Calling Me Sir Won’t Prote
Calling Me Sir Won’t Protect You
~Damon~
She froze.
Mid–step.
Mid–breath.
Her spine went stiff like the lash of my voice had locked her into place. One bare foot hovered above the gravel. Her knuckles tightened around the hem of the shirt. That wild mess of wet hair shifted with the breeze, strands clinging to her neck like a collar.
The hem of that shirt..my f*****g shirt..fluttered just enough to expose the start of her ass and the bare split between her thighs.
She turned slowly.
Too slowly.
Like she knew I was watching. Like every inch of that turn was for me. Like the Moon Goddess herself had choreographed it to kill me.
Her wide eyes locked on mine..shimmering, sinful, pretending innocence like a lying little slut.
She was breathing through her mouth now. Like she couldn’t catch enough air. Like her lungs were drowning
in heat. But it was her chest that betrayed her.
That shirt was see–through. Soaked through from the shower or sweat..I didn’t give a f**k.
It was glued to her skin, plastered to every curve of her body like wrapping paper begging to be torn open. And those tits..fuck..those t**s were the stuff of war. Perfect. Perky.
Bouncing gently with every tremble in her breath. Her n*****s were outrageous.. fat nubs pressing against the cotton like they were trying to tear through it just to get to my mouth.
Swollen. Flushed. Painfully hard. They twitched. I saw it.
“I only came here to give you your keys, sir,” she whispered.
Sir.
Like she didn’t know that word drove me insane. Like she wasn’t moaning it on purpose. That one word had my c**k twitching so hard it ached.
And that’s when I saw it.
The shine.
Between her thighs.
A trail of slick. Glistening. Coating the insides of her legs like syrup. It started from that p***y and slid all the way down to her f*****g knee.
She was dripping.
Standing there.
uched, tight little
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Calling Me Sir Won’t Prote
Dripping for me.
I took one step toward her.
She didn’t move.
Another step.
Her thighs clamped together like her cunt was trying to keep the slick from spilling.
My voice dropped.
“Is that so?” I rasped. “Just the keys?”
“Yes, sir.”
There it was again.
That crack.
That trembling edge in her voice.
Not fear.
Need.
I dragged my gaze down her body. Slowly. Greedily.
“You walk out here in my shirt… no bra… no panties… t**s bouncing like you want me to bend you over this f*****g hood and bite them till you scream…”
She gasped.
Her back arched slightly.
f*****g offering herself without realizing it.
“You think saying ‘sir‘ makes you good?” I growled. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? That I don’t smell your p***y from ten f*****g feet away?”
She whimpered.
Tried to say something.
Failed.
Her thighs squeezed tighter.
Her whole body shivered like the air itself had turned to lust.
“You think calling me sir is gonna stop me from bending you in half and f*****g you till you cry so loud the whole neighborhood hears?”
She made the softest, filthiest sound I’ve ever heard.
I stepped closer. The heat between us rose like steam off her soaked skin.
Her n*****s brushed my chest. Hard. Hot. Needy.
I leaned in.
Right against her throat.
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Calling Me Sm Won’t Prote
My lips didn’t touch her.
Just breathed.
And she shuddered.
“Why are you trembling?” I whispered.
She didn’t answer.
“Why are your n*****s so stiff they look like they’re in pain?”
Nothing.
“Why,” I snarled, “can I see your slick dripping down your legs and smell your cunt from here like it’s begging
to be sucked?”
She choked on her own breath.
Her head fell back slightly.
Like the shame was too heavy.
Like her body was giving up the lie.
“You’re soaked,” I hissed. “Standing in my f*****g driveway dripping because I said your name. You came out here wearing that tiny shirt knowing damn well your cunt was bare. You didn’t even wipe yourself. You’re leaking like a girl who wants to get caught. Like a girl who wants to be punished. f****d. Used.”
She whimpered.
So softly.
So broken.
I leaned down.
My mouth hovered just above her n****e.
Still didn’t touch.
Just breathed against it.
It twitched. Again.
She moaned.
A tiny, helpless sound that told me everything.
“You want me to taste it?” I whispered. “You want me to fall to my knees and suck every drop of slick off those thighs like a starved man?”
She whimpered again.
“You want to ride my face till your legs stop working and you forget who you are?”
Her knees wobbled.
I f*****g grinned.
“You want to cry, Lyra? You want to scream Daddy while my fingers ruin that tight little hole and stretch it wide so I can break it with my c**k?”
く
< Calling Me Sir Won’t Prote….
She didn’t speak.
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Just need.
I stood straight. Brushed her hair from her face like she was mine already.
“You still want to pretend it was just the keys?” I asked low.
She looked up at me, eyes glassy, lip trembling, her body a trembling mess of arousal.
“I… I came to give you your keys,” she whispered.
Then softer.
So f*****g soft it sounded like sin.
“Sir.”
My c**k jerked so hard it hurt.
But I didn’t touch her.
I reached out.
Took the keys from her hand.
Let my fingers brush her wrist.
Let her feel every ounce of control I was holding onto by the edge of a f*****g knife.
Then I bent down.
Stopped just before her lips.
