Page 7 of I Would Beg For You
The sound lodged itself in my head, the yearning and sexual hunger in there doing a quick circuit from my brain to my dick. I didn’t grow hard, though. Eighteen she may be, no longer underage, but it hadn’t been a month at most since her birthday. A month does not make a girl into a woman. She was still in high school, for fuck’s sake.
I did women, not girls.
Her hand came up. I knew it would land on my cheek as she was angling in for another lip press—we won’t even deign call that a kiss. How did she even have the leverage? Heels, of course. A miracle she hadn’t tripped yet in those platform monstrosities; I’d always seen her in sneakers and delicate ballet flats.
“Val, I love you.”
Everything in me froze, except for my left arm which knew it had to come up to stop her from cradling my cheek.
My hand curled around her wrist. Her tiny, fragile wrist. I would never hurt her, but when she lunged in for another kiss, I tightened my grip around her delicate bones and smooth skin.
Naomi blinked then, staring up at me in confusion.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” she added with a pout.
If there’s one thing I hate, it’s women—or men, or anyone, really—pouting. How childish and immature.
“You don’t,” I said softly. “That’s the alcohol in you talking.”
She blinked again. “No. I do—”
The hint of whining did it for me. I cut in. “Stop playing with fire, little Naomi Smith.”
I don’t know which words killed her Dutch courage, but to her credit, she merely huffed and turned away, didn’t cry or attempt to weaponize her tears.
That’s the last time I saw her. My father sent me to Turin shortly after—where I have been for most of the past few years until his untimely demise forced me back permanently—and Iwas only briefly at home during the summers and for Christmas. Our paths didn’t cross again.
Until today.Little Naomi Smith. The words slipped off my tongue before I could process them. In my mind, they rang with genuine good cheer today, as opposed to the cold disdain from five years ago.
Guess she didn’t hear that, because she went out of her way, it seems, to throw frost and vitriol at me.
Naomi Smith still likes to play with fire.
And as a grown woman now, she is fair game.
I still remember the feel of her wrist in my fist. Fragile, as if a sharp tug could snap the bone. She was eighteen, and I’m not a pervert—I didn’t think of her that way. Not back then. Thinking of that encounter, it always made me wonder what it would be like to have a soft and delicate body like hers to protect, to cherish.
It never occurred to me to think of pleasure and lust and raging orgasms in the same burst.
But recalling the feel of her today, seeing her all grown up and mature, and dare I say it, ripe for plucking, it hurtles into me like a freight train at full speed.
What will her soft skin feel like under my fingertips as I explore her body? Under my lips as I kiss her all over? Under my tongue as I lave at her nipples and the heart of her pussy? That narrow waist—will my hands be able to close around it? Those thighs encased in her skinny jeans—how tightly will they wrap around my hips as I plunge my cock into her, as I claim her for my own?
What will her spent body feel like in my arms after we have both orgasmed?
The scent of her… Will it carry the aroma of sex and pleasure in the sweat we’ll work up together?
I suddenly have to shift in my seat, my trousers too tight as my cock starts pulsating with a raging hard-on trying to tear through the zipper to heat-seek her core.
I always knew it—Naomi Smith will be the death of me.
Before now, I never let the notion of having her hone in and take hold. She was always off limits, jailbait for a man eleven years her senior, before she left for college. And besides, our families despised each other, to an extent that even Naomi didn’t realize.
I can’t be near her, much less touch her, if I want to keep my sanity intact. I’m not going home for a break this time. I’m heading over to pick up the reins of the organization my father has left to me when he died.
Or rather, when he was killed… But I’m not going to think of that right now. Not with her sitting right next to me.
The plane levels as we clear takeoff. The worst should be over for Naomi.
