Daddy's Lap
Summary: You cross a line you know you shouldn’t, slipping into Daddy’s office, aching for nothing more than a place in his lap.
Warnings / MDNI (18+): Smut; sexual content; *implied age gap; power dynamics; teasing; daddy/kink dynamics; orgasm denial (don't worry, daddy always finishes what you start)
Word Count: 2.2k
Credit: Divider by @cafekitsune, GIF by @fabxpunk, photo from Pinterest
A/N: This time I wrote in 2nd person. Not sure if I love it, but I’m always open to experimenting. Obviously. Had to post before Easter Sunday to ease my conscience, so as usual, please excuse any typos or grammatical errors. Loosely inspired by this post. Thank you for reading, muahh ʚɞ ᥫ᭡.
You reach for the doorknob, creaking the door open gently. Passing a barrier you know you’re not supposed to. Yet desire emboldens you to try your luck without a second thought to the consequences.
Your breath catches when you lock eyes with him. Leaning back in his desk chair. Radiating authority. Like a predator catching you in his trap. A window of light reflects off his black-rimmed glasses. His large palm hovering over his mouse, broken from its trance. He blinks expectantly, wondering why you’re looming.
His tank clings taut to his body, firm pecs protruding through the sheer fabric. Further encouragement for your mission.
"You know you're not supposed to be in here," Roman says sternly, peering over his glasses.
You nod once. “I know…. I just wanted to see you,” you whisper, a little breathless. Your voice a fragile thread, vulnerable yet insistent.
Roman doesn’t like to be bothered while he works. He takes his responsibility as a provider seriously. Tending to his work the best he can. At whatever cost. Hard work, a sturdy foundation on which he’d built his lifestyle after all.
His brow furrows as you stand in the doorway, delicate digits frozen over the cool metal doorknob, taken aback by your interruption. Clearly, no emergency apparent. Though he can see how apprehensive you are to cross the threshold.
Could see your shadow lingering outside his doorway moments ago before you finally pushed through. Expression softening, his eyes journey from the sheen of your chest, to your bare thighs, down to your manicured toes, and finally back up to the coy expression on your face.
He has a soft spot for his baby girl. Would do anything to make you happy. Most days, all it takes for his fulfillment is seeing you smile.
“Come here,” he finally says, swiveling in his chair.
“Yes, daddy,” you breathe, eager to obey.
A swell of excitement ignites in your chest as you promptly shut the door behind you. Footsteps light as you approach the edge of his desk. Like a tardy student summoned to the principal’s office. The verdict still out on how he’d handle your intrusion.
Butterflies swirl inside you as your fingertips tentatively trace the wood surface, following the natural swirls in its design. Wanting to look anywhere but at him. At his stern face. His authority pressing down on your soft frame.
He breaks your trance, reaching a long arm out. Amnesty. Grasping the hem of your pink nighty, he pulls you toward him. You oblige without protest as his firm hand guides your waist into his lap.
Like you belonged there. Like he’d wanted you there all along. A welcome relief from the long day of virtual interviews and emails.
He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, giving affection freely. Rough beard prickling the soft of your skin. Blasting a cool jolt through you. An instant reward for the risk you’d taken.
Satisfied, you relax against the firmness of him. His embrace a safe haven. A place where you feel completely acknowledged and worshiped.
That is, until Roman’s hand returns to his mouse.
You still. Eyeing his movements suspiciously as his free hand rests on your belly. The warmth of his large palm beaming through your nighty.
Leaning forward slightly, he reaches around. Rests his other hand on the keyboard.Doing your best to stifle a protest, you eye him as he toggles the mouse.
His grip practically swallowing the grey-black. Each click pounding like a heartbeat, syncopated with the shiver running down your spine. Clicking. Toggling. Clicking. The sound echoing in your chest.
Your attention fixates on his movements, longing resurging at your core. Still hungry. You shift slightly in his lap as his hand dances over the keyboard.
