Your Girlfriend Calls Me Daddy-Chapter 73/74 | A Lesson in Submission

I picked up the condom from the sheet beside us and held it up. She looked at it, then took it from me with fingers that only shook slightly, tearing the wrapper with the focused expression she brought to everything, like even this was a task to execute correctly.

"You’re thinking very hard," I said.

"I’m concentrating."

"I noticed."

"Be quiet, Rome."

I pressed my lips together and watched her work.

The drain sat warm and constant between us, registering every point of contact, every shift of her weight. Her Essentia tasted like it always did, sharp and electric and sweet underneath. But there was something else in it now, something that hadn’t been present in the classroom or the storage room. Something softer.

She finished and looked at me. Her grey eyes were dark, her hair a complete loss cause at this point, and she’d never looked less like the class representative and more like herself.

"I changed my mind," she said.

My stomach dropped exactly one inch.

"About what," I said carefully.

"About running." She settled her weight forward, her hands braced on my chest. "I’m not going to."

Oh.

That’s what she meant.

The stomach did not return to its original position.

This was new data and I didn’t have anywhere to file it yet, which was fine, I’d deal with it later, much later, specifically at any point in the future when Cheon Hae-Won was not sitting on my lap looking at me like I was the answer to a question she’d been running calculations on for years.

"Good," I said.

She rolled her hips forward experimentally, found the angle, and sank down slowly.

Her breath left her in one long unsteady exhale. Her fingers curled against my chest. The drain spiked hard, her Essentia flooding the channel all at once, that electric current running bright and immediate up my spine.

I kept very still, letting her set the pace, letting her find her footing in this particular territory.

Her eyes stayed on mine the whole time.

That was new too. In my experience, people looked away, looked at the ceiling or the middle distance, somewhere that wasn’t a person’s face, somewhere that allowed the fiction of privacy inside intimacy. Cheon didn’t look away. She watched me with those grey analytical eyes like she was collecting data in real time, logging every response, filing everything away for later review.

It should have been clinical.

It wasn’t.

"Rome," she said.

"Still here."

"I know," she said, and started moving. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

I put my hands behind my head and settled back against the pillows.

Cheon blinked at me, her breathing already unsteady, her thighs trembling against my hips.

"What are you doing," she managed.

"Giving you space to work."

Her eyes narrowed. The class representative was still in there somewhere, cataloging that comment as insubordination and filing it away for later.

Then she tried to move and all of that disappeared.

Her breath caught. Her hands pressed flat against my chest, nails digging in slightly through the skin. She lifted herself maybe an inch before her legs shook hard enough that she had to stop, sinking back down with a small desperate sound that she tried to bite back behind her teeth.

Too late. I’d heard it.

She tried again. Same result. Her thighs were trembling visibly now, her whole body tense with the effort of trying to find a rhythm that her body wasn’t ready to support yet.

She bit her lip hard enough that I thought she might draw blood.

Fuck, she was cute.

The drain was running hot between us, her Essentia pouring through in sharp bright bursts every time she moved, every time her body adjusted to the stretch. Mine pushed back in the same rhythm, completing that circuit, and I could feel the exact moment each wave hit her nervous system because her eyes went unfocused and her breathing hitched.

She was trying. I’d give her that. The same way she tried at everything, with her whole attention and her complete focus and absolutely no idea how to let herself fall apart.

Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her perfect posture had collapsed into something much more honest. She leaned forward, bracing her weight on my chest, and tried to roll her hips the way she’d seen in whatever educational material the internet had provided.

It wasn’t working.

Not because she was bad at it. Because she was barely a minute past being a virgin and I was not small and her body needed time she wasn’t giving it.

"Hae-Won," I said.

"I can do this," she gasped. "Just give me a second."

"I know you can."

"Then stop looking at me like that."

"Like what."

"Like you’re laughing."

