You Were a Mistae

to the one who lets me float but never lets me drift. this is for you, daddy. ⚓️

--your babygirl. 👸✨

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

he finds me in his room.

it's late--too late for this--but i never cared about time, and he stopped pretending to care the second he shut the door behind him.

i don't move. i'm sitting on the edge of his bed, legs crossed, one of his shirts draped over me like it belongs there. maybe it does. maybe i do.

his eyes drag over me, slow and deliberate. he's still in his suit, tie loosened, hair mussed like he ran his hands through it a hundred times on the way here. like he's spent the whole night trying to convince himself not to do exactly this.

"you're in my room." his voice is low.

i shrug. "you weren't using it."

his mouth presses into a tight line. "you can't keep doing this."

i tip my head, feigning innocence. "doing what?"

he exhales sharply. "you know what."

i do. i know exactly what i'm doing.

i lean back on my hands, stretching just enough to make his gaze flick down before he forces it back up. "if you really wanted me gone, you'd have thrown me out already."

his jaw clenches. i watch him fight it, watch him hold onto the last scraps of control like they mean something. like they'll save him from this. from me.

"tell me to leave, daddy" i murmur.

his eyes flick to mine, burning, furious.

but he doesn't say it.

i smile, slow and knowing, and uncross my legs. i take my time standing, stepping into his space like i have every right to be there. i do.

"tell me you don't want this," i challenge, tilting my face up to his. "tell me last night was a mistake."

his fingers twitch at his sides. he's so close, breathing hard, like he's barely holding himself back.

then he speaks, voice low, rough. "you were a mistake."

a cruel little lie.

i don't flinch. instead, i lift a hand and slip my fingers under his loosened tie, wrapping them around the silk.

"liar," i whisper.

and i pull.

just enough. just so he stumbles. just so his breath catches.

then his mouth is on mine, desperate, angry, inevitable.

he's still the boss. still the one in charge.

but i own him.

he doesn't stop me.

not when i tug on his tie, not when i bring my mouth to his, not when i press my body flush against his and sigh into the kiss like i was made for this--made for him. and i guess in a way, i was.

the thought makes me wet.

he should stop me. he should push me away.

but his hands find my waist instead, gripping tight, like he needs something to hold onto before this swallows him whole.

like i already have.

i bite his lower lip, just enough to make him groan, just enough to break the last of his restraint.

and then we're moving.

he walks me back toward the bed, his mouth trailing down my jaw, my throat, the curve of my shoulder. his hands are everywhere--possessive, desperate, like he needs to memorize every inch of me before reality crashes back in.

"tell me you thought about me today," i murmur, fingers threading into his hair.

his breath hitches against my skin.

he doesn't answer right away, but i feel it in the way he touches me, the way he fists the hem of his own shirt where it hangs loose on my body, knuckles brushing bare skin.

i press. "tell me."

his grip tightens. "i always do."

the admission is quiet, rough, like he didn't want to say it but had no choice.

my chest aches at the sound of it--at the truth i already knew but needed to hear anyway.

he always thinks about me.

even when he shouldn't.

especially when he shouldn't.

i reach for the buttons of his dress shirt, working them open with slow, teasing precision. his breathing turns heavy as i push the fabric off his shoulders, let my hands roam over his bare chest, drag my nails down the hard planes of his stomach.

"christ," he mutters, eyes falling shut as i undo his belt.

i hum in amusement, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "did you pray for strength before you came up here, daddy?"

his lips part like he wants to deny it, but i shake my head before he can lie to me again.

"doesn't matter," i whisper. "i'd have ruined you either way."

his control shatters.

he flips us onto the bed in a swift, practiced motion, his body pressing me down into the mattress, heat radiating off of him in waves.

"this--" he breaks off, voice strained, fingers gripping my thighs as he parts them.

i arch into him, smirking against his mouth. "say it."

he drags a hand up my side, under my shirt, over my ribs, thumb grazing my breast like he can't help himself.

"this is a mistake," he murmurs, but the words are hollow, empty.

i arch into his touch, breathless, aching. "then stop."

he doesn't.

instead, he presses his forehead against mine, hands sliding lower, gripping my hips as he settles between them.

i shudder at the heat of him, at the feeling of him so close, so ready.

"i should stop," he murmurs against my lips.

i smile, slow and knowing, threading my fingers into his hair. "but you won't."

his mouth crashes against mine in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that for a moment, nothing else exists.

and then we cross the line.

again.

his thick cock pushing deep into my wetness. i gasp, at his forcefulness and at the sudden sharp turn our little game had taken.

it's a familiar mix - of pain as my body stretches open to take his man-sized thickness, and of complete and utter bliss, knowing i'm taking it. making him feel like no one else can.

"daddy... make me yours. please..."

and he does. thrusting desperately into my little hole. grunting, groaning, telling me who i belong to.

it doesn't take him long to cum. my little pussy swelling around him, trying desperately to accommodate the sheer volume of cum and cock being thrust into it.

and i'm in heaven. daddy heaven.

⸻

the room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing.

his sheets are twisted around my legs, his body still half-covering mine, one hand resting possessively on my hip, like even in sleep, he's afraid to let go.

he should have let go hours ago.

i should have left.

but i don't.

instead, i watch him--his face softened in sleep, his jaw no longer tight with restraint, his fingers still tangled in my hair. he looks different like this. like he belongs to me in a way he'd never admit when the sun is up.

i let my hand drift over his shoulder, trailing down the curve of his spine, feeling the warmth of him, the weight of him.

he stirs at my touch, exhaling a quiet breath against my collarbone before his grip tightens, his body pressing closer, like his instincts won't allow even an inch of distance between us.

like he needs me close, even if he'll never say it.

"you're still here," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

i smirk, running my fingers through his hair. "you say that like you're surprised, daddy."

he huffs a quiet laugh, but his hand slides over my stomach, up my side, lingering on my ribs. he doesn't want me to move.

and i don't.

not yet.

instead, i let the silence stretch, let him feel it--this, the thing neither of us can name but both refuse to walk away from.

he presses a lazy kiss against my shoulder, warm and tender, so soft it sends a shiver through me.

"bad girl," he murmurs, but there's no heat to it. just fondness. just something real.

i hum, smug, tracing my nails down his back. "your bad girl."

his hand tightens on my waist. i snuggle closer, letting go of my big girl mask just for a second.

"yeah," he says, voice quiet but sure.

"Mine."