Gambling For The Virgin:A Dark Billionaire Romance(22)

We've also put a copy of Scandalous by Alexis Angel.

And then a copy of Client 5 by Alexis Angel.

We round out with a copy of Man Chaser by Alexis Angel!

A copy of Fiona Vs. Football Player by Mona Cox.

Finally, in case you missed Gian and Lucy, we have a continuation of  their story in a separate standalone story that can also be seen as an  extended epilogue!

Our goal in this is simple.

To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with  the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various  corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us  closer together we feel.

Thank you so much for reading!



xoxo



Alexis and Lana





Daddy Please





By Lana Angel





16





Tara





Marcus's tongue claims my thighs and the quivering wetness between it.  Every stroke of his warm, velvety tongue against my soft thighs stokes  the fire within me, making my pussy even wetter and making me want him  more.

I'm begging. Daddy, please. Please touch me. Lick me. Fuck me. Make my first time with you everything I don't even know I need.

Because this is so fucking wrong but so fucking perfect.

Of course, I can't really get out more sounds than some moans. Despite  wanting to beg so much, I can barely breathe because Marcus is touching  me.

My stepdaddy is touching me like I've always wanted him to. Marcus is  touching me like I've never been touched before. His rough fingers are  grazing me and strong tongue is tasting me is making my mind race. My  heart races faster. How could my breathing, much less my thoughts, keep  up with the pressing point of his tongue teasing me, tantalizing me  about what's to come?

After all these years of telling myself not to want the want thing I can  never have, it is actually happening. It is terrible to want my  stepfather like this. Wrong. Dirty. Bad.

So why is it so good to imagine Marcus as mine? To imagine I'm his?

Wait, I know why it is so good. Still … I'm desperately searching within my soul and begging for it be anything but perfect.

For a few painfully confusing seconds, I let myself be conflicted.  Marcus is gliding his tongue down my thighs and closer to my pussy.

There's nothing about my stepfather running his tongue deeper between my  thighs, after my mother's funeral, that should be perfect.

But Marcus's tongue is gliding over my thighs, torturing out every  breath I can manage when he touches me. I've never wanted anything as  much as I want him. But now I'm not aching for some abstraction. No  vague ideas about him touching me. His tongue's next lick is what I'm  aching for. I'm begging for his tongue to lick between my thighs. I know  exactly what I want at this moment, and I can't resist how much I need  his tongue on my pussy.

My mouth forms a perfect ‘o' while I give up on wrestling with the moral  quandary of what we're doing. I sigh out, exhausted by this new  pleasure. I know that there's no other word for the intensity of the  ecstasy I feel with his touch on my skin, no better word than perfect.  When his knuckles stroke over my quivering pussy I whimper. Perfect.  When his thumb slides into my slick wetness and his tongue laps over my  clit, I yelp. Fuck, this is what perfection means.

And when his thick bare, massive cock spears into me, unprotected and  splitting me thunderingly hard, I groan loudly. All of the propriety I  normally have?

Any decency?

All of that is lost.

I'm just my stepdaddy's little girl taking his huge cock in my  previously virginal pussy. We didn't use a condom, and his massive cock  is filling me up so much. I've never felt so full in my life. Not in  this way. I can feel body stretching to accommodate him. My inner walls  squeezing around him, desperate for every inch Marcus has to offer me.  My head falls back, and I'm panting heavily in time with his every  thrust. His teeth are scraping over my neck, one of his hands cupping my  ass hard to him and the other clutching the curtain of the chocolate  waves of my hair bouncing around my back. The possessive hold he has on  me makes me feel more alive than I ever have.

But just like he always has, he makes me feel safe.

And that feeling is absolutely perfect to me.

Of course, I couldn't think about how this never should happen, no  matter how many reasonable arguments there are for why. So many obvious  reasons, and so many stupid ones. I so don't want to think about that.

