Page 139 of The Perfect Wrong


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He tells me I’m a natural, but I still feel like a blushing virgin.

I’ve got to get over it if we’re going to keep doing this, and tonight seems like a good time to start.

I lick my lips slowly, watching his jaw clench as I lower my mouth very, very slowly.

“Fuck,” he swears when I kiss the tip of his dick, tasting the bead of pearly liquid at his tip.

My fingers close around him—they try—and I slide my hand up and down.

Time to give Mr. Instinct a little payback.

I’m smiling, ready to engulf him in the slowest blow job ever.

I’m so overwhelmed in him that I don’t hear it at first.

Not until it happens a second time.

Bang, bang, thump!

I jerk up, freeing my mouth from him, shock bolting through me.

“Honey, are you still up? We need to talk,” Dad’s strained voice calls through the door.

Oh, no.

Oh, hell no.

We swap agonized looks before Chris shoves a stiff finger against his lips and jumps up, grabbing his clothes.

I stand gently, racking my brain for words while Dad knocks again, this time louder.

Jesus!

There’s something almost weirdly urgent in his knock, like he’s worried or in trouble, but holding back so he doesn’t scare me.

“That’s my cue to scram. Find out what he wants,” Chris whispers, launching himself outside onto the balcony before I can say anything.

My heart leaps into my throat as I watch him jump into a huge tree with a panther’s grace, sliding into the sprawling garden below.

“Honey?” Dad calls again. Whoa, is his voice cracking? “Please.”

Oof. I’m not even dressed.

“Just a second!” I call back, pretending to sound groggy as I scramble for my clothes.

The more I move, the deeper my worries.

Whatever he wants, it can’t be good if he’s showing up in the middle of the night.

I’m straightening my pj’s when I hear footsteps, like he’s anxiously pacing the hall.

Enough. I have to know.

I run over and tear the door open. Dad reaches through the frame and pulls me into the hall, throwing his arms around me.

“Dad! What’s wrong? What happened?”

He looks like hell, even in the dim orange night-lights that switch on after midnight.

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