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Anya sits forward suddenly. “I didn’t pack my favorite pajamas. The long red shirt with the pocket — ”
“I packed it.”
“My copy of Anne of Green Gables?”
A memory of her curled up beside me reading the book makes my throat feel funny. “Done.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “What about my spare pair of reading glasses? I always lose the first and I need a backup until I find — ”
“They’re in the bag with your…lotions.”
“Oh. Thank you, Sasha.” She goes back to rubbing those thighs. The ones that will be living around my waist very soon, but not soon enough for my sanity. “So, um. What did you mean back in the driveway? About never leaving me. Did you mean that…figuratively?”
My lips press together to keep from smiling. Six miles. She made it six miles without giving in to her curiosity. Too bad I have to make it another two hundred miles without giving in to my impulse to fully explain my intentions. “I meant it the way I meant it.”
I feel her low hum deep in my stomach. “I don’t like that answer.”
“You are only satisfied with full explanations.”
“That’s because I’m a normal.”
Again, I suppress a smile. “You don’t find me normal, angel?”
She tilts her head and peruses me with lively green eyes. “Definitely not.” Her jiggling right leg tells me this line of questioning is far from over. When it finally stills, I glance over to find her cheeks pink. “Sasha, you…touched me.”
At the reminder of her taut ass fitting perfectly in my hand, the teeth of my zipper bite into my swelling cock. “I’ve touched you many times. Do you not recall what happens when there’s a thunderstorm and you crawl into bed with me?”
A puff of air leaves her lips. “You’re just so w – warm.”
Memories of Anya tucked tight against me, her hands dangerously low on my belly, make my fingers tighten on the steering wheel. That long red T – shirt she calls pajamas is so threadbare I could feel her nipples rake my sides every time she breathed. Oh yes, she’s tried to play games with me many, many times. I’ve cursed my refusal to break vows on more occasions than I can remember, but I’m a man of my word. I can only hope she will appreciate this about me one day. Tomorrow would be nice. “I’m glad my temperature pleases you, Anya.”
I can hear her quickened breathing across the car. “Brushing my neck accidentally with your fingers when tying my bathing suit or…rubbing my back when I’m sick…that’s not the way you touched me in the driveway. That was different,” she finishes in a whisper. “Did you like it?”
Heat kicks me low in the gut. Years of forcing myself to treat this girl like a niece has taken its toll. How can I resist talking to her about sex? About the off – limits body she’s been tempting me with since I was hired by her father? When I finally answer her question, my voice is nothing more than gravel. “You’re asking me if I enjoyed having your smooth little cheek in my hand, knowing there’s a tan line that slashes diagonally, right across the center?” A rumble of hunger moves in my chest. “There’s a reason I never remove my overcoat while you’re swimming in that green mind-fuck of a bathing suit, angel. My cock is so stiff, you could use it as a second diving board.”
Her knees shoot together, and I barely check the urge to reach over and pry them apart. To see if my confession made her panties wet. Don’t do it. If I see any evidence that her virgin cunt is prepared for me, I’ll pull over and breed her on the hood of this car. “B – but you…” she sputters. “You’re the one who bought the green bathing suit for me.”
“I assure you, Anya, that bathing suit was all for Uncle Sasha.”
Anya
Is this real life?
Sheltered or not, I’m usually capable of assessing a situation pretty fast. Reading people. Solving dilemmas. But I can’t make sense of this. Sasha, the man I’ve been having illicit fantasies about for years, has been having them about me, too?
No way. I don’t believe it. All those times I snuck into his bedroom because I was “scared of the thunder” (I wasn’t), he refused to take any of the openings I gave him. I mean, call me crazy, but when a half – naked girl combs her fingers through a man’s chest hair and purrs like a kitten, that’s a sure – fire sign she’s interested in more. But he’d only lain there like a stone statue, grunting at me in Russian to stop interrupting his sleep.
All this time, has he wanted to push me down into the mattress and…