When Marcus's large, roughly skinned hand closed over mine, it destroyed  my ability to resist. Remnants of the sane part of me that would ignore  his touch and step away from it were decimated. The appetite I had for  him was awakened with new erotic possibilities. His real touch brought  new, filthier thoughts. Before I'd thought vaguely about how I'd want my  stepfather Marcus to take my virginity. Those thoughts were in me. Ones  I had desperately tried not to entertain. Marc had been my stepfather  since I was ten, a tender age of learning my way around how I felt about  sex and myself. I'd always thought that the attraction I'd felt for him  at such a young age … they were things that I should ignore because they  were just foolish. But as I got older and he was so much a part of my  life as a father figure? My feelings for him only grew. I shoved the  thoughts down with the same frequency I shoved my hands into my panties  when I went to bed at night and thought about what it would be like to  make the sounds my mother made with him in their bedroom above mine. But  his hand touching mine? That wasn't about some vague sexual urge I had  for him. It inspired very specific thoughts about those hands touching  very specific parts of me. I wanted to feel what those rough fingers  would feel like on my neck. On my nipples. On my pussy. I was so wet for  him, instantly.         

     



 

Long before cancer started killing my mother, the sounds of her being  pleasured by my stepfather had stopped coming from upstairs in their  bedroom. I knew their marriage wasn't working, and it wasn't hard to  figure out why. My mother had always cared more about her work and had a  natural coldness about her. Things, certainly, that Marcus had thought  were going to change for him as when they were first together they had  that honeymoon phase. She'd stopped caring about what was happening in  my life before Marcus, and she'd stopped caring about Marcus in even  shorter time.

In some of my naughtiest fantasies, I imagined pulling him into my  bedroom and showing him just how much I wanted him to get me to make the  kinds of sounds that I knew he could make a woman do. I wanted to call  out his name.

Marcus!

He'd corrected me, his fingers near bruising my lips with his rough touch.

Call me my full name; I love the way it sounds rolling off those soft lips.

The way he'd licked my lower lip, sucked on it after he said those words … erotic flashbacks kept playing in my mind.

Then, his rough hand touching me changed everything …





17





Tara





Marcus's rough, calloused hand comforted me, but it brought rushing  through my blood every naughty thought I'd had about him. That sensual,  rough hand taunted me. Tantalized me.

Leaving the cemetery, my thoughts blurred. Everything changed somewhere  between the caress of Marcus's comforting hand and lingering grope of  his hand between my breasts.

First, that grope's rough feel against the softer skin between my  breasts had me wondering how a wealthy businessman like Marcus had those  callouses. Callouses that seemed more like they belonged to someone who  worked for his real estate development firm rather than the hands of  the man who ran the company.

Sometime after exiting the creaking gates of the cemetery. After the  intensive reddening of my eyes and nose from my tears and blowing my  nose. Between seeing the lines of sorrow darken Marcus's gorgeous face.  His forehead creased, his eyes darkened. One look at his face and I saw  that his pain only made him more beautiful to me. When our eyes  connected, he must have seen how much I needed him.

Another blur, fast forward and Marcus is holding me to his broad chest.

I felt safe when he held me. I never wanted to leave those arms, unless it was to be on my knees for him.

My every thought was full of naughtiness for him. How much I wanted to belong to Marcus.

When I hugged him tighter, as he held me close and his hold on me  tightened as well, I felt all of him. His gorgeous, hard body, quickly  filled the distance between us. His hard abs, strong chest and huge  erection were pressed, hard, into the soft curves of my body and there  was nothing separating us. I'd hugged him plenty of times in the past,  but when I held onto him this time as he held me tight against him, it  was different.

I hadn't let go of his hand. So now his hand was trapped between my breasts.

It had been an accident; I'd tried to convince myself.

Well, for a second. Marcus's hand was close to my heavily beating heart.  My nipples got hard, doing their best to beg for his attention. In a  split second, I'd felt a thick rod of hardness pressing into me, and I  moaned. Such a small sound escaped my lips. So lightly, a quiet sound  but he didn't miss it. But a flickering glance of the flame between us,  and everything changed. We couldn't go back. And I didn't want to. That  sound had escaped my lips and lit a candle in the darkness of our  desires. No longer could we hide the flames growing between us.