Hitting Her High Notes (2/2)

Daniella leaned closer to the mirror, tilting her chin up as she put the finishing touches on her makeup. Her eyes were done in soft, smoky tones that made her lashes look impossibly thick, the liner flicked just enough to give her that sultry, bedroom stare. As she worked, her long, almond-shaped nails—painted a glossy crimson—clicked lightly against the marble counter, each delicate tap adding a rhythm to her ritual. Every inch of her was styled to seduce—her waist cinched tight in glossy black, her hips flaring out above lace-trimmed garters clipped to thigh-high stockings, heels clicking faintly against the tile as she shifted her weight.

She had just finished gliding the gloss across her lips, pursing them slowly to even it out, when she heard the door open behind her. She didn’t have to look to know who it was—she saw his reflection in the mirror before she turned, slow and deliberate.

“Well hello, daddy,” she purred as she sauntered over to him, hips swaying with every click of her heels. Her arms slid around his neck, pulling herself close enough for her breath to tickle his ear. “I’ve been waiting for you all day,” she whispered, her voice low and hungry. “You have no idea how bad I need you.” One perfectly manicured hand drifted down between them, her glossy crimson nails pressing into the bulge in his pants, teasing his cock through the fabric with the softest touch and a wicked little smile.

Silas didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. He gripped her thighs and lifted her with ease, like she weighed nothing. She squealed, half-laugh, half-moan, arms tightening around his neck as he carried her to the bed.

She landed on the sheets with a soft bounce, grinning up at him, breath already shallow, her hair fanning out over the pillows as she looked up at him, heart racing, breath caught, remembering—

How scared she’d been at first. How every step of her new life had felt like walking out onto a stage she hadn’t rehearsed for. But then… the first time he bent her over and took her. The way his fat cock had pushed into her tight little hole, stretching her in ways she’d never imagined. The heat, the ache, the sweet helpless need—it had changed everything.

And it hadn’t been long after that she said yes. Her gaze flicked to her hand again, the ring catching the low light as her lips curled up in a soft, naughty smile.

She rolled onto all fours, giving Silas the view she knew he craved. Hips swaying, ass lifted high, she looked over her shoulder, a little whimper teasing from her throat as she gave a hungry wiggle.

Silas moved in behind her, one broad hand gripping her narrow waist, the other guiding himself between the cheeks of her perfect ass. She gasped as she felt the thick head of his cock press against her, nestling right against her tight hole, her body trembling in anticipation.

Then—pop. The head slid in, thick and hot, making her cry out, her back arching like a bowstring as he filled her.

“Oh fuck—” she mewled, clawing at the sheets, every muscle in her body alight.

Silas leaned forward, his voice a low growl in her ear. “You love hitting that high note, don’t you?”

She nodded, whimpering, unable to form words.

“I knew it the first time I heard you sing,” he whispered, pumping slowly, dragging each thick inch over that sensitive spot inside her. “Knew your voice would sound even better moaning for me.”

His hips snapped forward suddenly, harder now, faster—claiming her. Her nails raked the bedding, her moans turning into screams, the wet slap of skin filling the room.

She could feel it—his rhythm breaking, pace rough, cock twitching inside her—and then he was there, deep as he could go, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight hole as she collapsed onto the sheets, shaking and gasping.

Silas pulled back gently, brushing a kiss to her spine before rolling onto the bed beside her.

Daniella lay there, panting, hair a mess, makeup smudged just enough to look sexy instead of ruined. Her gaze drifted to her ring again as her breathing slowed, her lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smile.

A few months ago, she’d wondered if it was worth it—being remade, reshaped, owned. But now?

She had the voice, the body, the man—and the charts didn’t lie.

Every scream, every moan, every night in that bed had written itself into melodies. Her last single was sitting at number one. The next was already halfway done.

And if her husband wanted to fuck another chorus out of her tonight?

She was ready to hit that high note all over again.