2. GAVIN #3
Turning away takes more effort than it should. Every predatory instinct I've honed in this life screams at me to stay. To push harder. To back her against that dresser and show her exactly what she's gotten herself into. What happens when Gavin Gates decides he wants something—someone.
But rushing breaks things. Spoils them. I've learned that lesson the hard way, watching lesser men destroy what they could have savored.
She needs time. Needs to process what happened in that warehouse, let the memory sink into her bones. Needs to lie awake tonight replaying the sensation of my mouth on her, my fingers drawing out her pleasure. Needs to want it again.
Won't take long. Not after how she responded to me. Not after she discovered what her body craves.
"Gavin?"
My hand stills on the doorframe. I glance back without fully turning, catching her reflection in the mirror across from where she stands. She's worrying that full bottom lip between her teeth again, arms wrapped tight across her chest in that self-protective gesture I'm starting to recognize.
"Thank you. For..." She trails off. Swallows. "For keeping me safe. Even if you did basically kidnap me first. I mean, you could've just asked to talk like a normal person."
The gratitude hits differently than I expect.
Satisfaction spreads warm through my chest—a feeling I haven't experienced in longer than I care to admit.
Most people thank me out of fear. Out of obligation.
But Georgie means it. Even scared, even confused about what the fuck is happening between us, she means it.
Dangerous thing, sincerity.
"Sleep well, baby girl."
Her door closes with a soft click. Then the lock engages—quiet snick that makes me smile. Smart girl. Not that it'll keep me out if I decide I want in, but the illusion of control helps.
My own bedroom sits dark and familiar. Crossing to the bathroom, I strip out of clothes that smell like her. That carry traces of her milk on the fabric.
The scalding water pounds against my shoulders like a punishing rain, each drop stinging the inked skin stretched taut over rigid muscle. Steam curls thick and heavy in the glass enclosure.
My cock throbs angrily against my stomach, veins distended, the flushed head glistening with steady beads of pre-cum that the spray can’t quite rinse away. Years of iron control, and my virgin stepdaughter has reduced me to this: a starving animal barely leashed by my own fist.
I wrap my fingers around the thick shaft, the grip almost brutal. The first slow stroke pulls a gravelly groan from deep in my chest, the sound swallowed by the roar of water against tile.
Her taste blooms vivid on my tongue again and I can still hear those broken little whimpers she made while grinding against the chair like she couldn’t help herself.
That plush, freckled body trembling, blue eyes wide with shock and reluctant hunger. The way her thighs had clenched, her back arching just enough to push those full tits forward.
Fuck. My palm twists on the upstroke, smearing the slick fluid leaking from my slit, and the fantasy shifts violently.
I picture her small hand instead of mine, those delicate fingers struggling to circle my girth. Then her mouth—those soft, cock-sucking lips stretched wide around me, freckled cheeks hollowing as she learns to take every inch down her throat.
But the image that truly wrecks me is lower: her virgin cunt, pink and untouched, stretched around the fat head of my cock as I force my way inside. The tight, wet heat gripping me, fluttering, resisting even while her body betrays her with fresh gushes of slick.
I’d watch her face the whole time—those wide blue eyes brimming with overwhelmed tears, her full mouth falling open on a silent scream while I bottom out against her cervix and claim what’s always belonged to me.
My strokes turn punishing, fist flying along my shaft with wet sounds that echo off the marble. Water streams down my back, tracing the lines of muscle carved by years of violence and discipline, but all I feel is her.
I want her nails carving bloody trails down my shoulders while I rut into her like a beast. I want the broken sob of my name on her lips when I fill her so completely she forgets every other man exists.
Most of all, I want to pin her beneath me and pump her full of my seed until her belly swells with my child—my permanent brand on that curvy little body. Tied to me. Owned. Never able to run.
The orgasm rips through me without warning, a white-hot explosion that locks every muscle in my frame. Thick ropes of come erupt from my cock, splattering across the wet tile in heavy pulses before the relentless spray beats them into nothing.
My knees nearly buckle under the force of it, yet the release only sharpens the ache. The hunger doesn’t ebb. It mutates into something darker, more possessive, coiling low in my gut like a live wire.
I built an empire from blood and ash. I’ve eliminated every enemy, crushed every rival, bent the city to my will. Power, wealth, respect—I possess them all in abundance.
None of it compares to the raw, consuming need I have for her.
She’s twenty. A virgin. Mine.
God help whoever tries to get between us.