Page 30 of The Accident

Her last words are so timid I have to lean forward to hear them. She has her arms crossed tight over her breasts now, hugging herself, a little girl in a hurricane.

I let the silence bloom between us. It’s a hard, perfect thing. Then I break it.

“No one saves themselves for marriage anymore, Kayleigh,” I drawl, letting the sentence roll out slow and deliberate. “And if you’re worried I’ll ruin you, I can promise you: it’ll be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

She makes a tiny sound—a high, wet gasp—then covers her mouth with the back of her hand.

The urge to push her down on the sofa and fuck her until she can’t remember her own name is so sharp I see stars. But this isn’t the moment for that. I’m in a patient mood, and she deserves to be taken apart piece by piece, not all at once.

“Besides, I want to check for myself,” I say in a deliberate tone like it’s no big deal. “You know the whole ‘trust but verify’ theory.”

Her eyes snap up to mine. She blinks once, twice.

“What do you mean?” she says, and her voice is so small I barely catch it.

I don’t move. I just smile, the slow smile of a man who’s already won and knows the rest of the match is just performance.

“You know what I’m talking about. No one’s that naive. Now stand up,” I say. “Face me.”

She hesitates, then uncurls from the sofa, feet padding silent on the soft, fluffy rug. She stands in front of me, knees a little bent, both hands at her sides. Her big breasts are right in my face and it takes everything out of me not to lean forward and lick a delicious pink nipple.

“Turn around,” I rasp.

She does, her hair swinging across her naked back, the line of her spine as delicate and pale as a child’s. I can see her body start to tremble, but she holds perfectly still.

“Bend over. Touch the floor.”

There’s a long, silent second where she doesn’t move, and I wonder if she’ll refuse. She doesn’t. She bends at the waist, hands reaching down, her ass sticking out, perfect and round, cheeks creamy and dusted with those faintest freckles, thighs parted so the folds of her pussy are visible even from here.

I sit for a moment, just taking it in. Goddamn, how did I get so lucky? I have a gorgeous young woman nude and bent over before me, her wet pussy and tight asshole on display. She’s aroused too, with female nectar seeping from her hole as her big breasts dangle, her clit just waiting to be kissed.

But I move slow. I get up and step behind her. The scent of her is stronger now: clean hair, citrus body wash, and the unmistakable hot, animal musk of a girl on the edge of losing her mind.

I place a hand gently on her lower back, then run my palm down to cup her succulent ass. Her flesh is warm and pliant, with the tense, buzzing energy of a woman barely containing herself. I knead her, then let my other hand slide along the outside of her thigh.

She gasps again.

I lean in close, my voice just above her ear.

“You know how many times I’ve thought about this?” I murmur, rolling the words over her like syrup. “How many times I’ve pictured you, spread and dripping, waiting for me to taste you, sweetheart?”

She remains still, but I know she hears me.

I drop to one knee, bring my face even with her ass, and spread her cheeks with both hands. Holy fuck! She’s open now, completely exposed, pussy lips glistening and her tight little asshole puckered and pink. I run a thumb along her slit, up and down, slow enough to be cruel. She flinches at the first touch, then pushes back against my hand, not even pretending to resist.

“You’re already so wet,” I say, and it’s the truth. My thumb comes away shiny. I rub it across her clit, slow and careful, and her knees go weak.

“Goddamn, you’re a dirty little girl. Did you think about this when you took those photos? Did you want me to see them? Or did you want me to touch you, Kayleigh?”

She’s breathing hard now, each exhale a little whimper.

“Please, Trevor,” she says, but she doesn’t finish the sentence.

I push a finger into her, slow and gentle, careful to find the right angle. There’s a tight, almost unbreakable resistance, and I know immediately: she wasn’t lying. Her hymen’s intact, and it’s waiting for my cock to break it.

“You’re tight as hell,” I rasp, letting a hint of awe into my voice. “So fucking perfect. You really haven’t let anyone in here, have you?”

She shakes her head, hair falling forward, eyes closed.