Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Hunter slides his hand over the curve of her thigh, a gesture so possessive it’s almost predatory. He’s marking territory, but not just for her. For me.
I allow the silence to grow teeth. “This is exactly the moment where most people retreat,” I say. “But you’re not most people, are you?”
Hunter shakes his head, the movement feline. “We want to go further.”
“Further how?” I ask, watching his pupils.
He grins, full and dangerous. “That’s what we came to ask.”
Stella’s cheeks are nearly crimson now, but her posture is perfect. She’s a contradiction—blushing, but with her chin high. “Is it possible that we’re totally lost?” she asks, eyes luminous. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That we’ve lost sight of land and are totally off the reservation at this point. That we’re deviants, and not normal anymore,” she finishes in an agonized whisper.
I lean back, fold my arms. “Normal is a moving target,” I say. “But it’s not about what’s normal to others. It’s about what’s sustainable for you.” I pause, then, feeling the shift in the room, the air prickling with anticipation. “But I understand what you’re saying because obviously, an attraction between relatives, albeit unrelated ones, is generally considered outside the “normal realm,” and I’d like to address this with you. There is a method—exposure therapy—that’s been shown to be very effective for unwanted, or shamed, behavior. Sometimes, reenacting the thing you fear—in a controlled, safe environment—can strip it of its hold.”
They both look at me. Not incredulous, but as if I’ve just suggested a magic trick. “You mean do it here?” Hunter says, the challenge plain.
I don’t flinch. “If you’re comfortable, yes.”
Stella’s breath is audible, a small, soft gasp. Her hands flutter, then still. “Exposure how? What would that look like?” she asks, voice gone small again.
“Whatever you want it to,” I say. “The idea is to make the hidden, unhideable. To see it for what it is.” I stand, smooth the sleeves of my shirt, and cross to the office door. My shoes are silent on the carpet. I twist the lock, the click quiet but absolute.
The sound lands in the pit of my stomach.
Hunter’s eyes are on me, measured, weighing. I return to my desk and sit on the edge, body loose but focused. “There’s no one else in the building,” I say. “We can be as candid or not candid as you want. Again, I’ll let you choose to reveal what you’re comfortable with.”
For a moment, no one moves. Then Hunter stands, fluid and controlled. He moves behind Stella’s chair, places both hands on her shoulders. She tilts her head up, lips parted.
He bends, mouth at her ear. “You’re going to be a good girl and show the pastor what I’ve taught you. What you’ve learned,” he says, voice pitched for her alone but loud enough that I catch it. “Let him see you in your glory.”
Her pulse jumps in her throat. “Do you mean we’re going to do that? In front of him?” she whispers, big breasts heaving.
Hunter grins like an animal.
“Yes exactly, sweetheart,” he rasps, cupping her chin while whispering in her ear. “Pastor O’Toole can only help us if he witnesses the act, and I want you to show the good pastor everything you’ve learned.”
Stella’s still for a moment, her curves trembling delicately. Then, she bends her golden head and assents. “Yes, Daddy,” she murmurs, and the words are more breath than sound. “Whatever you want.”
With an animalistic grin, Hunter draws the young blonde up by the wrist, not rushed, but with an inevitability that brooks no resistance. Stella rises, a little tremor in her posture, but otherwise game. She stands before me, big bust rising and falling, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Relax,” Hunter growls, and his hands find the tie at her waist. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. You have nothing to hide.”
He undoes the knot slowly, then peels the dress away from her shoulders. It slips down, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a strapless bra and a pair of black lace panties. Her huge Double D’s strain against the cups, the fabric doing almost nothing to conceal her.
I am not made of stone. My own breath is sharper than I mean, and I will myself to remain clinical. To observe, to witness, not to participate. But the edge of it is too bright. Every sense is on fire, and my cock jerks in my pants.
Hunter grins, flashing sharp white teeth, and then unclasps the bra, lets it drop. Her Double D’s are a man’s wet dream, huge, ivory, and utterly suckable, with hard pink tips. I let out a gasp, and Hunter grins. He goes around to her back and palms her breasts, thumbs rolling over the nipples in slow circles. Stella’s head tips back, mouth open, a tiny sound escaping. Hunter keeps his gaze locked on me as he kneads her, talking into her hair.