His Rules

by Dani Wyatt

I hold on to her head, not just to keep myself rooted deep in her mouth as I go off; it’s to keep me from toppling over onto her from the ecstasy of my release. My entire body shakes, and I grunt and moan, filling the bedroom with my pleasured fury.

  Her own muffled sounds of climax vibrate around the head of my cock lodged in her mouth. She takes it all, swallowing desperately, knowing how much I dislike when any of my gift to her drips out from around those pouty, stunning lips.

  “You are Daddy’s best girl.” I loosen my grip on her head and slide out a bit to allow her a breath. Her lips spread slightly, and I feel the air move from her desperate inhale over my wet, slick shaft as she draws in life-giving oxygen. “Did you come hard for Daddy?”

  She nods as she licks and cleans my cock as she should. After a few moments of her service, I withdraw, reaching down to where her hands raise for me to allow her to stand.

  “Yummy Daddy.” She licks her lips and twists back and forth on tiptoes before I draw her into my chest, both of us breathing fast. Our meeting flesh is warm and slightly damp from our effort.

  “Yes, Daddy’s cum is only for his princess. And you always need to tell me how thankful you are I allow you to swallow it. How much you enjoy my taste.”

  “Yes, Daddy. Thank you,” she whispers into my chest as I stroke her hair. She’s growing it out a bit; the rainbow tips on the ends have turned into long stripes of purple and pink. I wrap one tendril around my finger as we bask in the glow of our moment.

  “We won’t be late, will we?” She draws back, looking up at me with wide eyes.

  “Do you really think I would allow us to be late?”

  She shakes her head. “No. But I just want to get there and see it and everyone. I just want the day to start.”

  “Okay, Babygirl. Lie back on the bed, and Daddy is going to lick all that sweet juice out of you then we will get dressed.”

  At the quick smack of my hand on her ass, she yelps and scurries over to the bed, assuming the position with her knees bent, hands pulling her legs apart, with her pussy at the edge of the mattress, waiting.

  “Have I told you today how much I love you?” I ask as I step toward her, dropping to my knees and admiring what’s mine.

  “No, Daddy. Not yet.”

  “Oh, bad Daddy. I love you, princess. Like only Daddy can.”

  With that, my mouth is on her slick folds, sucking and drawing every drop of her orgasm from her and taking one more just for good measure. I swallow every delicious drop of her. She’s ruined me in more ways that I can count.

  However, as my appetite for her pussy is relentless, my little princess has me on a diet that leaves my inner beast howling for a good ribeye. Or some deep-fried chicken. She’s turned the house vegan, and as much as I want to please my Babygirl, some days a man just needs to gnaw on a bone.

  Each time, tearing myself away from her cunt is one of the most difficult things I’ve done in my life. I could fucking live down there, honest to God. Her flavor seared my soul that first day like an internal branding iron. Her taste was designed just for me, and I’ve been a hopeless addict ever since.

  I quickly get her dressed and follow suit myself. The sun is streaming in the bedroom window, and the clock on the wall shows 8:36 a.m. Guests will arrive at ten, and I know Lexi will want to spend some time inside the new exhibit with her furry, slow-moving friends before everyone arrives.

  “Now go get Daddy his coffee.” I kiss her forehead, and she skips to the coffeemaker on the buffet against the wall. She loves to please me, and in turn, it only makes my need to protect her and love her stronger every day.

  She’s back a moment later with a proud grin. Dropping to her knees in front of me, holding my coffee cup up in her palm, the handle pointed in my direction just as I’ve taught her. “You are so good. Now, let’s go, princess.” I take her hand, raise her back to her feet, and lead her to the bedroom door.

  “Did you hear from Rita?” she asks as we make our way down the hall, my hand gliding down her back to rest just above the swell of her ass, sipping on the hot coffee as we go.

  “She texted, yes. Her flight got in around two a.m., but she said she will be there this morning. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, she said.”

  I see the smile bloom on her lips. It’s a huge perk than Lexi and my sister Rita have developed a friendship of their own in the last six months. Just another sign that what we have was not only meant to be, it is magical.

