DIRTY DADDIES: AN 18+ EROTIC COLLECTION

2: HATE-FCKING THE JERK

MABEL’S POV

God, I f*****g hated Chase Vanderbilt.

It wasn’t just the trust fund, the smug, chiseled jaw, or the way he ruled this entire campus like it was his personal kingdom.

It was the way he looked at me. Like I was a bug. A piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his two-thousand-dollar loafers.

“Problem, scholarship case?” His voice, a low drawl laced with pure venom, cut through the library silence.

I’d been trying to study for my Econ midterm, but all I could focus on was the way he was holding court at the large oak table, his frat brothers hanging on his every word.

He was the star quarterback, the golden boy, and he knew it.

I slammed my textbook shut. “The only problem here is your voice, Vanderbilt. Some of us are actually here to learn, not just to have our daddies buy a degree.”

His friends snickered, but Chase’s gray eyes just narrowed. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping so only I could hear. “You’ve got a real smart mouth on you, Mabel. I wonder how it’d feel wrapped around my cock.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, a traitorous flush that had nothing to do with anger.

“In your dreams,” I spat, gathering my things with trembling hands.

“Every f*****g night,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips.

That was the infuriating thing. This wasn’t one-sided.

The hatred was a live wire between us, and every time we sparred, it sparked something else. Something dark and hungry and desperate.

The tension boiled over for months. It was in the way he’d “accidentally” brush against me in a crowded hallway, his hand lingering on my lower back just a second too long.

It was in the filthy, promising looks he’d shoot me across the lecture hall while the professor droned on.

I’d go back to my dorm, my panties soaked, and hate-f**k myself with my vibrator, imagining it was his mouth, his hands, his… everything.

The breaking point was the Halloween party.

I went as a sexy fairy, because f**k it, why not? He was a vampire, of course.

A ridiculously hot one in a tailored black suit and fangs. Our eyes met across the buzzing dance floor, and the air came alive.

He started toward me, a hunter on a mission. I turned and fled, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.

I ducked into what I thought was a bathroom. It wasn’t. It was a dark, cramped supply closet.

Before I could escape, the door opened and he filled the frame, backlit by the strobe lights.

“Running away, little fairy?” he purred, stepping inside and locking the door. The click of the bolt was the loudest sound I’d ever heard.

“Get out, Chase.”

“Make me.”

He was on me in an instant, his body caging me against a shelf of paper towels.

The smell of his cologne and expensive whiskey was intoxicating. I shoved at his chest, but it was like pushing a brick wall.

“I hate you,” I breathed, even as my hips arched toward him.

“I know,” he growled, his mouth crashing down on mine.

It wasn’t a mere flimsy kiss. It was a battle. Teeth clashing, tongues warring. It was raw and violent and everything I’d fantasized about.

His hands ripped the wings from my costume, then tore the front of my dress, my t**s spilling out into the cool air.

“f**k, you’re perfect,” he snarled, pinching my n*****s hard, sending jolts of sharp pleasure-pain straight to my c**t.

I cried out, and he swallowed the sound, his kiss becoming even more demanding.

He spun me around, bending me over a stack of boxes. One hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back. The other hiked up my skirt, his fingers roughly shoving my thong aside.

“So f*****g wet for me,” he grunted, sliding two fingers inside me. “All this time, pretending you’re too good for me. And your cunt is dripping.”

“Shut up,” I moaned, pushing back against his hand.

“Make me,” he repeated, his voice darker. He pulled his fingers out, slick with my arousal, and brought them to my lips. “Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this.”

I opened my mouth, sucking his fingers clean, my eyes locked on his in the dim light. The filthy act made me even wetter.

That broke him. He unbuckled his belt, the sound of his zipper echoing in the small space.

I heard him spit into his hand, and then I felt the thick, blunt head of his c**k pressing against my entrance.

“You ready for this, you little b***h?” he whispered in my ear, his body covering mine.

“Just f**k me, you asshole,” I panted.

He drove into me in one brutal, searing thrust. I screamed, the stretch bordering on pain, but it was the most exquisite feeling I’d ever known.

He was huge, filling me completely, hitting a spot deep inside that made me see stars.

“Holy s**t,” he groaned, his body going still for a second. “You’re so f*****g tight. You’re gonna milk my d**k dry.”

Then he started to move. It was a brutal rhythm, pure, unadulterated f*****g. The shelves rattled with every thrust. His hand was still in my hair, his other hand gripping my hip so hard I knew I’d have bruises.

“You like that?” he grunted, slamming into me. “You like being my little f**k-toy?”

“Yes!” I cried, my own orgasm coiling tight, my fingers scrambling for purchase on the cardboard boxes.

“Whose dirty little cunt is this?”

“Yours!” I sobbed, the admission tearing from me.

“Damn right it is.”

He reached around, his thumb finding my c**t, rubbing rough, frantic circles. It was too much.

The overstimulation, the vulgar words, the sheer force of him.

My vision whited out as I came, my p***y clenching around his c**k in violent, pulsing waves. I screamed his name, my body convulsing.

Feeling me come set him off. With a final, deep thrust that buried him to the hilt, he roared, his hot c*m flooding my p***y in thick, endless spurts.

He collapsed over me, his sweaty chest against my back, both of us panting and wrecked in the dark.

We stayed like that for a long minute, the only sound our ragged breathing. Slowly, he pulled out, and I felt his c*m start to drip down my thighs.

He turned me around, his expression unreadable. He gently wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb—a gesture so at odds with what we’d just done.

Then he smirked, that infuriating, gorgeous smirk.

“Still hate me, darling?”

I looked him dead in the eye, my body still humming, my p***y still throbbing. “More than ever.”

His grin widened. “Good. My room. Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late.”

He unlocked the door and slipped out, leaving me alone in the dark, covered in the evidence of our hatred, and already aching for more.