Her lips part instinctively. I slip two fingers inside, still damp with her. She gags faintly, but I press harder against her tongue, watching the fight in her eyes.
“Clean,” I murmur. “Every drop. I won’t have you dripping down the hallway where my daughter can find you.”
Her lashes flutter, but she obeys, hollowing her cheeks, sucking like the good little mess she is. I keep my gaze locked on hers, watching every swallow, every tremor, every flicker of humiliation that only makes her wetter.
When I pull free, strings of spit glisten between us. I smear them across her lips, slow, deliberate. “Pretty.”
She whispers, “Dean…” half-plea, half-prayer.
I catch her throat again, softer now, thumb brushing the bruises I’ve left. “No, baby girl. Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to forget we’ve got company upstairs.”
Her thighs press together, desperate, aching. I smirk, dark and cruel, and push my knee between them to still her.
“Lesson one,” I whisper, mouth grazing her ear. “You keep quiet when I say quiet.”
“Lesson two—you keep yourself ready for me. Always.”
“Lesson three—you never forget who you belong to.”
I press my palm flat against her belly, pinning her to the wall. “Mine. Even when she’s here. Even when you’re looking her in the eye.”
Her breath stutters. “What if I slip?”
I chuckle, low and dangerous. “Then I’ll punish you harder. Until you don’t slip again.”
I tilt her chin, kiss her—not soft, not gentle, but sealing the taste of punishment against her tongue. Her body arches into me, still quivering, still ruined, still hungry.
I break away only when the floorboards above us creak—Kate shifting in her room.
Her eyes snap wide, terror flaring.
I hush her with a finger against her lips, smirking. “That’s your last lesson for today, baby girl. Fear makes you perfect.”
I take her wrist, drag her down the hall, every step a reminder that she’s mine and she’ll learn to live with the weight of it—whether or not she breaks under it.
Fly Me Away
Kate’s room looked like a hurricane had hit it—clothes everywhere, half-filled suitcases, a tangle of heels and bikinis spilling across the floor. I sat cross-legged on her bed, folding one of her ridiculous sequinned tops while she hunted through the chaos for something she swore she’d packed yesterday.
“Why do you look more stressed than me?” she teased, tossing a sundress over her shoulder.
“Because you’re a nightmare,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’re supposed to be leaving tomorrow morning, and this looks like you’re preparing for a six-month relocation.”
Kate laughed, flopping onto the floor dramatically, arms spread wide. “Packing is a talent, and I’ve always said I don’t have many talents.”
I snorted, trying to focus on the clothes, trying not to think about her father just down the hall. The same hall he had taken me against last night. My stomach twisted at the memory—equal parts guilt and heat.
“You’re staying though, right?” She asked suddenly, sitting up, her hair falling across her face.
My throat tightened. “Yeah. Your dad still… needs an assistant.”
Her eyes narrowed, sharp in a way only a best friend could cut through you. “You sure it’s not you who needs him?”
My breath caught, but I forced a laugh, too high-pitched. “Kate, please.”
She smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just—it’s weird. Things feel weird lately. Between you and him.”
My hands stilled on the pile of folded shirts. “Weird how?”
