“Tell me you’re my whore,” he orders. “I’m your whore,” I gasp. “What do you call me?” That gives me pause. His hips are going so slow now, just a drawling thump, a second of reprieve, then another thump that makes my stomach swoop. I swallow. His dark eyes are glowing coals, a warning in them. “I’m your whore, daddy,” I whisper. “Say it out loud, or I’ll put you on your knees and fuck it out of you,” he says. He ruts his hips, and there’s a hint of cruelty in them. “I’m your whore, daddy,” I gasp out. “Good fucking girl.”
