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“And what kind of things were you planning on doing to your sister’s fiancé?” I ask, mimicking her snooty tone.
Shoving at my arm, she tries to free herself of my hold. “Sit still,” I order, and she complies without thought.
“Whose idea was it to seduce your sister’s fiancé, yours or your mom’s?”
“Stop trying to make me innocent, I’m not,” she pants, her eyes bright and flashing with intensity. “I know my sister desperately needs me to be a victim. I know she wants me to be redeemable. But I’m not. I’m a terrible person. I did awful things. I’m just like them. I’m a Rhodes.”
“I know you’re not innocent nor a good person, but that’s not the question I asked you, is it?” I wait for her answer, but she doesn’t speak. “Princess.”
“Fine. Hers, it was her idea, but I went along with it, I did it,” she says in a rush, her cheeks red and her lower lip wobbling.
Penelope Rhodes is a grade A bitch; I didn’t imagine that. But unless she’s a really fucking good actress, this girl right here in my lap, the woman I’ve spent my morning with—my Princess—she’s a fucking mess. She’s insecure and sad and guilty, so fucking guilty that it’s oozing out of her. But she’s not making excuses or trying to downplay her role, and because of that, I feel myself soften a little toward both sides of her.
“Penelope, are you one hundred percent sure you want to do this?” I ask again, needing to make sure, to hear the words once more.
“I’m sure,” she says, her voice quiet but steely, her gaze fixed on mine.
Cupping her cheek in my palm, I exhale. “Okay. Go sit in the middle of the bed.”
Her inhale is shaky, but she does as I ask, effortlessly lifting herself out of my lap and positioning herself in the middle of the mattress.
Ignoring my hard cock, I finish setting up the camera, plugging the power cable into the outlet, and positioning the tripod so there’s a clear view of the bed. When I turn around, Penelope is exactly where I told her to be, tension radiating from her in palpable waves. Part of me wants to go to her, to promise her that everything is going to be okay, but the truth is, I don’t know if she’s going to be okay once this is all over, and I don’t want to lie to her.
Although she believes she’s just as complicit as her parents in everything they’ve done in the last few years, I’m starting to agree with Izzy that Penelope has been used and manipulated just as much as Izzy has been. She might not be blameless, but she’s definitely not as guilty as she believes herself to be.
Something about her nervousness excites me. I’m not her boyfriend. We’re not a couple, and this isn’t a sweet moment. My Princess asked me to fuck her and take her virginity. This is fucking. Sex. My dick in her hot, wet, virgin cunt, and I wish I could say I’m not excited about that, but I am.
Hitting record on the remote, I wait until I’m sure it’s all working before I lift my knee and climb onto the bed, my back to the camera. Pulling my shirt over my head, I drop it to the floor. Her eyes widen at the sight of my bare torso, but I’m not shy about being naked. I work out, and I know I look good.
“We’re going to take this slow, and you’re going to do exactly what I say, aren’t you, Princess?”
Her eyes are raking over my chest as she nods.
“Perfect. Now, I want you to take your top off.”
I don’t miss the slight jerk in reaction to my order, and I tilt my head to the side and assess her, waiting for her to say no, to stop this. But instead, her hands move to the hem of her sweater. There’s a light tremor in her fingers as she curls them into the fabric and starts to lift, revealing an inch of tantalizingly smooth skin at a time.
Time seems to stop, and I hold my breath while she tugs off her sweater and the shirt beneath it until she’s naked except for a soft pink bra. A puff of air bursts from my lips as I take her in. The color of her underwear surprises me. For some reason, I’d expected her to favor black, like her soul. The soft, girly color seems to scream young and innocent, neither of which are words I’d have used to describe Penelope until this morning. Now it seems almost apt that she’s dressed like a pure little princess when I’m about to thoroughly ravage her.
Her breasts are tiny, barely needing the bra that’s hiding her from my view. Her pert, hard nipples are straining to escape the confines of the silk, and my mouth waters as I fight the desire to pull her breast free and lap at her nipple with my tongue.
My heart beats faster as I imagine pulling her entire breast into my mouth and sucking, then biting down and marking her flesh as mine, pleasuring her with pain until she’s not sure if she wants to pull away or push closer to my mouth.
I wonder if she’ll like it when I suck on her nipples until they’re hard and pink. Could I make her come just by teasing her there? Is that what she wants? Does she want me to tease and toy and pleasure her? Or does she simply want me to shove my dick into her hard enough to break her hymen and then just pull out and walk away?
Fuck that. I’m in charge, and she wants that just as much as I do. I agreed to do this as long as I was in control, and I refuse to allow her to simply use my dick as a means to an end. Sex is about more than just putting my cock into a willing hole, and I refuse to let this be over until she’s mindless, completely lost to the pleasure I can give her. She’s mine until I say this is done, and by the time I do, I intend to have ruined her for any other man but me.
It’s a selfish, fucked-up thing to want, but I need her to compare every sexual experience she has in the future with this. I want her to remember me, to remember how she screamed so loud her throat was hoarse. Remember how sore she felt the next day and not just because I was the first person to be inside her, but because she was well used and satisfied. I want this experience cemented in her brain for the rest of her life, and if there’s any way to do it, I want a copy of the video so I can remember it too.
“Beautiful,” I rasp, my eyes roving over her torso, as I reach out and brush my fingertip across her hard nipple.
Her gasp is like music to my ears, and I repeat the action on her other nipple, back and forth, until the hard peaks are clearly visible through the fabric. “Bra off,” I order, my voice harder than I planned as my control slips.
Lifting her shaking hands, she reaches behind her.
“Stop.”
Freezing, her lips part, and she lets out a trembling breath.