  “Cool. I’ve got a surprise for her.”

  “You do?”

  We are down the stairs and out the front door into the morning sun. Lexi takes my coffee cup and holds it as I open the door of the Wagoneer for her to hop in. She does, securing my hot drink in the mug holder then turning back to me with a glimmer in her eye.

  “Yep. And you too.”

  “Okay. Let’s go. We want to be sure everything is ready to go when the guests arrive.”

  This was all her idea that we hold our wedding and reception at the zoo. We combined her love of sloths, her almost obsessive need to give them a better habitat, and my need to marry her into one event. Only my Babygirl would want to be married at the opening of the new sloth exhibit that I funded, while announcing to the few friends and family we’ve invited we are expecting our first baby in seven months. Lexi is wearing a white sundress and nothing else. Barefoot. No panties. My cum in her belly and her scent on my face. I couldn’t be happier if you told me Lexi was going to let me have a steak for dinner.

  It’s going to be quite a day.

  “You may kiss the bride.” The justice of the peace nods toward Lexi and me, and I seal our vows with a deep kiss. The small group around us releases a collective sigh as they sip on champagne or eat the rainbow-colored cake balls Lexi insisted be available before the brunch meal which will follow our quick ceremony.

  “I love you, Daddy,” she whispers into my ear as she throws her arms around my neck. When she clings to me like this, I feel so complete. So proud to be the man to whom she belongs.

  “I love you too, Babygirl. Don’t you ever think for one second I don’t. Not ever.”

  With that, we turn to accept the hugs and congratulations from the ten or so people we invited.

  Rita is here with a man she’s dating. His name is Ted, and much to my surprise, I find myself surprisingly protective of my older—albeit by six minutes—twin sister, even if we are both turning forty in a few weeks.

  Three of the women from Lexi’s synchronized swimming group are sipping champagne and swooning at the back of the group. Their gray hair is freshly teased and sprayed into place with enough Aqua Net to put a hole in the ozone you could drive a semi through.

  Ricky is cutting up with Heather as they hover toward the edge of the group. I can’t be 100 percent sure, but there seems to be a growing connection there. It certainly defies conventional wisdom. The two of them are as night to day, but far be it for me to figure out what the intricacies of the heart entail. You love who you love, and if you are lucky to find that, more power to you.

  “Now.” Lexi tugs on my arm, giving me an exaggerated look toward Rita.

  I look around the room quickly. The new habitat is housed in the Lexi Chase-Marshall Sloth Playground. I paid for it, and she named it. Behind the wall of glass, there is a live forest, over an acre under cover and another half-acre outside for when the weather is conducive.

  “Okay, baby, let’s see what your surprise is.”

  “One sec. I have to get something from my bag.”

  She runs off, shuffles in her bag for a second, and is right back standing in front of Rita and me with an envelope decorated with pink and blue hand-drawn hearts.

  She shoves it toward us. “Open it together.”

  “What are you up to, little girl?” My eyes narrow as Rita and I both pinch the envelope and bring it toward us, our feet stepping inward to bring us closer together.

  “It’s not going to explode in pink and blue glitter all over us, is it?�
� Rita reaches out to pull Lex toward her in a half hug.

  “Nope.” Lexi bounces on her tiptoes. Whatever it is has her about to explode with her own excitement. “Just open it already.” She claps and her eyes glow.

  “Better do as we are told, huh, Daddy?” Rita teases.

  Lexi and I don’t use our titles all the time in public, but in our home, with friends and family, we decided we will not hide who we are. Even if it does give Rita fodder for teasing me whenever she gets the chance.

  Rita and I manage to tear the flap of the envelope together, then I hold it open while she slides out the card inside. More pink and blue hearts drawn by Lexi’s endless supply of magic markers and art supplies decorate the front of the card.

  When Rita finally slips it open, the black-and-white ultrasound picture is there, with two arrows drawn on it in pink and blue. I nearly drop to my knees.