Yours move to his forearms. Enjoying the sensation of smoothing your fingers up and down their length. Soothing contact to hold you over while his attention remains fixed.
The glow of his monitor reflects off your skin as your fingers ghost over his hands as he types. Then trace down his long, tattooed arm. You peek below the desk top, a sliver of tanned skin catching your eye.
Instinctively, your hands slip downward to the meat of his thighs. The firm muscle calling for your attention as his remains preoccupied. You grip them, relishing their shapeliness. Emboldened by their owner’s apparent distraction.
Roman makes no indication that he’s noticed. Though an urge courses through you. One that requires stealth to satisfy, so as not to raise any alarms.
You raise your chin, peeking up at him for any clear signs of disturbance. His focus remains sharply fixed on the glowing screen. Seemingly unaware of your gaze until he gently pecks a tender, sideways smooch at your temple. Acknowledgement. Barely.
It only deepens your hunger for more. Motivating you to push further. Your eyes flutter back down to his thighs as your fingers stretch toward the hem of his shorts.
Heartbeat thudding in your ears, you wrap your fingers around them. Breath hitching, you torture yourself with a painfully slow pull of the fabric, further revealing his meaty thigh. A considerable reward for your efforts. Your tongue darts over your lips as you brush delicate circles into his skin. Tanned and supple.
Roman returns the favor. Almost subconsciously. Free hand rubbing gentle circles into your belly. But his other continues clicking. Typing. Scrolling.
A pout begins to tug at your lips. His lack of response thwarting your ego. Emboldening you to stop suggesting and get to demanding.
Determination in your eyes, you lean back further into him. Spine flush against his chest, your hips shift gently around his manhood. Once. Twice. Feigning innocence as you repeatedly make contact with his bulge.
The clicking stops. Silence. The air now mute, save for the swirling of the fan overhead. That got his attention.
His arms come pulling around you as his head dips to your ear. His grip a tight bear hug you don’t want to be freed from.
“What are you doing, baby?” he murmurs playfully.
His baritone voice rippling through your core, causing an involuntary giggle to erupt.
“Nothing,” you protest, weakly attempting to pull his arms away.
Secretly, you revel in his sudden attention. The intensity and anticipation of waiting for his permission coming to a head. Thrilling you. Exciting you.
Your own desperation arouses you as you continue to gyrate to the best of your ability in his lap. Your range of motion now limited by the constriction of his firm embrace.
He hums against you, squeezing you tighter. A subtle cede. Then loosens his grip and leans back against his chair.
Body relaxed, his hands fall to your waist as he peers up at you. The corner of his lip curls into a smirk as he opens his legs wider. Urging you to continue.
Your pulse quickens at the thought of getting what you want. Now feeling naked under the spotlight of his gaze. But you’re a big girl, so you refuse to run.
His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm as your fingers trace down his abdomen. Over his hands. Finally back down to his thighs.
His eyes anchor to yours as he allows you to explore his broad, muscular frame. An air of amusement on his handsome features. Your hands tremble against his skin as you force yourself to slow down.
You continue kneading, your bare foot dragging up and down his thick calf as your arousal grows. All the while, he sits back. Unnaturally still.
His gaze never leaving yours. Like a cobra calculating the correct time to strike. You exhale slowly through your nose. Preparing for it.
In a white-hot flash, his patience breaks. One minute he’s sitting back cordially, obliged to your touch. The next, he shoots forward, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you flush against him.
He groans in your ear as his arms tighten around you again. This time, it’s him gyrating his hips into your backside. Thrusting roughly as you whimper. You feel him, hard beneath the fabric between your bodies.
Your pussy already slick before you can even register his excitement. His palms grip your waist tightly as he bucks and snaps his hips against yours.
“Ahhh, Romann-,” you manage, desperately griping his hands as he thrusts against you.
Flustered by his excitement. Then the wetness on his crotch momentarily breaks his attention. A brief reprieve from the onslaught.
His thrusts halt as he looks down to inspect himself. Eyes jumping from the damp on his shorts to the damp at the center of your nighty.
