CHAPTER 2: DRIPPING ON DADDY’S FINGERS

MIRA'S POV

Every nerve ending in my body is screaming, tracking the exact position of his hands with a precision I usually reserve for mile splits and heart rate zones.

He's working the very top of my inner thigh now, and with every stroke, his fingers brush closer to the edge of my soaked thong, closer to the heat I can feel radiating from my swollen pussy.

"How's the pressure?" he asks.

"Good," I whisper, keeping my voice soft and sleepy, like I'm barely conscious. "Really good."

His thumbs drag up my thigh, and this time - this time there's no fucking way it's...