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I’m going to ruin her slowly. Thoroughly.
And she’s going to thank me for every second of it.
Keeping a firm grasp on her panties I pull the kitchen chair out and have a seat. “Scoot down here, baby,” I tell her, my voice thick with desire.
I watch her inch closer, fingers still white-knuckled on the edge of the table like it’s the only thing grounding her. She doesn’t say a word—just looks at me, eyes dark, lips parted, and takes one slow, deliberate step.
A tremble rips through me.
Because this—this quiet surrender, this crack in her armor—isn’t weakness. It’s her finally giving in to the one thing that’s burned beneath all her fire and fury.
Submission.
Not because she’s small. Not because she’s afraid.
But because she’s choosing it.
God, knowing it’s for me?
It’s holy. It’s ruin. It’s everything.
“Such a fucking good girl,” I praise as my other hand runs up and down her soft body.
I grip her panties tighter between her folds and pull up making her leg shake. “Still so damn responsive after all these years aren’t you…”
Goosebumps cover her body. “What the fuck do you think?”
I throw my head back and laugh—deep, guttural—because there she is. That fire in her eyes, that sharp little edge even in surrender. My fucking girl. “I think after all these years this pussy knows who owns it, who it fucking belongs to.”
I don’t give her a second to prepare.
In one swift motion, I drop my head between her legs, grip the thin fabric with both hands, and yank—just enough to make her jolt, to feel the snap of tension run through her like a live current. My mouth finds her clit through the fabric, tongue dragging slow and rough over where she’s already soaked, already shaking.
She gasps—loud, broken—and I groan in response, pressing harder, savoring the way she writhes, the way her fingers dig into the table like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
Because this isn’t careful. This is claiming.
Lucky for me, I’m just getting started.
That’s exactly how I spend the next hour, keeping her right there on the edge refusing to let her come despite her sobs or desperate pleading. When the timer sounds letting me know school is almost out I rip her panties smooth off, spread her wide and pull her up to meet my mouth.
I nip her clit when I notice her eyes are closed. “Eyes open, Louisiana. Now.”
Then I rise, dragging her hips with me, bending her until her knees nearly kiss her shoulders. She’s spread open and trembling, held there by nothing but my grip and the force of her own unraveling. I don’t hesitate—I dive back in with a hunger that borders on violent, tongue going as deep as I can in this sweet little pussy like I’m trying to carve my name into every inch of her.
Her eyes are blazing—lit up with raw, unfiltered pleasure—as she watches me work her over, tongue deep and deliberate. Every stroke has her shaking, gasping, her hands fisting the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered. God damn, I wish like hell she could work her clit with her own tongue, and taste what I’m devouring—she’d fucking break.
Then I taste her orgasm coming, and quicken my pace, the squelching sound of my tongue going in and out of her sloppy pussy fills the air around us, until finally, her long body tenses, every muscle tight and trembling beneath my touch. A raw, desperate sob tears from her throat—loud enough to shake the walls—and just like that, she’s completely undone, utterly ruined in the best way.
And me? I’m the smug fuck who just bulldozed through one of her sacred walls with my fucking tongue.
Chapter Eighteen
UNTIL SOMETHING SOFT GROWS BACK
LOUISIANA
We ride to the school in silence. Henry’s over there with that smug-ass look on his face, like he didn’t just rearrange my entire life. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here stewing—because I let this man fold me like a God damn deck chair and try to eat the bottom out of me.
