The Deal – Dangerous Desires Read Online S.E. Law

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Erotic Tags Authors: S.E. Law Advertisement

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I lean my head back, mouth open, and let the water hit my face. My other hand strokes circles on my clit, hot gasps escaping my throat. I close my eyes and see Kent: on the table, head thrown back, cock straining in my hands, every muscle in his body tight and shaking. I hear the sounds he made—low, animal, hungry. I imagine him grabbing me by the hair and yanking my mouth onto him, no pretense, no tenderness, just pure want and the hot hugeness of him between my lips, choking me.

“Mmmph,” I grunt in the shower. “Ummm!”

My fingers circle my clit, slow at first, then rougher, slipping lower, spreading the lips apart until my whole hand is soaked. I angle my hips forward and fuck myself with two fingers, then three, knuckles working hard and fast. It’s not delicate or dreamy; it’s filthy, needy, urgent. I want it to hurt a little.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” I whisper, and the shower drowns it out, but in my mind it echoes through the whole house.

I picture him behind me, pushing me down over the marble edge, his hands bruising my hips, the thick head of his cock prodding against me, bigger than anything I’ve ever had inside. I imagine him calling me his good girl, his dirty girl, his favorite, his only. I want him to force it, to not even care if that massive penis fits inside my tiny vag.

I work my hand faster, palm grinding, wrist aching, and the fantasy grows sharper—Kent bending me over the sink, spreading me open, saying my name. I say his, out loud, just to feel it in my mouth: “Kent. Oh fuck, Kent⁠—”

The orgasm comes in a slow, rolling surge, then slams into me all at once, a tidal wave from toes to scalp. My whole body shakes. I moan, loudly, not caring if it’s real or just in my head. My forehead thuds against the marble, legs nearly give out, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming his name a second time.

“Oooh,” I whimper helplessly. “Mmmm.”

I ride the aftershocks for a long time, my chest heaving, water washing away the sweat and everything else. I want to stay in this moment forever—hot, numb, spent.

But then, in the pause between the next wave of water and my own ragged breath, I hear it.

A single creak, out in the hall. The exact floorboard outside the bathroom. Instantly I freeze, the blood in my veins going from liquid fire to molten lava. I listen, holding my breath.

Nothing.

I glance at the gap in the doorway, the line of steam curling out into the darkness, and for a second I picture my gorgeous stepfather there—just on the other side, watching, maybe with his own hand wrapped around his cock, eyes locked on the shower glass, waiting to see what I’d do if I knew he was there.

The idea makes me pulse all over again.

I don’t move. I don’t cover up. I just stand there, completely exposed, water running down my body in streams, nipples flushed and hard, pussy still twitching. I want him to see me. I want him to watch. I even pull my pussy lips open a bit, showing off my gleaming clit as if begging for a kiss.

Because I want him to want me, every bit as much as I want him.

But there’s silence, and no hint of movement. Disappointment makes my shoulders slump. After a long minute, I turn off the water, slide open the shower door, and step out, dripping, leaving a pattern of wet footprints on the tile. The room is warm and thick with sandalwood and sex, the mirror fogged except for the oval where my breath has cleared it. My reflection looks wrecked—lips parted, cheeks streaked with red, hair a tangle down my back.

I dry off slowly, glancing at the open doorway every few seconds, half-hoping he’ll step in, half-fearing it. I wrap myself in a towel and bend over to gather my clothes, but something’s missing.

My panties. The ones I left on the floor, damp in the crotch, pale pink with lace on the waistband.

They’re gone.

I stand there, towel clutched at my chest, and stare at the empty patch of floor. A flush creeps up my throat, hotter than the shower, and I smile—small, wicked, secret. I know exactly what happened to them. I know who took them. The knowledge makes me bold, almost wild with pleasure.

I walk back to my room with nothing underneath the towel, hips swaying more than necessary, letting the fabric gap open whenever I pass a darkened doorway.

Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll leave something else out for him to take.

Or maybe I’ll just leave the door wide open, and see if he comes in.

Either way, I hope my stepfather never stops watching.

7

IS SHE REALLY SO F*CKING NAUGHTY?


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