I lick.
And groan like a man dying. Because I can still taste her.
Jasmine... still fresh on my tongue, in my head, in my fucking bloodstream.
I suck my fingers compulsively, needing more. But she’s already inside me. Under my skin. Etched into every pulse in my cock. I can’t get her out, no matter how far I run.
I stalk toward the car. Fling the door open. Collapse inside.
The leather seats are cold and slick, but I’m burning up. Steam rises off me, mixing with the damp leather and ozone-rich storm air. The rain hammering the roof doesn’t let up.
I grip the steering wheel and drop my forehead against it.
Run, a voice in me says.Start the car and drive. Get away from her. Get away from yourself.
But even if I ran, there’s no undoing what happened between us. I thought I knew myself. Thought I had built a life that wouldn’t allow for chaos. That didn’t have heart or space for someone like her.
But she surrendered herself so well to me, so easily, appealing perfectly to the dark, dominating facet of me I’d kept chained for years. Submitted with such purity. Such trust.
It’s the single most erotic experience of my life.
I know now why I dumped her in the tub and got the hell out of there. Because I wanted more.
I wanted to slide into that soft, wet, virgin pussy and ruin her a little more. Mark her up. Leave bruises she’d wear for days.
I want to fuck her until she can’t walk straight. Until she can’t live without me. Until all thoughts of her future begin and end with me.
Until she’s barefoot and pregnant, baking for me in my kitchen.
Jesus Christ.
Barefoot and pregnant...
Is that what I want? With my daughter’s best friend? Not just a night. Not a weekend. But the whole damn thing?
I stare into the darkness of the car.
The image is now burned into me—Jasmine, belly swollen with my child, tits heavy with milk, eyes shining with love for me.
It’s so vivid, I can’t breathe.
Does she want a future with me?
Or am I just the man she trusts enough to experiment with? A safe, yet reckless bet to lose her V card.
But that’s not Jasmine. She said it herself—never been kissed.
And she didn’t just admit it.
She offered it up like she needed me to know it. And then there was that comment from her cousin Sonia. That Jasmine was pining after someone.
Am I finally seeing the truth? That my little bird wants me?
She begged me to make her come. Offered herself to me with nothing but trust and hunger and reckless need. Made herself utterly vulnerable to me.
That’s more than enough to start with.
I’m a fucking billionaire CEO. I’ve turned boardroom betrayals and hostile takeovers to my advantage. I’ve navigated international crises and dismantled empires with a spreadsheet and a pen.
