Chapter 8 #2
He looks at me, thoroughly amused.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, letting him go.
“Hello to you too, Sister. Where’s your habit?”
“Oh, shut up,” I reply, annoyed because he knows I’m not a sister. “What do you want?”
He appears taken aback that I’m not touched he’s here. Or maybe he’s confused why I’m not slobbering all over myself like the blonde at the garage earlier.
“I saw you today. In front of the garage,” he clarifies when I deadpan him. “So I guess I’m the one who should be asking what you want.”
I scoff at his arrogance. “I didn’t realize it was a crime to drive past someone’s garage…on a public street. Besides, surprised you even noticed with McBoobs all up in your grill.”
He bursts into husky laughter, a strand of messy hair falling over his eye. “Oh, I noticed you, Sister.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“What should I call you then?”
“How ’bout goodbye.”
I turn to leave, but he clutches my wrist. His fingers are warm and possessive. His touch has me craving so much more. And this is the reason I tug my arm out from under him.
“Just tell me who you are, and I’ll think about leaving.”
Think about leaving?
“I’m no one,” I reply, meaning every word. “But tell me.” I can’t help myself. “Does this tactic usually work?”
“What tactic?” he asks, interest piqued as he listens closely.
“Turning up on women’s doorsteps, unannounced. Is this supposed to be cute? Am I supposed to be flattered that you’re stalking me?”
His chest ripples when he lets out a throaty laugh. “Stalking? Get over yourself. If anyone is stalking anyone, I would say you’re stalking me.”
“Oh, you arrogant asshole!” I feel like stomping my foot on the ground.
But refrain—only just.
“You’re the one who’s here uninvited.”
“Yeah, well, I’m beginning to question my life choices.”
“Well, do that away from here.”
He grins, and I want to slap it from his conceited face.
“Go out with me.”
“What?” I ask, utterly horrified for countless reasons. “Just in case you missed the memo, I don’t like you, and I definitely have no interest in going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you do,” he arrogantly challenges.
I cross my arms, deciding to humor him. “Oh, I do?”
He nods, taking a step closer. He smells good. Like a forest after a thunderstorm. “’Cause curiosity will get the better of you. Just as it has with me. Your eyes…they haunt me.”
His confession is laced with melancholy, but heavy with a yearning I feel all the way to my core.
Even if I wanted to hide behind sarcasm, I don’t because I’ve forgotten everything but Kit.
All I can do is watch as he gently reaches for my wrist, and with a pen, he writes something on my palm. This time, I don’t shrug away.
Once he’s done, he doesn’t let me go. We stand staring at one another, getting lost in a moment when it’s only us that exists. It’s quiet here, and the touch of his fingers hums throughout my entire body.
I feel alive.
He releases me a second later and, without a word, leaves.
Only when his figure disappears do I breathe again.
I peer down at my palm and see that Kit has written an address and a time. I scoff at his overconfidence as reality kicks back in.
“Not gonna happen,” I whisper to myself.
I quickly make my way back into the orphanage and head straight for my room. The moment I’m inside, I begin to pace, certain the devil is biting at my heels.
I feel hot.
I rip off my T-shirt and walk around in just my bra and shorts. But I only get more animated with each step I take.
Kit’s signature fragrance lingers. A hunger tackles me, and I need a release.
Standing in front of the mirror, I’m surprised by how flushed my flesh looks and feels. I skim my fingers down the slope of my neck. My breasts feel heavy. I rub my fingers over my right nipple.
I hiss.
It feels good.
I usually shy away from touching myself because feelings of shame usually follow soon after.
But not today.
I cup my breast, running my thumb over my sensitive nipple.
It shoots a current all the way to my sex.
Continuing my journey downward, I touch my stomach. I’m thin but have curves. I wonder what it would feel like to have Kit grab my hips as he bites my neck from behind.
I quiver at the thought.
Stopping just above the waistband of my shorts, I take a moment to look at myself and not shy away in disgust like I usually do. I wonder what Kit sees when looking at me.
With trembling fingers, I slowly unsnap the top button on my denim shorts and slip my hand inside and over the top of my underwear. It feels taboo to go any further.
Instantly, I yank my hand out. Those familiar feelings of guilt, disgust, and shame overwhelm me.
But when I think about my meeting with Kit and how it felt when he touched me, I pretend it’s his hands, his fingers probing me as I shyly slip my hand back into the front of my shorts.
Imagining it’s his touch and not mine takes the shame away. I commence rubbing myself over my underwear. I watch my reflection with interest.
My breasts rise and fall with a breathless tremor each time I massage my clit.
The outside of my underwear is soon wet with my arousal.
“Your eyes…they haunt me.” Kit’s words vibrate through me and give me the courage to increase the tempo of my fingers.
My pussy is hot and heavy, and soon, I need and want more.
I slip my fingers into my underwear and touch myself with no barriers. I don’t know what to do at first, not used to this sort of contact. But soon, I learn what I like and what makes me whimper in utter desire.
I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed to watch myself.
“’Cause curiosity will get the better of you. Just as it has with me.”
Kit’s words, combined with his mouthwatering smell, have me bravely dipping a finger into my scorching sex.
The intrusion is foreign, but it’s not bad.
I’m not familiar with what to do because on the rare occasions I’ve pleasured myself, it’s only ever been over the top of my underwear—never like this. But now that I have the courage, I begin to explore my body for the first time.
I feel warm, wet, and tight.
Each time I rub over my clit, my body quivers. I slide in another finger, gasping at the intrusion. I move my fingers harder and faster, stroking over my throbbing center before dipping my fingers deeper in a come-hither motion.
I see stars.
Needing more, I frantically take off my clothes and sit in front of the mirror, naked. I spread my legs wide and continue to rub my clit slowly, watching my reflection in awe.
A shard of sunlight hits my body, highlighting the pinkness and shine to my sex. While I feverishly rub over my clit, I continue sinking two fingers into me. My breasts tremble with each movement I make. My nipples are erect. My skin is on fire.
My lips are parted, desperately trying to take in air fast enough.
“Faster,” Kit’s husky voice coaxes me in my ear.
“Yes,” I moan, opening my legs wider.
“Does that feel good, Cupcake?” I feel his lips along the slope of my neck.
Cupcake is the name he called me when I was a child. Then it was used as a nickname for a bratty kid, but now it has a whole different meaning and drives me wild.
“Fuck,” I groan, falling onto my back as the pressure builds.
I arch my back and plant my feet to the floor, needing to anchor myself as I wildly play with myself.
“Let me lend a hand.” My mind plays tricks on me as I’m certain I can feel Kit’s fingers replace mine.
He is skilled and has me mewling within seconds.
“You smell like cherries.” His fingers are replaced with the lapping of his tongue.
“Holy fucking God!” I cry, then slap a hand over my mouth to mute my profanity.
“Be a good girl, Cupcake. Scream for Daddy.”
That simple sentence is the death of me, and I come so hard that I bite down on my fist to silence my screams. Every part of my body is awakened and taut. I’m hot and dizzy as I attempt to catch my breath.
It feels as if a thread has been pulled throughout my body, and I am merely a marionette controlled by the puppeteer, and that puppeteer is Kit.
I collapse, thankful I’m lying down.
My body is heavy.
I can’t feel anything other than the thrashing of my heart, bouncing off the confines of its cage.
“You’re a good girl.”
I didn’t realize how badly I craved his praise.
And I want more.
My pussy throbs. “Thank you, Daddy.”