My heart pounds uncertainly. What am I doing? What ishedoing? I’m not fourteen anymore. I know what these feelings are, and I recognize that tone. He’s never been anything but courteous, never shown any interest in me beyond a kind of distant, brotherly thing. He knows it’s me—the concierge called up with my name.So does that mean he…?
I terminate the thought, unwilling to examine it as whatever part of my brain in charge of impulse control literally short-circuits as he purrs, “Come closer, darling.”
Before my brain registers the motion, my heelstap-tapagainst the marble floor. “Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly?”
Before I’ve time to be embarrassed at my ridiculousness, his dark chuckle weaves its spell around me.
“I won’t flatter you like the spider,” he murmurs, “but I might let you come when I eat you later.”
My footsteps almost falter as a throb of sweet percussion strikes up inside. Never in a million years could I have expected anything like this. I couldn’t have conjured those words up in my darkest fantasies, despite spending many nights in my head with him. But maybe I lack imagination because this Whit is neither tender nor sweet. I find I’m more than all right with it.
I notice the lowball glass resting against his thick thigh as he lounges back in the chair. My heart dances an erratic beat as he slowly uncoils to deposit the glass on a side table.
I stop in front of him, locking my knees to keep them from trembling, and startle a little as his hand lifts. His white button-down pulls tight over the swell of his bicep as his finger hooks under the strap of my purse, slipping it from my shoulder. There’s something almost erotic in the motion that evokes the sense of being undressed.
“You’re trembling.” He curls his hands around my waist. It does nothing to help. In fact, I’m pretty sure amazement has me immobilized.
“I know.” I roll my lips together, but the words fall anyway. “I’ve locked my knees to stop them from rattling like maracas.”
His laughter is a shocking puff of air against my midriff. I glance down and realize he’s slipped his thumb under the hem of my shirt to expose a patch of skin above the waistband.
“It’s just your wings fluttering.” His tone is sort of velvety, and I inhale sharply when his thumbs skim lightly across my skin. “Excitement mixed with trepidation.”
“You think I’m nervous?”
“You should be. It’ll make the night more pleasurable for us both.”
The night? What comes after he eats me to orgasm? Not that I’ve ever hadthatpleasure, but if you’re going to take risks, it’s not the kiddie pool you dip your toes in.
“Lift your skirt.”
“I—what?” What on earth… have I bumped my head? Am I lying out in the street in a coma?
“Show me.” His words are a honey-dipped temptation. As though to sweeten the instruction a little more, he leans closer, pressing his lips to the skin above my waistband.
Warmth floods between my legs, and I’m pretty sure I whimper.
“Such a pretty sound.” I feel the loss of his heat immediately as he leans away again. “Hurry now. Show Daddy what he wants.”
Ifshow memade me warm,Daddyfeels like a burst of wildfire across my skin. Why that flutters my button, I don’t know, but I do know Daddy Whit is so freakin’ hot.
You’re not a deviant, whispers a little voice of dissent.
Shows what you know.
“You look like that might’ve broken your brain a little bit.” His tone is amused. “If you don’t like Daddy, we can always go with something else.”
“No,” I say quickly. I’ve just never—”
“A Daddy virgin?”
That is so nasty, yet my insides throb.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
I get the sudden sense that the balance of the moment is slipping. I glance down, everything inside me drawing tight at his disapproval. Weird. He’s barely moved a muscle, yet I feel the weight of his disappointment like a spikey woolen jacket I want to throw off. Before my brain registers what I’m doing, my fingers are at the button on the back of my skirt.
“Not that way.” He makes an indolent motion with his finger that I take to mean I’m supposed to… lift it? My fingers move hesitantly to my thighs. “Yes, sweetheart. That’s right.”
