Let me hear you break

Ivy.

I lasted exactly two hours upstairs before making the most dangerous decision of my life.

Or maybe the best one.

My body still wasn’t sure which.

The house was dead silent after midnight, the snowstorm whispering against the windows while the Christmas lights outside painted soft, golden flickers across my bedroom walls. Everyone else was asleep.

I should have been too.

Instead, I sat cross-legged on the bed in a short silk robe, the deep crimson fabric clinging to my bare skin like a secret. My nipples were already tight, aching against the cool silk as I stared at my streaming dashboard.

His last words echoed in my head on repeat.

*Then don’t stream tonight.*

So of course I did it anyway.

For him.

Only him.

I opened a private room. Invite Only.

My fingers trembled slightly as I typed the username.

BigDaddyP

He joined in under five seconds.

The second his name appeared, heat flooded between my thighs.

No camera on his end. Just pure darkness.

He was watching me. Hunting me with his eyes from somewhere downstairs in my parents’ guest room.

I stayed muted for a long moment, trying to steady my breathing.

Then his voice came through my headphones—low, rough, and calm in that terrifying way that always destroyed me.

“You disobeyed me, Ivy.”

The sound of my real name in that tone sent a hot pulse straight to my clit.

I leaned back against the pillows, letting the robe slip a little higher on my thighs.

“You told me not to,” I whispered.

“I did.” A pause. “And yet here you are… legs open, waiting for me like a good little slut.”

My breath hitched. God, his voice was pure sin tonight.

“You’re not showing your face?” I asked, my voice already breathy.

“You already know exactly what I look like when I want to fuck you.”

The raw possession in his tone made my pussy throb. I pressed my thighs together, but it only made the ache worse.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

“A robe.”

“Color?”

“Red.”

“Open it. Slowly.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. I hated how instantly wet I got from that simple command.

I untied the silk belt with shaky fingers and let the robe fall open. Cool air kissed my heated skin—my full breasts, my hard nipples, the soft curve of my stomach, and the smooth, bare skin between my thighs.

I was completely exposed now.

For him.

A low, hungry sound rumbled through the headphones. Almost a growl.

“Fuck, Ivy…” His voice had gone rougher. “Look at you. Sitting there dripping for me.”

I bit my lip, sliding one hand down my body until my fingers rested just above my aching pussy.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you touching me,” I confessed, voice shaking. “Since you kissed me downstairs… I keep remembering how big your hands felt on me.”

“Again,” he ordered, darker this time. “Tell me exactly what you’ve been thinking about.”

I whimpered softly.

“I keep imagining your fingers inside me,” I breathed. “Stretching me. Fucking me slow and deep while you tell me to stay quiet so no one hears what a needy little whore I am for you.”

A sharp exhale. Then silence.

When he spoke again, his control sounded frayed.

“You have no fucking idea how hard I am right now. Sitting in the dark, stroking my cock while you’re right above me, legs spread like a filthy invitation.”

My pussy clenched hard at his words. I was soaked.

He didn’t let me off easy.

“Touch yourself,” he said, voice dropping even lower. “Slowly. I want you to slide two fingers over that pretty pussy and tell me how wet you are.”

I moaned softly, obeying without hesitation. My fingers dipped lower, gliding through my slick folds. “I’m… so wet,” I whispered, embarrassed by how easily they slipped. “I’ve been aching since you kissed me.”

“Good girl.” The praise made me shiver. “Circle your clit. Nice and slow. Imagine it’s my tongue.”

I did as he said, my hips twitching as I traced tight, teasing circles. My breathing grew ragged.

“Patrick…” I whimpered.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “I want you dripping down your thighs before I even think about coming up there. Slide two fingers inside. Fuck yourself like you wish I was fucking you right now.”

I gasped as I pushed two fingers in, curling them the way I imagined he would. The wet sounds were faintly audible through the mic. I tried to stay quiet, but soft, needy moans kept escaping.

“Deeper,” he commanded. “That’s it. Faster now. I want to hear how desperate you sound for me.”

I pumped my fingers harder, my other hand squeezing my breast, pinching my nipple. The silk robe had fallen completely off one shoulder. I was lost in it — the risk, the darkness of his voice, the knowledge that he was downstairs stroking himself while listening to me unravel.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you?” he teased. “I can hear it in your breathing. Don’t you dare cum yet. Tell me how badly you need my cock.”

“So badly,” I panted, fingers moving faster. “I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me so I can’t stay quiet.”

He chuckled darkly. “Greedy girl. Add another finger. Stretch that tight little pussy for me.”

I obeyed with a broken moan, three fingers now thrusting in and out. My thighs trembled. The pressure was building fast.

“Please… Patrick, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me,” he finally growled. “Right now. Let me hear you break.”

The orgasm crashed over me hard. I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my cry as my body shook, walls clenching around my fingers. Wave after wave rolled through me while he listened, murmuring low praises that only made it last longer.

When I finally came down, panting and boneless, his voice returned — rougher, barely restrained.

“Good girl, Ivy. Now open your door. Leave it open. If I come up those stairs, I’m not being gentle. I’m going to bury my cock so deep inside you you’ll feel me for days. And you’re going to take every inch while trying not to scream my name.”

My entire body flushed with fresh need, even after the orgasm.

I stood up on shaky legs, silk robe hanging open like a frame around my naked body, and walked to the bedroom door.

I opened it.

Then I waited, heart hammering, thighs slick, aching, for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.