He didn’t let her hesitate. One hand on her hip, the other fisted in her hair, he walked her straight to the table and pressed her down against the felt. The golden cloth was cool beneath her skin, shocking at first, then burning as her body heated against it.

“Hands flat,” he ordered. She obeyed instantly, palms spread wide on the surface. The rail dug into her ribs, anchoring her in place. His body crowded hers from behind, heat and power radiating into her as he bent her forward.

The first thrust stole her breath. He didn’t ease her in—he took, filling her completely, stretching her until she gasped. His hand clamped harder on her hip, grinding her down against the table with each stroke. The balls in the rack rattled faintly, the sound drowned out by her moans.

“Stay right there,” Daddy growled. His grip was relentless, his pace brutal and unyielding. The felt burned under her chest as her body rocked with each movement, but she couldn’t move—not with his weight pinning her, not with his cock splitting her open again and again.

Her cries grew ragged. He bent over her, lips brushing her ear. “You feel that, baby? This table was meant for games, but right now it’s only for you. For me. For this.”

She whimpered, arching back against him, and he laughed low. “That’s it. Take it all. Take every bit of Daddy’s cock.”

Just when she thought she’d break apart completely, he pulled out suddenly, spinning her around and lifting her effortlessly onto the table. The felt scratched lightly at her thighs as he shoved her back, spreading her legs wide.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his eyes dark and commanding. And then he was inside her again, harder, deeper, taking her with his full weight as she clung to the rail for balance.

The new angle left her helpless, wide open to him. Her head fell back, a cry ripping from her throat as he drove into her, each thrust slamming her against the solid surface beneath. He caught her jaw, forcing her gaze forward. “Eyes on Daddy. Don’t you dare look away.”

Her orgasm ripped through her violently, her body jerking, clinging, breaking apart under his relentless rhythm.

But Daddy wasn’t finished. He hooked his hands beneath her, dragging her upright until she was seated on the table’s edge, facing him. Her legs locked tight around his waist, pulling him close, chest pressed to chest. Every thrust drove her up against him, her body clinging, her breath mixing with his growls.

“Mine,” he ground out, his forehead pressed to hers, eyes burning. She could feel every ounce of him, unrelenting, leaving her nowhere to hide.

Then he shifted her again—forcing her back onto her hands, leaning her slightly against the felt, her chest arched, her legs spread wide. The new angle left her fully open, exposed, every movement of his hips forcing cries from her lips.

“Stay just like that,” he commanded, one hand gripping her thigh, the other tangled in her hair to keep her head tilted back so he could watch her unravel. “I want to see all of you break for me.”

Her body shook violently, helpless against his rhythm, her mouth falling open in a raw, aching moan as he drove her toward the edge again.

When his own release came, it was hot and consuming, his groan muffled against her lips as he pulled her back upright for a final, bruising kiss—claiming her completely, chest to chest, face to face.

After, he held her there—still seated on the table, trembling in his arms, her body limp from the storm. One hand stroked her back, the other cupped her jaw gently, anchoring her.

“You’ll never forget this,” he murmured against her ear, voice rough with satisfaction. “Every time you see a pool table, you’ll remember Daddy bending you over it, fucking you across it… and owning you twice while you sat right on top of it.”

She sagged against him, undone, floating. He kissed her temple, grounding her with tenderness after the storm.

And as she breathed him in, hazy and raw, she knew he was right—the game had changed forever.

Copyright © Wynter Rayne 2025. All Rights Reserved