Affair with My Father's Friend-3

Jimin POV (continued)

He didn’t let go of my wrists.

They stayed pinned above my head, one of his big hands wrapped around both like a damn cuff, pressing them into the mattress. My chest rose and fell under him, nipples hard, skin slick with heat, every breath a silent plea.

He leaned down, slow, mouth brushing my jaw, my neck, biting just under my ear.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” he murmured, lips trailing to my collarbone. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already squirming.”

“I—I can’t help it,” I gasped.

He chuckled darkly. “I know. You like being helpless under me, don’t you?”

I whimpered. My hips tried to lift, to grind against him again—but he shifted his knee between my thighs, blocking me, keeping me still.

“Nuh-uh,” he growled. “No humping. You get off when I say you get off.”

F**k.

My c*ck throbbed, aching, leaking, desperate for friction, but he gave me nothing. Just his mouth and his voice—that deep, slow, commanding voice that poured into my ears like hot molasses.

“I’ve been patient, Jimin,” he whispered, dragging his tongue over my nipple, teeth grazing it until I moaned. “But you crossed a line tonight.”

I shivered. “W-What line?”

“The moment you walked into my kitchen looking like that. Looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you.”

He kissed lower, then lower—lips ghosting across my stomach, tongue flicking at my navel.

“You have no idea what you’ve awakened.”

My body arched off the bed.

Then he let go of my wrists.

Just long enough to flip me over onto my stomach and yank my hips up.

I gasped, stunned, face pressed to the sheets.

“Tae—”

A sharp slap cracked across my a$$.

I moaned. Loud.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, admiring the red blooming across my skin. “You liked that.”

I nodded furiously, trembling.

He smacked me again, harder this time, and I gasped, the sting shooting straight to my cock.

“You gonna be good for me?” he asked, voice low and cruel and dripping with hunger.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes—anything—please—”

He leaned down, lips right against my ear.

Then—that voice.

“Then call me Daddy.”

My entire body froze.

Blood rushed in my ears. My heart thundered. My thighs shook.

“I—”

“Say it,” he growled, fingers gripping my hips, his cock hard and heavy pressed against the curve of my ass. “You want to be my baby boy? Say it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“D-Daddy…”

His groan was filthy. His teeth bit into my shoulder, and his hips ground against me once, slow and threatening.

“Fuck, Jimin. That’s it. That’s my good boy.”

I gasped. Moaned. My whole body was fire.

“You’re not gonna come tonight unless I make you,” he said, voice hard now. “You're mine tonight. My body. My rules. My little thing to play with.”

I whimpered, helpless, and he laughed—dark and mean and possessive.

“Let’s see how many times I can make you scream it.”

Then he pushed in.

I choked on my own breath.

There was no warning. No easing. Just Taehyung—thick, hot, stretching me open inch by devastating inch until my knees shook and my fingers clawed helplessly at the sheets.

“F-F**k—!”

His grip on my hips was brutal, grounding me, holding me in place as he sank deeper.

“Shhh,” he growled, mouth at my ear, one hand sliding up my spine to press between my shoulder blades. “You wanted this, baby boy. Take it. Take all of it.”

I whimpered—high, wrecked, helpless—and he bottomed out with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his chest.

“God, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Like you were made for me.”

I could barely breathe. My head dropped to the mattress, drool slipping past my parted lips, everything inside me stretched and aching and perfect. Then—

He started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts at first. Heavy. Deliberate. Every push punched a breath out of me, every pull left me empty and needy. I sobbed into the sheets, moaning loud as his cock slid in again, harder this time, sharper.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Sound so good when you cry.”

Then his fingers curled into my hair, yanking my head up.

“Say it,” he growled. “What do you call me, Jimin?”

My mouth fumbled. Too full of moans, too dizzy with heat.

He slammed into me again, and I screamed.

“D-Daddy!”

His groan was filthy.

“There’s my boy.”

He let my head fall back, then spanked me—again, again—while he fucked me harder, faster, sweat dripping from his body onto mine, the room thick with the scent of sex and skin and filthy, filthy heat.

My whole body trembled.

He leaned down, chest pressing to my back, and one hand slid under me—fingers curling around my cock, slick and leaking.

“You wanna come?” he whispered against my neck. “Wanna make a mess all over Daddy’s sheets?”

“Y-Yes—yes, please, Daddy—please—”

He twisted his wrist.

I screamed.

Then everything snapped.

I came with a sob, my vision going white, body convulsing in his arms as he fucked me through it—never slowing, never stopping.

“Fuck, look at you,” he panted, voice wrecked. “Still so tight. Still so desperate.”

Then he pulled out suddenly, and I gasped—only for him to flip me over fast, tie my wrists to the headboard with the belt from his robe, and slide back in in one brutal, perfect thrust.

I howled.

“Thought you were done?” he sneered, hips snapping forward, fast and ruthless. “Oh, baby. I’m not even close.”

And he fucked me again.

Again.

Until I came a second time—tied down, choking on air, legs trembling like jelly, eyes rolling back.

“Say it again,” he ordered, voice thick, sweat dripping down his temples. “Louder.”

“Daddy—!”

And again.

“Louder!”

“DADDY—!”

And when he finally came—growling, biting my throat, shaking all over me—it was like something shattered. He filled me up, collapsing against me, still kissing my skin like I was something precious and obscene.

We stayed like that. Slick. Breathless. Tied up and tangled, my body used and spent, my brain nothing but a single echo:

Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.

💋💋💋💋💋

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