Surprising me, she sucks on them hard as she pants.
“Sweet girl loving the taste of her own pussy,” I growl and return my fingers to her clit, this time rubbing against it rough and hard, branding my touch into her sex, knowing no one will ever touch her like this again.
Never taking my eyes off her, my fingers slide a V on either side of her clit until she bites down so hard on her lip, it draws blood. Skating my fingertips hard over her clit, she topples over the edge and comes again. This time, she can’t keep her eyes open and clamps them shut as she climaxes, her legs weakening as she slides down the door toward the ground.
I pull her to me, holding her shaking body in my arms, whispering to her what a good girl she is.
Her soft little whimpers swirl around me as I drop little kisses on her sweaty shoulder until she is completely silent, no longer whispering my name.
Finally, she pulls back, taking my hand and pressing it against her heart.
“Can you feel that?” she asks, meaning the way her heart is thumping against her chest.
My fingers curl into their natural shape, cupping the rhythm of her heart in my palm.
She looks up at me with so much sweetness, my own chest aches, the remnants of my control nothing but scattered ashes at her feet.
“Thank you.” She smiles at me, her innocence intact, even as her lips glisten with her wetness that I spread there, and my heart breaks.
I pull away from her chest and reach for the unlocked door.
She steps inside and then turns, her eyes completely trusting and open as she waits for me to follow her inside.
But I don’t.
I reach for the door and pull it closed between us.
And walk away.
Twenty-Three
Kingsley
I sleep at my office.
Or at least I try.
After driving around until about four a.m., I ended up there, lying awake, trying not to think about Luna, but all I can smell is her scent wafting all around me.
An hour spent in the shower, with the scalding-hot water washing over every inch of me, did nothing to wash away the feeling of her body tensing in orgasm against me, or the fragrance of her breath tinted with port steaming in the air, or the feel of her wetness coating my fingers as I pumped them in and out of her.
Those few minutes with her on the porch, her soft whimpers, gently begging, whispering my name, haunting me.
But no more than the way her eyes looked as she watched me close the door on her.
When she’d said “At least I know he wants me,” she’d severed the last of the frayed rope containing my morals.
But nothing has changed.
Nothing has changed except now I know how fucking phenomenal she looks when she comes.
She’s still too young.
She’s still Ernest’s daughter.
She’s still the sole beneficiary of an estate I am entrusted to manage for her for three more months.
She’s still out of bounds, and nothing’s changed.