I wasn’t laughing. I was watching her with the same attention she usually brought to her color-coded planner, logging every response, every sound, every shift in her expression.

She moved again, lifting herself higher this time, and her legs gave out halfway down.

She collapsed forward onto my chest with a sound that was half moan and half frustration, her mouth ending up right next to my ear, her breathing ragged and uneven against my skin.

Her breasts pressed flat against me, soft and warm and perfect.

"I hate you," she whispered, but it came out shaky and uncertain and completely unconvincing.

"No you don’t."

"I do. You’re insufferable."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it’s true."

I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her there, feeling the way her whole body was trembling with effort and arousal and the tail end of that orgasm still running through her system.

Then I thrust up.

Hard.

Her reaction was immediate and loud. A moan tore out of her throat directly into my ear, high and broken and completely uncontrolled. Her fingers dug into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. Her back arched, pressing her chest harder against mine.

I did it again.

"Ah—Rome—"

Again.

"Wait—I—ah!"

I set a rhythm and her body stopped trying to lead and just held on. Her legs were useless at this angle, spread too wide to give her leverage, leaving her completely at the mercy of whatever pace I decided to set.

I decided to set a brutal one.

The sound of skin on skin filled the room. Sharp. Rhythmic. The kind of sound that left no ambiguity about what was happening.

Plap.

Plap.

Plap.

Cheon’s moans matched the rhythm exactly, spilling out of her with every thrust, her voice climbing higher with each one.

"Rome—please—I can’t—ah—"

She could. She was. Her body clenched around me every time I hit deep, her Essentia spiking through the drain in waves that made my vision white out at the edges.

I turned my head slightly, my mouth near her ear, and spoke low enough that she had to focus to hear me over her own sounds.

"You feel incredible."

Her whole body shuddered. A broken sound escaped her throat that might have been my name.

"So tight," I continued, because apparently I was doing this now. "So perfect. Taking me so well."

"Stop—talking—" she gasped, but her body betrayed her, clenching harder, her hips rolling forward to meet my thrusts even though her legs were shaking too hard to support the movement.

"Make me."

She couldn’t. She could barely form words, let alone coherent arguments. Every time she opened her mouth another moan came out instead, loud and shameless and nothing like the controlled voice she used in class.

The drain between us was wide open now, both directions running at full capacity. Her Essentia flooded into me in sharp electric pulls while mine poured back in the same rhythm, amplifying everything, feeding back on itself until I couldn’t tell where my pleasure ended and hers began.

I could feel her getting close again. The way her breathing changed, the way her nails raked down my back, the way her whole body went tense and trembling.

"That’s it," I said against her ear. "Let me feel it."

"I—ah—Rome—I’m—"

She tried to muffle herself by pressing her face into my shoulder but it didn’t work. The sound came through anyway, muffled and desperate and so fucking good that I almost followed her over the edge right there.

Almost.

I had more control than that. Barely. The condom helped, in the sense that it dulled everything just enough to keep me from finishing in the first two minutes like a teenager.

I hated it.

Not because it didn’t work. Because it worked too well. Because every time I felt Cheon clench around me I wanted to feel it properly, wanted to know exactly how wet she was, wanted to fill her up and watch it drip back out while she lay there too boneless to move.

A life where consequences were someone else’s problem and I took what I wanted without caring about the aftermath.

That version of me would have ripped the condom off already.

This version of me kept it on and focused on making Cheon fall apart instead.

She was close. So close I could taste it through the drain, that bright electric current building toward a breaking point.

I shifted the angle slightly, hitting deeper, and her whole body locked up.

"There?" I asked.

She nodded frantically against my shoulder, beyond words, beyond anything except the sensation running through her.

I kept hitting that spot. Over and over. Relentless.

Her moans turned into something higher, more desperate. "Ah—ah—ah—Rome—please—I can’t—"

"You can."

"I—ah—fuck—"

Cheon Hae-Won just said fuck.