  “Oh my God!” Rita screams, and both of them are yelping and hopping up and down hugging each other, while I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

  Heather and Ricky are there in the next moment.

  “What the heck?” Heather comes around, and Lexi turns and jumps toward me.

  “Daddy’s going to be a Daddy times two!”

  “You’re having twins!” Heather snatches the card from Rita. “You have to name them Minnie and Paul!”

  Lexi giggles then looks up at me to say, “It’s too early to know the sexes yet, but I’m hoping for a boy and a girl.”

  “God, I’m so fucking pissed I missed your appointment.” I shake my head. I wanted so badly to be there for her first ultrasound, but I was stuck on a flight delay coming back from New York. I was finishing up a bit of consulting I’m doing for the Moe’s expansion. Seems I couldn’t quite sever my connection to that little deli, and I have kept my toes in the water as far as that deal is concerned.

  The week after we officially became who we are to each other, we finally did have our date at the zoo. I remember how devastated she was when she discovered the sloths from her youth, Minnie and Pearl, were gone. Heather was there with us that day and continues to be a positive and integral part of our lives.

  I’ve even given Heather the task of developing a new component to the Count On program. She has a talent for budgeting in real life. A way of communicating with others like herself, kids raised in the system. I offered her a position in our program teaching mentees how to manage their funds. She travels around to different cities, helping members of the program learn how to set up a budget and connect with some simple, but necessary, fiscal skills.

  A sea of new congratulations fills the room. Sloths move behind the glass as a burning gathers in my eyes.

  “Baby.” I swoop both arms around her waist and swing her around in an arc, nearly taking Ricky’s knees out in the process.

  Everyone takes a step back as they laugh and watch me swing my girl in a circle until she’s squealing and laughing so hard her own face is wet with tears.

  “I didn’t think I could be any happier.” I set her down and don’t even bother to wipe away the tear that slides down from the corner of my eye.

  Lexi reaches up to pet my beard as she likes to do when she’s looking deep into my eyes.

  “You proud of me, Daddy?”

  “I couldn’t be prouder, Babygirl. You’ve made the day more perfect that I could have dreamed in a thousand lifetimes.”

  The HIS Collection

  What does it mean to be HIS? From baby making to babygirls, you'll find a bit of whatever melts your panties in this ode to Father's Day. From five of your favorite steamy, safe authors (and one hot newbie) come a group of six stand alone books dedicated to Daddy's everywhere. You will get your fill of everything from alpha men focused on securing a baby in their woman to filthy Daddy Doms who know how to care for their princesses. So, hold Daddy's hand and see what's in store!

  Out Now: His Everything by Frankie Love

  June 7th: His Obsession by Roxie Brock

  Out Now: His Rules by Dani Wyatt

  June 12th: His Temptation by Amber Barden

  June 14th: His Girl by Aria Cole

  June 16th: His First by Jenika Snow

  Find out more on the collection HERE!

  P R O L O G U E

  Lela

  “I’ll come back around in about five minutes.” My father’s deep, booming voice is little more than an overlay to the sounds of merriment coming from every direction under the July sun. “Five, Lela.” He holds up his open hand, splaying five fingers high over the surrounding fairgoers. “I want to see the parade start, have a drink with the regulars and we don’t have much time. The rig is waiting, and time is money. I’ll grab you when I come back around.”

  My gruff, roughneck father turns into a fifty-six-year-old kid in front of my eyes at every Renaissance festival we attend. And in all our years on the road together, there have been more than I can count in more states than I remember. He’s at his best here, the happiest I ever see him, completely carefree. Here is where it’s not only acceptable but encouraged for grown adults to act as though they are on a day pass from some medieval mental hospital.

  Dad and I have an affinity with these nomadic people, and these fairs have been one of the few constants in my gypsy life. One of the few traditions we’ve managed to adopt, however unorthodox it may be.

  “Sounds good,” I shout back, pointing in the direction I want to go, but Dad is already striding off into the crowd. “I’m going to see the knife guy.” He’s already too far away to hear me, so I lower my voice, leaving the last words to mumble to myself. “He’s new this year,” I finish, shaking my head and looking over at the crowd that’s forming around a pillar of smoke rising from the metal forge that sits centered on the wet grass behind a makeshift rope fence.