He looks back up at you, pulling your head toward his. Temple resting against yours. He searches your face as his hand roams under the pink fabric.
Gaze darkening just as his digits find the source of the puddle in his lap.
“No panties, baby?” he asks, his thick tongue making a tsk sound before jutting out and dragging across his lower lip.
Your heart thuds in your chest. Before you can respond, he pulls your leg up to rest higher on his.
The sudden cool air from the ceiling fan hits your searing core as he pulls your hips back, exposing you to the open air.
You nuzzle your temple against his chin as he makes work of your slick folds. Removing his glasses with one hand to set them on the desk as he peers down between your legs. Continuing slow circles with the other.
You writhe and moan as he rubs voraciously. The dominating, punishing thrusts of earlier now replaced by a focused devotion to your clit.
Your legs splay open. One ankle resting on his thigh, your other foot propped on his desk. Toes curling, you suddenly become so aware.
Almost embarrassed by the naughtiness of the scene. Except the pleasure is electric, overriding the indignity.
You gyrate your hips against his as he pinches and flicks your clit between his warm fingers. Your pussy clenching onto nothing but air and opportunity as you squirm in his lap.
“Is this what you wanted, baby?” he rasps, voice laced with taunt. “This why you came to interrupt daddy’s work?”
“Y-yessuh..pleasee-,” you whisper, quivering against him.
Your voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat.
He nuzzles his head against you. Watching your eyes roll back in pleasure. Your mouth agape. The soft cries that escape your lips further fuel him as his fingers circle your center. Then dip inside you.
“Mmmphh,” you cry out at the intrusion.
But he mercilessly grips your waist tighter against him. Continues to move his finger in and out of you. One thick digit turns into two.
His rhythm quickens. Coated in your slick essence, they curl up toward your spot before pulling away ruthlessly. Again. And again.
Your cries turn feral as the sensation coaxes you closer and closer to your climax. He holds you steady as you writhe against him.
Greedy for every reaction as he pins you, keeping you from escaping the wave of pleasure he’s building. His patience and attention steady as he ravenously witnesses you come apart in his lap.
Roman isn’t ashamed to admit he loves to take you over the edge. To tease you to the brink of sensation overload before finally pushing you over. Nothing brings him more pleasure in the bedroom.
And so, to add insult to injury, he begins thrusting up against your pussy. Resuming his circular onslaught on your clit.
Your body vibrates at the delicious friction of his thick mound teasing your center as his fingers stroke you. Breath coming out in jagged hitches, your vision blurs.
Sensation luring you to give in to the pleasure. Every thrust, every flick of his fingers pushing you further. Climax a foreseeable promise as sparks begin to dance behind your eyelids.
And just as you reach your edge --
He stops. His grip loosens. The warmth of his fingers replaced by an unforgivable, empty cool. Your eyes snap open in shock.
“Go wait for me,” he whispers evenly in your ear.
You shoot up in his lap, looking back at him like he’d sprouted two heads. His big arms rest against the pads of his chair.
He bites his lower lip, as if stifling a laugh, taking in your disheveled appearance. His eyes like a cold-blooded predator, admiring his work, before he coolly nods toward the door.
Stunned, you finally rise to your feet. Fingers gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The stickiness of your nighty clings to you as you squeeze past his leg.
The tent at his crotch still erect and intimidating, you eye it as you reluctantly move toward the door. But then he adjusts himself and rolls his chair closer to his desk. His hands resume their position on his keyboard and mouse.
At the door, your heart almost drops as you reach for the knob. But you glance back at him once more, only to find him watching you with a terrifyingly calm intensity.
He slowly brings his fingers, still coated in your wetness, to his mouth. Tasting you with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.
His amber eyes never leave yours as he tracks the tremor in your knees, a dark, satisfied smirk telling you exactly who owns your next breath.
“Don’t make me wait,” he asserts.
His low voice reverberating through your center, right where he just left you empty. And then, he turns back to his screen, as if you hadn’t just been coming apart in his hands.