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“Yes, you can, baby girl.” He sits back on his heels and lifts my hips, the new angle damn near making my eyes roll back in my head. “That’s it, little slut. That pussy knows what she wants.” He stares down at where his cock slides in and out of me. “Tight little cunt made just for me. Now that you’ve had a man, Neveah, you’ll never go back to fucking boys again. Now be a good slut and cum all over this cock again.”
It’s as if his words tap into some deep, dark part of me. I cum so hard my back bows, and I scream. Mr. Jones’s head snaps around, and then he’s covering me with his body and slapping a hand over my mouth. “Shhh. Did you hear that?” He keeps pumping even as we both listen hard.
In the distance, the sliding glass door opens, and deep voices sound in animated conversation.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper against his palm.
For a second, I think Mr. Jones will keep fucking me, will cum deep inside me just like he said he would, but he curses and pulls out. We scramble to put our clothes back on, and I curse myself for having a ridiculously complicated suit. I get it to rights just as I hear Brad’s voice. “Neveah?”
“The office,” Mr. Jones murmurs. “Tell him you were looking for another book.”
That doesn’t really make sense, but it’s better than anything I could come up with. I nod jerkily. “Okay.”
He grabs my elbow before I make it one step. I half-turn, and my gaze lands on where his hard cock is pressed against his pants. Mr. Jones follows my gaze and gives a slow smile. “That’s twice you’ve gotten yours and left me in a bad way, little girl.”
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“No, you’re not.”
No, I’m not. I like that he’s made me come so many times and hasn’t finished yet. It makes me feel like this isn’t finished yet.
“Neveah?” Brad’s voice, closer.
“I have to go.” I tug on my elbow.
Mr. Jones squeezes my arm and releases me. “You bring a dress down here, baby girl?”
I blink. “Yes.”
“Wear it for me. No panties.”
There’s no time to argue. I’m not sure I will argue. Instead, I hurry out of the bedroom and duck into the office. The shelves are filled with books, but I can barely register the titles with how fast my blood rushes through my head. So close. We were so close to being caught.
Footsteps up the stairs. I don’t turn around as Brad comes into the office. “There you are.” He wraps his arms around me and gives me a squeeze. “What are you doing up here?”
“A book.” My eye catches on a weathered Stephen King paperback, and I grab it. “I was looking for a book.”
Brad turns me around, and my stomach drops to see a frown pulling his brows together. “I thought you only read on your e-reader?”
Surely he can see the guilt written all over my face? I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Sometimes I just want paper in my hands, you know?”
Now it’s his turn to shrug. “Nah, you know I don’t read much.”
“What are you doing back so fast?”
He has the grace to look a little ashamed. “We didn’t book the trip ahead of time, and they didn’t have room for us.”
Right. Of course. His coming back here early had nothing to do with my feelings on being left behind. Not that I have a single leg to stand on right now, considering that I can still feel my pussy pulsing from riding Mr. Jones.
I want to do it again.
I can’t fucking wait to do it again.
It’s unforgivable, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt like this, not once in my life. This vacation feels entirely disconnected from reality. When I go back to being a normal, boring, good girl, this trip will feel like something that happened to someone else.
Or maybe it will change me.
Maybe I’ll go home after this and be someone else entirely.
Chapter 3
“Damn Neveah! Looking good!”
I smile a little at Braedon and smooth my hands over the sundress I dug out of my suitcase. It was white with little yellow flowers on it, and I’d bought it on a whim a few months ago. It was cut sinfully for such a sweet pattern, the dip between my breasts just low enough that I can’t really wear a bra with it. Normally, that was enough to make me a little self-conscious.
Tonight, I’ve left my panties off, too.
The dress hits me at mid-thigh, but I still feel so exposed. It makes me clench my thighs together in anticipation. Brad isn’t leaving the house again tonight. Surely Mr. Jones didn’t actually mean to do anything while sharing the same roof as his son. Surely I shouldn’t want exactly that?
