The surround sound blares—another shriek, another crash—and the movie’s light flickers over her face. Her eyes are wide, glazed, her body quaking against me as she tries to grind down harder on my hand. I hold her still, working her slow and deep, savoring every twitch.
Then her small palm slips beneath the blanket, fumbling at my zipper. My cock plops into her soft hand, eager and desperate. Her fingers wrap around me tight, and it nearly drags a groan out of me right there.
“I want you to come too,” she breathes, so quiet I almost miss it under the movie. “On my stomach. On my pussy. Get me all dirty, Daddy, so that I can fall asleep with your cum all over me.”
“Christ, baby girl.” My head drops, forehead to hers. Her hand strokes me under the blanket, and I pump my fingers in time, every nerve pulled taut. “Good girl. Just like that. Keep squeezing me as hard as you can.”
The couch creaks under us. The blanket hides us. The movie blares on, and we unravel together in silence. Her tight cunt squeezes my fingers, her body quaking as she comes apart, and I spill in her hand, over her lower belly and watch it drip down to her bare pussy, muffling the sound in the curve of her neck.
When the shuddering eases, when all that’s left is the hammering of our hearts, she lets out a shaky laugh. Then, she delves her fingers between her folds, pushes strings of my cum inside her hole, and pulls her shorts up. The rest, she licks it off her finger. “You’re right, Daddy. I did need a midnight snack.”
My laughter is rough as I drag her to me and kiss her filthy mouth. I taste myself on her tongue and I know, as sure as herpulse racing under my palm, that I want this every day, every night for the rest of my life.
Chapter 15
Jasmine
Steam clings to my skin when I step out of the shower and towel my hair.
The last few days have stretched like taffy, the string between me and Mr. Grayson pulled taut. He hasn’t taken me again, not fully.
Not because he doesn’t want to, though.
I feel it in the way his gaze hooks on me, in the not-so-casual touches—his knuckles tapping my chin when Sophie isn’t looking, fingers brushing mine around the coffee cup, the night he caged me at the stove just to let me feel what I do to him in my tiny shorts.
I know he’s giving me, and my body, time.
Sweet and responsible. Meanwhile, desperate urgency hums in my bones.
Sophie’s text earlier said to dress up for an evening out. She’s such a homebody usually but with her new mantra to grab life by the horns, I’m not surprised by anything she decides on, these days.
I open my closet and—whoa. The black dress that hangs there is one I’ve only seen on runways. The fabric is cool andexpensive against my skin, the cut borderline illegal in three states. I slip it on and barely recognize the beautiful, almost-stunning girl in the mirror.
But then it’s more than just an expensive dress that makes me look different. It’s the confidence I’ve gained being around Nathan. And not just because he wants me but because he sees me and likes me for who I am. Texas-shaped scar and all…
After I blow dry my hair, I use a little mascara, blush, and lip-gloss like Sophie showed me this past week. Then, I clasp the necklace he gave me.
The little weight at my throat warms fast, like it remembers his hands.
After only catching glimpses of him this week, part of me wants to make an excuse and bail on Sophie. Then I could curl up on the couch and “Netflix and Chill” with him.
I laugh, imagining explaining what that means because Mr. Grayson does not do slang, or TV, or chilling. But I’m not ditching Sophie. She’s been inching out of her anxiety shell for months, and I can’t become that friend who cancels on her because she’s obsessed with the said friend’s dad.
Sighing, I step out.
The living room makes me still.
Warm light. Music. A sea of bodies, laughter spilling through the space. Waiters in black and white glide past with trays of champagne.
My brain stutters.
Is Nathan entertaining business associates? Special guests that he didn’t want Sophie and me underfoot for?
My chest pinches at the thought. Did he plan this whole evening just to get me out of the way? Are there women among his special guests, women who fit his world better than I ever could?
No, he would never act so underhanded. In all these years, he’s never brought a woman home, even a friend.
He told me it’s been a while for him and I believe him. As fantastical as it is that a charming, powerful billionaire like him doesn’t have women falling over him wherever he goes.
