"Good genetics, and good luck. All kinds of marvelous luck on that last one." He laughs and strokes her jaw, crooning, "Or perhaps it's genetic knowledge. Something passed through to your subconscious, the knowledge that Daddy's cock is the perfect size for that tight cunt of yours."

Cheating, nothing. Practice is practice, an achievement an achievement regardless of whether it comes with the assistance of drugs. As she gropes and paws, he slowly loses his mind, so that when he's finally got his arms wrapped around her body and her legs wound around him he's hard and desperately wanting.

And he wants it twice as badly when she presses up against him. He groans, hungry, and presses her tighter to him, hips arching to grind against her crotch. That plea, that kiss--he loses himself in the wet sweetness of her kiss, returning it with twice the eager desire she delivers. Just a little bit, she says, just a little bit. It's impossible to deny, and he groans, clutching her closer to him as he makes his way up the stairs. "Come on, we'll go to your bed and play there so when Daddy passes out he won't risk concussion."

And it sounds so nice, laying the girl down in the soft of the bed and comforting her in it, flesh and limbs and desperate reunion after such a wild fight. Putting most of her weight on his right side, Richard climbs the stairs with her in his arms, proving once and for all that she'll never be too big to carry. He takes her straight to her room, turning on the light and then laying her back amidst the covers, pressing a vicious kiss to her mouth while his hands strip off his jacket, then rove all over her body, sliding up her shirt and over the smooth flesh of her stomach.

"I suppose I've got to get you to sleep some way, after all."