Page 19 of The Unexpected

His eyes are dark and bottomless. “Tomorrow, you can confess your sins to the pastor. But tonight, you’re going to worship my cock like a good girl during Lesson Two. Do you understand?”

The words are obscene, but I nod anyway, my face burning. I can’t find my voice, so I just nod again.

He straightens, smooths the collar of his shirt, then gestures for me to stand. I do. My knees are a little weak, and I curse myself for being so obvious.

He collects the dishes—one hand, stacked—and sets them on the buffet. I’m a little stunned by the domesticity of it, the way he moves through the room like it’s his own. Like he belongs here.

He comes back, takes my hand, and leads me out of the dining room.

The house is dark except for the candlelight, the white marble floors glowing in the absence of sun. My bare feet slap quietly as we walk. The place looks different at night, as if the walls have shifted, the proportions gone strange. Every painting in the hall seems to watch us. The air is heavy with the scent of furniture polish and old secrets.

We reach the stairs, and he pauses, waiting for me to catch up. His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me up. I count the steps, each one a countdown. The house is a cathedral of quiet; every sound is amplified, from the faint slap of my bare feet on the hardwood to the slow, deliberate thud of his footsteps behind me.

My room is colder than I expect. The thermostat is on some ancient timer, and the heat never reaches the third floor quite right. The only light comes from the lamp on my nightstand, the bulb half-dead, casting a washed-out gold haze across the duvet. The shadows are soft, but in this light everything feels sharper: the goosebumps on my arms, the twist of nerves in my belly, the scent of the last perfume I wore before I realized Hunter would be here.

I stand by the bed, unsure what to do with my hands. Hunter closes the door, turns the lock with a soft click, and comes to stand in front of me. His height is ridiculous; I have to crane my neck to see his eyes. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my cheek, the backs of his knuckles feather-light against my skin.

“You look nervous,” he says.

“I’m not,” I say, though my voice betrays me. I swallow, but my throat is sandpaper.

He just smiles, a slow, devastating spread of teeth, and sets to work on the buttons of my blouse. One by one, with a surgeon’s patience. His hands are big, but his fingers are gentle, and I’m so aware of each motion it feels like I might short-circuit. He doesn’t rush; when the blouse falls open, he slips it off my shoulders, lets it slide to the floor, and kisses the bare curve where my neck meets my shoulder.

My chest rises and falls faster than I want it to. I try to keep my chin high, like this isn’t my first time, but he sees right through it. He steps back, just a bit, and looks me up and down. I’m wearing nothing but a bra and the world’s thinnest pair of cotton shorts. The bra is a white lacy thing, so tiny that it reveals more than it conceals. My nipples are already hard, pressing against the cups in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Hunter doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches me, dark and unreadable, until I’m on the verge of shivering.

Then he says, “Are you ready for Lesson Two, sweetheart? Because it’s the next phase of your cock worshipping lessons.”

I tremble at his nearness, and at his words.

“Yes, I’m ready,” I whisper. “Teach me, Daddy.”

Hunter grins, his big hand warm as he cups a big breast in his palm.

“Good, because I’m going to teach your pussy how to do some cock worship tonight. Last time was your mouth, but now it’s time for that creamy cunt to learn how to cling to Daddy’s cock.”

I’m not prepared for how much I like his dirty talk. The words hit me in the gut, and my knees nearly buckle. I let out a stupid, breathy laugh, but he’s already on his knees, sliding my shorts and panties down in a single, practiced move. The cool air hits me and I flinch, but he cups my ass and pulls me forward, burying his face between my legs before I can even remember what embarrassment is.

“Oh!” I cry out as hot jolts of pleasure surge in my cunt. “Mmmm, yes!”

He growls and eats me out with a brutality that feels nothing like the soft-focus fantasies I’ve had about this. It’s fast, messy, and so overwhelming that I’m clawing at his hair before I realize what I’m doing. His tongue flicks, circles, licks my clit, his hands gripping my thighs so hard I’m sure I’ll bruise.

“Goddamn, you’re fucking soaked,” he rasps. “This cunt needs a good fucking by a big dick, doesn’t it? Do you need Daddy’s big dick deep in your vag, sweetheart?”

I’m delirious now, cupping my tits as he sucks my clit again. He moans into me, like he’s tasting something he’s been denied for years. I try to stay quiet, but the noises that come out of me are unrecognizable—high, gasping, half-sobs that I couldn’t fake if I tried.

“Oh god, Hunter, yes! Lick my clitty! Suck it, suck it! Ooooh, that feels so good!”

I come fast. Too fast. The orgasm rips through me like a snapped cable, and I half-collapse onto his shoulder, nails digging into his scalp. He doesn’t stop until I push him away, weak and trembling.

He stands, his mouth slick, and looks down at me with pure, unfiltered hunger.

“I want to see you naked,” he says.

I laugh, shaky and bright, and unhook my bra, tossing it onto the floor. I don’t even bother to cover myself, not with the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing in the world. He strips down, tossing his shirt and pants onto the chair, then drops his boxers. His cock is absolutely massive, and pulsing with pure fuckpower. It’s thick, veined, angry-looking, and already leaking pre-cum.

I stare, open-mouthed, my mouth watering. Can I even handle that size in my tiny pussy?