Close enough she could feel the heat of my breath.
“So next time, Lyra,” I growled, “when you come out here dripping, shirtless, p***y out, n*****s begging, calling me sir like a filthy little omega in heat…”
I smiled dark.
“Don’t lie.”
“I am not f*****g lying, sir,” she snapped. “I came here to give you your keys. And for the formality. That’s it. You…you told me there would be nothing between us. That I was just a little girl. That I couldn’t even handle your massive cock.”
My f*****g jaw locked.
The word c**k on her tongue should’ve been illegal.
She spat it like it didn’t choke her in her dreams. Like it wasn’t the thing she thought about with her hand between her thighs, whispering sir like a sin.
She said it like she wasn’t standing in front of me with bare legs, flushed cheeks, and n* painfully stiff through my goddamn shirt.
My voice dropped to a growl, low and trembling with restraint I didn’t f*****g want anymore.
that looked
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< Calling Me Sir Won’t Prote
“You little brat.”
I took a slow step toward her, the gravel crunching under my boot like bones.
“You think saying sir makes you innocent?”
She didn’t answer.
“You think you’re fooling me with this little speech..dressed in nothing but my shirt, ts bouncing, thighs glistening, p***y leaking down your leg like it’s crying for me?”
Her breath caught.
Her arms crossed fast, like she could hide it..like she could stuff the heat back between her legs and pretend
I hadn’t seen it.
But it only made it worse.
Her forearms pressed under her breasts, lifted them higher, squeezed them together until they looked like they were going to burst through the wet fabric.
She scrunched her nose.
Crossed her arms tighter.
“I am avoiding you!” she said, voice rising, snapping with bratty heat. “You told me to stay away! That’s what
I’m doing!
And she looked so f*****g serious saying it. Like she wasn’t standing there like a wet dream. Like her cunt wasn’t betraying her with every drop it let fall.
I clicked my tongue.
Stepped again.
Now I was right in front of her.
Chest to chest.
Heat to heat.
One more inch and she’d feel my c**k pressing against her stomach. One more second and she’d find out just how massive it really was. How fragile she really was.
“You want to talk about what I said?” I whispered darkly, voice brushing her lips. “I said you couldn’t handle me. That I’d break that pretty p***y in half. That one thrust of this c**k would have you crying on your knees.”
She blinked fast.
Too fast.
Like she was holding back tears or filth or both.
“And I meant every f*****g word,” snarled. “You’d bleed, Lyra. You’d scream. You’d claw at my chest like you’re drowning. I’d split that tiny hole open so wide you’d feel me for days.
Her arms dropped.
She wasn’t breathing right.
Her chest rose in quick, desperate pants. Her n*****s brushed mine through the fabric, and fuck..they were
< Calling Me Sir Won’t Prote
hard. Angry. Aching.
She didn’t know what to do with her hands. They twitched at her sides, fingers curling like she was fighting the need to touch herself.
Like if I gave her thirty more seconds, she’d beg me to bend her over the porch and f**k her with my fingers until she collapsed.
“Get inside, Lyra,” I hissed, my teeth clenched so tight the words came out sharp and animalistic. “Before I
******g lose it.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Her thighs squeezed again. Slick shined under them. My eyes dropped and saw the trail drip from her cunt and cling to the inside of her knee.
“I said get the f**k inside,” I snapped, voice cracking with restraint, before I rip that shirt off you, shove you against the nearest wall, and f**k you so hard you forget what you came out here for in the first place.”
She gasped.
She didn’t even try to hide it this time.
That sweet little mouth dropped open like it belonged stretched around my c**k. Her legs twitched. Her fingers curled tight like she was holding onto the last thread of her composure. But it was slipping..so fast, so helplessly…and she knew it.
Her lips parted again, just enough to let out that soft, barely–there whimper.
f**k.
I stepped even closer, chest grazing hers now, her n*****s stabbing through the fabric, hot and hard and
begging.
I dragged my finger up her thigh.
Didn’t touch her cunt. Not yet.
Just gathered that drop.
Held it up between us.
Watched her stare at it with wide, dazed eyes.
And then I did what I shouldn’t have done.
I sucked my finger clean.
Her slick.
Her taste.
f*****g heaven and sin and everything in between.
She whimpered like I’d slapped her.
Eyes fluttering. Lips trembling.
I stepped back.
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Calling Me Sir Wort Prote
Just barely.
My voice dropped to a near–growl.
“Get inside,” I said again. “Before I throw you over my shoulder, carry you in, and make you watch yourself in the mirror while I ruin that sweet little p***y”
She still didn’t move.
So I leaned close–one last time–until her lips were inches from mine.
“You’ve got ten seconds, Lyra,” I warned, every word soaked in threat. “Ten seconds to run. Or I swear to f*****g God, I’ll bend you over that couch and f**k you until your voice breaks screaming Daddy.”
And this time?
She moved.
Slowly.
Like her legs were jelly.
Like her body was betraying her every step of the way.
She opened the door.
Stumbled inside.
And as the door clicked shut behind her..
I knew.
I wasn’t going to make it through the day without getting her off my mind. f**k. I need to jerk off.
44
Royalty Writes
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