit. He looked devastating like this. Like restrained violence and raw hunger all wrapped in that perfect, terrifying package. "Who gave you permission to go out and get drunk?" His tone shifted to much darker, colder. My heart skipped a beat. Something in his voice made me feel tiny, small, cared for and punished all at once.

My body reacted instantly and I tried to close my legs, to rub my thighs together for relief but he refused to let me. His knee kept me spread open. "Answer me, princess."

My skin prickled. My whole body twitched under the weight of that commanding drop in his voice and that intense wild gaze.

"Nno one, Daddy," I managed to whisper.

He leaned back slightly and released my wrists. He raked his long fingers through his damp hair, leaving it even more tousled. The motion made every muscle in his arms and chest flex, making me throb and ache for more.

"Since you broke a rule and went out alone..." His eyes locked on mine, dark and merciless. "You need to be punished."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"Raw. And hard."