All Chapters of Wanting His Father; Daddy Dom/ LG Forbidden Romance: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

THOMASBy the next morning, I’ve imagined every possible version of the Iris in the studio except the one I get.I expect fear, maybe exhaustion. I expect Iris curled beneath a blanket, pale and stubborn and too proud to admit that a night alone in the place where she nearly died has cost her more than she meant to spend. I expect anger, maybe. Silence, definitely. I’m prepared for tears, for accusation, for the brittle composure of a woman who’s spent the night convincing herself not to break.Instead, when I open the studio door shortly after eight with a breakfast tray balanced in one hand, I find her showered, dressed, seated at the worktable with her hair still damp at the ends and a pencil moving steadily across paper.Morning light pours through the windows behind her, washing the room in pale gold. Fragrant coffee sits steaming beside her elbow. The air smells of shower gel and warm water, and the entire studio seems to have recovered its breath around her.And she looks calm.

Heat coils tighter in my belly with every lick and curl, my thighs trembling around his shoulders as he adds a third finger, scissoring gently to open me further. His free hand grips my ass, pulling me flush against his mouth, and the dual sensation of his tongue flicking relentlessly and his fingers stroking deep pushes me right to the edge.I cry out, back arching, the orgasm building sharp and unstoppable as he hums approval against my clit. "Cum for me, princess… let me feel this pussy squeeze my fingers.”The words send me spiraling, my orgasm crashing through me in hot, pulsing waves that leave me gasping and shaking. My pussy clenches hard around his fingers, slick juices coating his tongue and chin as I ride out the pleasure, hips jerking against his mouth while my fingers clutch his hair. The release leaves me trembling, breathless, every nerve alight with the aftershocks.He rises slowly, his hands gentle as he guides me backward onto the bed, the soft linen cool against my

THOMASI swirl the last sip of the rich, oaky wine in my glass before draining it in one smooth pull, the bold flavor lingering on my tongue. The studio hums with quiet anticipation, the low flicker of candlelight casting golden shadows across the hardwood floors, and the faint scent of her perfume still clings to the air. My pulse quickens as I turn toward the hallway, while heat builds low in my gutPushing the bedroom door open, I step inside and there she is, completely naked and kneeling beside the bed just as I instructed. Her skin glows in the lamplight, smooth and young and flushed, with her full breasts rising and falling steadily, nipples tightened into dark peaks. Her thighs are parted just enough to reveal the slick, glistening folds of her pussy, and her hands rest palms-up on her knees in perfect submission.The sight hits me like a spark, her eagerness to please radiating from every line of her body, her eyes lifting to meet mine with that mix of hunger and trust that a

MARGARETThe walk to the cottage takes less than ten minutes. Tonight, it feels considerably longer.Snow is being carried in the air, damp and cold against my face as I leave the side entrance and follow the edge of the kitchen garden toward the trees. I avoid the gravel path without consciously deciding to do so, keeping instead to the grass where my footsteps make almost no sound, and the knowledge of what I’m doing settles over me gradually, with each careful step and each glance toward the darkened windows of Ashcroft behind me.I’m sneaking across the estate that I call home. The humiliation should turn me around; it doesn’t, though.The cottage appears through the trees as a low shape of stone and warm glass, every window lit against the darkness. Smoke curls from the chimney. The curtains have not yet been drawn, and as I approach, slowing instinctively beneath the cover of an old cedar, I see movement inside.I stop.The sensible choice is still available to me – I could go ho

ZARAInside, the boutique is much quieter than the street, though not silent. Soft music drifts from hidden speakers, subdued enough not to interfere with conversation, and somewhere beyond the main showroom a clothes rail moves across polished flooring with the faint, controlled whisper of expensive fabric.Everything is designed to feel effortless. The lighting is warm without revealing its source, the mirrors flattering without appearing dishonest, the chairs arranged to suggest comfort while ensuring no one forgets they are sitting somewhere exclusive.Helen gestures toward a pale velvet sofa near the fitting rooms.“Sit for a few minutes and warm up,” she says. “Unless you have somewhere else to be.”“I don’t.”The answer feels more revealing than it should.Daddy is upstairs in his office, surrounded by meetings and contracts and people who understand the machinery of money far better than I do. I’d planned to wander until he called. Maybe buy a coffee, maybe look at fabrics.I