  I take one more glance backward at the fairgoers, jester’s hats swirling around and away, as my hardworking, rugged father does a little sway and skip. He’s so light here it makes me smile, his balding head burning under the summer sun as it pokes in and out of the drifting clouds.

  Like rock stars on tour, some days I forget what state we’re in. I take a deep breath and ponder that for a moment then remember the state line sign I saw from the passenger seat of Dad’s latest Ford F-250.

  Ohio.

  We are in Ohio.

  It’s cool here for the time of year, though, cooler than the last Renaissance fair we attended. My thin T-shirt and khaki shorts aren’t quite enough to take the edge off, and I shiver and hunch a little in the breeze. Squinting one eye, I step forward and look around at the maple and oak trees swaying in the wind.

  This will be our last road adventure for a while. I’m checking out of our Airstream lifestyle to see what it’s like to live among more average humans. Ones who actually put down roots.

  Above the crowd noise from behind the rope barrier, a loud clanking echoes toward the sky. I note the crowd that’s gathered there. I watch as people are starting to rubberneck—straining to see something near the plume of smoke, alternating up and down on their tiptoes. For a moment, I join in, pushing upward and clenching my calf muscles to steady myself. But even the two or so inches of height I achieve does nothing to improve my view.

  Giving up on the tiptoes, I go flat-footed again and step between people dressed in corsets and codpieces in the direction of the noise and smoke. I look over to the edge of the crowd and see the sign that reads, “Medieval Sword Forging Demonstration—Noon, 2:00, 4:00.” The arrow points toward the clanking sound, and even more than a moment ago, I want a better view of the action.

  Muttering a few “excuse me’s” and shouldering my way forward, I breathe in. The air is a blend of incense, smoked turkey, and warm beer, and it’s at once fondly familiar and simultaneously causes a bit of a knot in my gut.

  A minute later I’m off to the very edge of the crowd, wiggling through the last few bodies on my trek to stake a claim on a small patch of soggy grass, eager to get my first glimpse of the forging a
ction.

  And what action it is.

  The goosebumps on my arms nose dive downward until they erupt on the backs of my legs. Tingling erupts in my body’s most tender places, and my eyes are instantly riveted.

  In all my years of Ren fairs, this sight before me is by far the greatest of wonders I’ve seen on the road. And I’ve seen plenty. In fact, there aren’t many wonders in this country I’ve missed. Dad and I have crisscrossed from one end to the other, up and down and side to side.

  When I turned eight, my mom decided homemaking wasn’t her thing. Being the kind of woman who didn’t care much for gender stereotypes, she went out for a pack of cigarettes and a pint of vodka, and I haven’t seen her since. Dad took over without missing a beat, and that next week we hit the road and never looked back.

  But nothing, not Mount Rushmore, not the Grand Canyon, not even the graveyard for departed Ben & Jerry’s flavors has ever inspired me like the view in front of me right now.

  The scent of burning hardwood and a hint of sweat hit me like a freight train, knocking the breath from my lungs. My jaw drops, and there is this invisible cord that begins to wrap around me, starting at my ankles before tightening my knees together. It spins around my hips and continues up over the tightness in my chest until it’s got me around the throat.

  Clank-clank.

  Clank-clank.

  Clank-clank. The raising and lowering of the hammer make repetitive sounds as it strikes the glowing orange steel as the forger turns it over and back methodically on the anvil.

  Anvil.

  I have to say this is the first time I’ve really taken note of an anvil in real life. I’m sure I’ve seen one before, but as far as I was concerned, before now, they were just something for the Road Runner to drop on Wile E. Coyote’s head.

  Right now, I’m stunned at just how fucking sexy an anvil can be.

  As a matter of fact, an anvil is the sexiest inanimate object I’ve ever seen. And it’s being pounded upon by the sexiest man I know I’ve ever seen.