Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I nod, but then shake my head.
“It is, but you and my mom weren’t that great at pretending you were in love. I mean, I could feel your eyes on me during the holidays when I got home, and you remember that one Thanksgiving…” I say, voice trailing off.
My man has the grace to blush.
“Right,” he rasps. “I had to stroke your pussy that night, sweetheart. I had to kiss your breasts. I was nearing the end of the rope and was going to commit violence if I didn’t caress you.”
“I know, and I loved it,” I say in an even tone. “I thought of you for months afterwards. Even after I moved back home, I was still dreaming of you.”
The silence between us has suddenly changed form, growing sensuous and charged, and I decide to go for it.
“You know, Daddy, you never did check my cherry after that party,” I say in a coy tone, the words dropping slow and heavy.
Kent blinks, caught off guard.
“I’m serious,” I say. “You were so obsessed with my virginity, but after you dragged me home from the frat house, you never checked it.”
His mouth tightens, but his eyes are already dark, hungry.
“I want you to check me now,” I say, my voice soft, deliberate. “But not my pussy because we know that cherry’s been popped. I want you to check my ass cherry. You ever think about that, Kent? You ever wonder if you’re the first man to fuck me there?”
His jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle jump. He’s breathing heavy, like he’s just run a mile.
He stands, rounds the table in two strides, and hauls me to my feet. He crushes my mouth with his, hands tangling in my hair, his whole body shaking with want.
He pulls back, lips just touching mine. “Are you sure?” he growls.
“Yes, Daddy,” I say, and I mean it.
He grins, wicked and slow. “You know there’s no hymen in your ass, right?”
“Of course not,” I giggle. “So what are you going to do?”
Here, Kent’s eyes go dark and intense.
“The only way to know is to taste it. If another man’s been in your ass, I’ll know. A man’s semen can stay in a woman’s anal canal for months. Do you have another man’s semen in your asshole, sweetheart? Or is it clean and fresh, ready for Daddy’s tongue?”
I shiver, every nerve ending lit up at his filthy words.
“I don’t know, Daddy,” I whisper-pant. “Why don’t you find out?”
Kent’s blue eyes flare, and then drags me up the stairs, his hand a vise around my wrist. My heart is hammering, my brain gone fuzzy and light. The deal is out in the open now, and I want nothing more than to give him what he wants.
I want to belong to him, completely.
And now, I will.
Upstairs, the house changes. The light goes blue, then gold again, then vanishes into shadow as Kent drags me down the corridor and through the open door of his bedroom. My bare feet slip on the waxed wood, but his hand keeps me upright, his grip a leash and a promise. The room is warm but the air is thin, like the walls are closing in around us, like there’s not enough oxygen to feed both our hungers at once.
Kent’s bedroom looks nothing like the showpiece spaces on the rest of the main floor. No cold art, no abstract furniture; it’s all shadow and density. Heavy velvet curtains wall off the night, just a rim of sodium streetlight leaking through the crack at the edge. The bed is the centerpiece, a wide black rectangle with sheets the color of dark roast, the kind of cotton that gets softer with every wash and never loses the memory of sweat or skin. There are no knickknacks at all because that’s the way my man likes it. Spartan and spare, all angles and lines, just like him.
There’s a single lamp on, its shade the color of honey, casting an oval of soft light across the headboard. There are candles too—three fat ones, all the same off-white, currently unlit, the wax pooled and glossy at the rim. The air is thick with their leftover scent though, something resinous and sexual. The only other light is the blue of the clock on the far wall, numbers ticking down in the dark like a time bomb.
He lets go of my wrist only long enough to shut the door and twist the lock. Then he’s on me, hands spanning the width of my hips through the oversized flannel, the pressure so sudden it steals the air from my lungs. He kisses me again, but this time it’s not a question. His tongue is in my mouth before I can even gasp. His teeth graze the edge of my lip, not enough to hurt but enough to make my knees go soft. I reach for his belt but he catches my hand, pins it against my lower back, and then lifts me clean off the ground. I squeal, but he’s already walking, carrying me like a prize to the bed.