He settles back as I begin to gather the fabric. His eyes burn through the shadows as I pull it higher and higher until—I can’t quite believe—it’s gathered at my waist. It feels dirty but somehow on the right side of wrong. And, oh my goodness, he called me sweetheart, and I really, really liked it.
I count the beats that pass between us in the throbbing between my legs before he moves forward, the light catching the blade of his cheekbones as his face comes into the light. He doesn’t glance up, seeming to examine my panties before he hooks a thumb into the elastic at my hip. Pleasure pulses through me. I’m pretty sure I’m going to melt before the navy-colored lace slides down my legs. But neither of those things happens as his thumb slides away. Not that my pleasure abates, his expression so serious as he trails a slow finger up between my legs.
His head lifts, his gaze catching mine as though daring me to stop him. I won’t of course. All I can think about is how I’ve never been this close to him before and how his eyes are so much more striking than I remember. Flecks of gold shine in the ambient light, amber striations around his dark pupil making his eyes seem tiger-like. A knife-straight nose and broad slashes for cheekbones. His mouth is full, and the divot above his finely carved bow makes me wonder what noise he’d make if I kissed it.
I stifle a sigh, my body jolting, suddenly chasing his touch as his index finger lightly brushes between my legs. One curlingcome-hithermotion—it’s barely a brush, but God, how it makes me tremble. One brush becomes another, his touch so slow and methodical. So… “Oh God.” My eyes flutter closed as a familiar sensation begins to build.
“Open them, little fly,” he instructs softly. Something must flicker in my expression as he adds, “I’m following your lead.”
“Flies are—”
“Gossamer winged.” My body convulses as he increases the pressure, working the fabric of my panties where I’m suddenly wet. “‘Will you come into my parlor,’ said the Spider to the Fly. ‘’Tis theprettiestlittle parlor that ever you did spy.’”
“The way into… my parlor is… up a winding stair.’” He smiles as I join in, my words halting and breathless.
“‘I have many curious things to show when you are there.’” He delivers the line with such wicked intent.
“Oh, I just bet you have.” My feathery laughter halts as he introduces his thumb. As he presses it to my clit, a mewl escapes my mouth.
“‘Will you rest upon my bed?’ said the Spider to the Fly. ‘There are pretty curtains drawn around and the sheets are fine and thin. If you like to rest a while, I’ll snuglytuck you in.’” His thumb and finger come together to pinch my clit, and I make the strangest noise, my body reacting as though struck by a live line. “I’m not sure we need a bed right now,” he asserts softly as his arm slides around me, banding my thighs. “Not when you’re doing so well.”
“No, don’t stop. I’ve never—” But I have no more words as he deepens the damp crease of my panties. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I’m so pleased for the lack of light. My feminist membership card will absolutely be revoked once they discover that Daddy and the patriarchy own my ass.
“Oh, I’ve no intention of stopping,” he whispers. “Yes, that’s it. Such pretty fluttering.”
“Oh God!”
“Not quite, little fly.” His assertion is full of dark amusement. I must pull a face again. “Something more generic?” he purrs, his face half in shadow, half washed in the light. “Shall we stick with sweetheart, or how about baby girl?”
I’d like to assert I don’t like any of those options, but that would require at least basic verbal skills. He could call me Genghis Khan, and I wouldn’t protest as the mostly unused muscles in my thighs begin to flex and tense. I’ve never orgasmed standing before—or from a hand over my underwear rather thanin.I’m beginning to think I might need stronger quads. Better coordination. Something to hold on to.
“That’s it,” Whit encourages, and oh my God, I know I shouldn’t be turned on by his praise, but I am. “You’re such a good little slut for me.”
That. I’mnotinto that.
No way.
Except for right now as pleasure begins to spiral through me from the tips of my toes to my freakin’ hair follicles. My body bows, and I fall forward, my hands grabbing his bicep. Somehow, I also seem to grab the remaining threads of my dignity.
“Oh God, Whit,” I whimper, locking my knees against this wave of pleasure. “Me-me. Call me Mimi.”
My fingers tighten on his arm as I throw my head back and do the only thing I can. I let go. I’m a little too occupied to notice anything else. So I don’t see his shoulders tense, and I don’t realize if his head rears back. I definitely didn’t see the color leach from his face, and I wouldn’t have anyway, thanks to the low lights. As it is, I see nothing, hear nothing, and care for nothing but those bliss-filled moments of sheer release.
2
WHIT
No,hell no, and fuck no.
“I told her no.” Leaning back in my chair, I watch my younger brothers exchange a dubious glance. “What? What’s that look supposed to mean?”
El shrugs, and Brin decides now is an opportune time to examine his fingernails.
“I mean, is she the CEO, or am I?”
“Your name might be above the door, but you’re not technically the head of the family. You know how this goes.” Brin, my younger brother, shrugs.
“Dad might’ve enjoyed having his strings pulled”—both brothers’ faces twist in distaste—“but I don’t.”
