“What?”
“You’re thinking so fucking hard right now I can practically hear the spinning in your mind.”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“I’m over your rules, Mr. Macintyre. So over them. I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you want, or what you say. I don’t even care if you leave as long as you do it after. Because I care about me, OK? Me. And this is what I want.”
She opens her mouth and places my cock on her tongue.
I should throw her on the bed and spank her silly. Will do that, later. But right now I can’t help myself.
Wild thing… I really like you.
I know I shouldn’t. I’ve been complaining about her all week. Insisting she’s nothing more than a spoiled little rich girl.
Talking myself into believing that the reason I have to jerk off three times a day isn’t because she’s in the same house as me.
Isn’t because I’ve been picturing her in my mind. Seeing her that first night. Running away from me.
Isn’t because she wears these tantalizing teenage outfits.
Isn’t because of the pigtails and thigh-high tube socks.
But it is. It’s all of that.
I’m fucking sick. I like her dressed up like a doll. I like feeding her grilled cheese and oatmeal. I like the way she snaps her gum and—
Get your fucking shit together, Macintyre.
“Lyssa,” I say, placing a hand on her head. “This isn’t right.”
But instead of pulling her off me, I push her face into my stomach.
She takes me deep as I say, “This is wrong, on so many levels.”
And then I begin moving my hips so I can fuck her mouth and add, “We need to stop.”
She opens her throat, letting the tip of my dick hit the back of her soft palate as I grab her hair and begin bobbing her back and forth on my cock.
Saliva runs out over her plump, pink lips. Her eyes begin to water. Her hair is a tangled mess in my hands, and her legs are open so she can play with herself.
I close my eyes and make myself do it.
I pull her off me and hold her there as I try to get these sick urges under control.
Her hands wrap around the back of my thighs, urging me forward again, and I can’t help myself. The imagery, the scent of her wet pussy in the air, the throbbing of my cock.
There is no way I can stop now. Not when she’s compelling me to continue.
She comes up for air and says, “Sit down.”
And I do. The chair is right behind me so it’s almost too easy to give in.
I want to fight it. I want to do the right thing and put a stop to this before it goes too far.
Which is a joke. It’s already gone too far. But I can try to talk myself into believing that it hasn’t…
If I don’t actually fuck her.
If I attribute my transgressions back on that first day to the fact that I was weak and blackmailed into being here by her stepfather.
If I put a stop to this right now…
But she’s licking the tip of my cock, and pumping me with her hand, and playing with herself between her legs and I get it in my head that if I don’t come now—right fucking now—I’ll never come again.
So I do.
I lean back, groaning as she pumps my cock hard, jerking me to full climax, and then she aims my tip at her face and I come all over it in long, spurting streams.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – LYSSA
I grab the wedding dress and use it to wipe his come off my face.
“Lyssa!” Mason yells. “What the fuck?”
“You said you were gonna buy me another one.” I blink my eyes at him innocently.
He’s standing up in an instant, pulling me to my feet. He bends me over the edge of the bed and his hand comes down hard on my ass.
“Ohhh,” I moan. Because it feels good. I’ve been thinking about his hard slaps all week. Trying to push his buttons. But he’s been the model of control. A perfect little babysitter. Giving in and letting me do as I please. And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of getting my way.
I want the punishment.
“You want another one?” he asks, pulling my hair.
I’m about to say, Yes! I want all the spankings!
“I was going to buy you another dress to make you happy, Lyssa. Not because you decided to defile the one you were given.”
“What?” I say.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Why did you just rub come all over that dress?”
“Mason,” I say, laughing a little. “No one cares about that dress.”
“That’s your problem, you know. You think everything’s free. It was a gift. And fine, you don’t like it and every girl deserves the dress of their dreams on their wedding day, so I don’t mind giving you that. But you didn’t have to fucking ruin it!”