36. Graham
GRAHAM
Her legs splay open for me on the bed.
I dip my head down and lap at her. It’s water in the desert, and I want all of her. I raise her up so I can eat out all of her. Her breathy gasps and the way her fingers tighten in my hair when my tongue laps at her?
I want to make you love me.
It’s plain on her face. She adores me. She’s obsessed with me. She’s addicted. She’s, well, she’s falling for me.
Fuck, I hate my dad. He was so fucking right, though. Dani is mine.
She’s coming on my face in sweaty rolls of her hips, mashing her pussy against my mouth and nose as she comes, gushing and wet.
I roll on a condom, pull her so her legs dangle off the edge of the bed, then pound into her. Her pussy is so wet. It vibrates from the orgasm.
Her legs wrap around my waist as I thrust deep in her pussy, letting that tight cunt of hers take my cock.
It doesn’t count. She already was falling for me, I try to tell my guilty conscience, pushing the thoughts out of the way as she lays on my bed, wearing my shirt, her tits bouncing on her chest, the nipples tight and pink and begging for my tongue.
I suck on them, slowing my thrusts so I can fuck into her slow and deep, her hips rising off the bed every time I give her my cock.
She reaches up to caress her own tits, and I stand up and really fuck her hard, her pussy clenching around me as I give her what she needs, until we’re both coming, and I’m thinking, Damn, I really would like to fuck her like this every day when I come home from work.
She sprawls on my bed, all used up.
“If you’d done that the night you kidnapped me, I would have handcuffed myself to your bed,” she moans.
Jesus.
“I’m going to get your tea.” I microwave it for her, though you’re not supposed to do that with these special tea leaves. I grab one of the fancy square platters that some client or other gave as a holiday gift and lay out a selection of the leftovers, then I take it up to her.
She’s sitting on the bed. She smiles up at me and claps her hands, delighted.
“You’re the best boyfriend.”
It would be customary to kiss her. If we were actually dating, if we were actually in love, I’d lean down and give her a noisy kiss. Tell her I love her. That of course I’ll always bring her tea and her snacks and keep her safe.
I hand her the tea. She reaches up to curl her fingers against my abs.
“This tea is hot, but not as hot as you.”
I go to her, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, pulling aside the silky white dress shirt so I can kiss the swell of her breasts.
All of this belongs to me.
And my heart flutters.
I can’t be in love with her. I already crossed one boundary. But what if she just… wants to be in love with me? What if she just wants to be with me?
Why would she? You kidnapped her. Then you treated her like shit. You were rough with her for her first time. You think she’s in love with you just because you ate her pussy?
But she’s looking at me like she’s in love with me.
I curl around her, bury my face in her soft lap.
I’m a little sick that my dad was right, that he knew what he was talking about, that he knew how to control a woman, how easy it is to get these strange creatures to love a monster.
It’s easy to ignore it, though—ignore the bad feelings—what with Dani drawing her fingers through my hair as I lie against her thighs.
“Whoops!”
I feel caviar patter onto my nose.
“Don’t move, I’ll get that—no, Lulu!” The dog hops up on the bed. “Shoo.”
“Caviar and diamonds. Your dog has expensive taste.”
Dani chokes on the snack she’s eating. “My dog ate a what? Lulu!”
I laugh against her.
I should go jump off the balcony for crossing that line. I swore to myself—swore that I wasn’t going to be like my father—swore it on every anniversary, swore it every time I left my mother looking so forlorn.
I’m a bad son. Yes, it’s true. But it’s nice to have Dani pet my hair. Feed me food.
“You didn’t have any of this at the party, did you?” She slips a little bite of lobster in my mouth. “One for you, one for me. Hmm,” she hums happily. “This is good tea. I’m going to steal it from you.”
“Take it. All of what’s mine is yours,” I remind her sleepily and press a kiss to her thigh, because I can—because there’s no worry that it’s going to lead to something it shouldn’t—because I’ve already blown through that safety gate, just shot the lock off with a bazooka.
It’s snowing again. The large, slushy flakes patter against the oversized windows that look out over Central Park. The dog is snoring at the foot of the bed. Dani’s phone pings softly as she messages someone.
I feel myself start to relax.
Dani pulls a soft blanket over us both and rests her arm on my head, muttering at her phone. The burbling noise of the keys as she types merges with the patter of the snow.
For a traitorous minute, I start to wonder if I could actually be happy. If this could be real.