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Her breath hitched, and she gasped.
“Are you ready to come?”
She nodded.
“Use your words,” I murmured against her skin.
“I’m – I’m going to come, I think,” she admitted sweetly.
“If you’re going to come, you’ll know it.”
A flash of something like fear crossed her face.
“Don’t be scared, I’m here.” I didn’t know why I was compelled to say that, only that when I did, her eyes opened, and she stared right at me.
Her hand moved furiously now, fucking her pussy with her own fingers, her chest pink and marked by my teeth.
“Come on, Freckles, come for me,” I urged and couldn’t resist slipping my thumb between her puffy, parted lips.
She sucked on the digit as I gripped her chin with the rest of my hand, holding her face hostage so she had no choice but to look right at me while she came.
“Come for me and show me everything you’ve got…every single inch. I want it all.”
She cried out, biting down on my thumb for a second, and then her lips opened in a long moan. A wave of pink worked up her neck and rolled over her face, making the green of her eyes sparkle. She was coming. My perfect girl was coming right there and letting me see it. She shook, her eyes losing focus for a long moment as her body clenched. Pleasure danced in her eyes, a flash of pure vulnerability. It took my breath away. I was sure I’d never seen anything as beautiful, and that I never would again.
When her body stopped twitching and cool reality filtered through her face, alarm and shock blossomed in her eyes.
“Yep, that’s right, you just got yourself off and let me watch,” I murmured.
She swallowed, a new flush working over her cheeks. This one was shame. I didn’t care. Soon enough she’d get used to this, and us.
She sat up and pulled her straps back into place, hiding her well-sucked tits from me.
She pressed her hands against the counter and stood. The shower was still running. It was probably cold by now. She pushed against my chest to try to step around me.
“Can I go now?” Her question was shaky, uncertain. She didn’t wait for an answer before sliding around my side.
I grabbed her hand before she could make it two steps. She glared at me as I took the hand that she’d come on and separated the wettest fingers. Sliding them into my mouth, I breathed through my nose, trying to calm my racing heart as I licked them clean, tasting her, finally. After I’d licked my fill, I let her hand drop.
“Now, you can go.” My voice was rough. I was surprised I was still capable of speech, given the raging want roaring through me, demanding I take this girl now, press deep inside and come for days. Instead, with a self-discipline I’d honed over a lifetime of pain and fear, a lifetime of controlling my urges in order to survive, I stepped back and let her go.
Lily
I wokewith a dream still lodged firmly in my head, blinking into the early morning sunlight to try to get reality to filter through my overheated brain.
Crap. Another dream about Cayden. After our encounter last night, I could hardly blame my subconscious for being a little feverish. In the dream, I’d been running through the house in the dark, looking over my shoulder. There was no one else home, I’d been sure of it. I’d run and hidden behind the trunk in the attic, the very same one I used to hide behind as a child. Waiting there, my heart pounding, I’d felt alive like never before. I knew who was hunting me, and I knew that if he caught me, he’d do terrible, unspeakable things to me. I’d worn a white dress (clearly my subconscious wasn’t very creative when it came to symbols of purity). I knew that Cayden would mark it with his dirty hands, and as I trembled there, behind the trunk, in my heart of hearts, I wanted him to catch me.
I wanted him to take what he wanted.
I wanted to stop being the good girl for one fucking second, and just be his.
I pushed the thought of the dream out of my head. I needed to work out a new journal situation, as I refused to write down my innermost fantasies anywhere he could read this time, but I still needed a place to offload my troubling dreams.
I turned over in bed, grabbing my phone before the alarm went off again. The date smacked me in the face.
It was my birthday. I was officially eighteen. Yay me. Like all the birthdays before it, it felt anticlimactic.
A commotion came from outside. The sound of a truck door slamming and the low purr of a motorcycle. I heaved myself reluctantly out of bed to go and look down at the driveway. A motorcycle sat there, just unloaded from a flatbed. Cayden stood next to it, while my mom was in deep conversation with the driver of the flatbed. Was it Cayden’s? The very thought of the guy on a motorcycle was enough to send me heading to the shower. I’d fled from the bathroom last night before getting clean and spent all night feeling sticky and horrible. I had to shower before school, and most importantly, I needed to calm the hell down. I was eighteen. I was surely too old to give in to the storm of teenage hormones and lust after the resident bad boy.
