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“No,” she whispers.

“And have you ever touched yourself, Kira? Found your own pleasure in the dark when no one was watching?” I croon.

Her breath saws out of her in a defeated way, and her shoulders drop. “I’ve tried,” she admits in a small voice. “But, um, I’m not sure I did it right. Because I never really felt anything.”

She looks like she wishes she could disappear. The mortification on her face is real and raw—twenty-one years old and she’s never even given herself release, never known what her own body can do.

I must admit I’m extremely surprised this Catholic girl who works, or worked, at Saint Benedict’s has tried getting herself off. The thought is so hot my cock strains painfully against my zipper.

The weight of it lands on me all at once. Not only am I more than twice her age, I’m a man who’s done things that would make her pale, who’s taken pleasure in violence and control and the exercise of power.

And now she’s kneeling on my bed, bare and flushed and completely untouched—fucking perfect.

I press the hand between her legs firmer against her heat, my thumb circling her clit. She’s trembling now, and I don’t think it’s only due to nerves. She keeps her eyes down, her hair falling forward to hide her face like a curtain.

“Look at me,” I command.

She lifts her head. Her eyes are wet, her mascara slightly smudged, her lower lip swollen from where she’s bitten it. She looks so young—too young. And simultaneously like she’s holding herself together with nothing but will and the desperate need to survive.

“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask, my tone low. “Do you want my hands or mouth on your body? My cock inside you? Do you want to find out what it feels like when someone actually wants your pleasure?”

“Y-yes,” she admits so softly I almost miss it.

I roll her clit again, keeping my eyes on her face. Her breathing changes—quick, shallow gasps that tell me she’s feeling something she’s never felt before.

It takes everything in me to let go of her and move away. I don’t go far, only to the top of the bed so I can lean against the headboard. I crook my finger and beckon her closer.

“Remove your thong and come here.” I pat the space between my spread legs. “Sit here with your back to me.”

Kira obeys me immediately, awkwardly getting rid of her thong before maneuvering closer until she’s leaning against my chest.

“Show me how you’ve touched yourself,” I demand.

“What? Why?”

“Because I want to see.”

“But I thought you were going to touch me,” she whines.

Gathering her long hair, I move it behind her so it doesn’t hide her face or body. Then I wrap my hand around her throat. I don’t squeeze, just hold it there, loving the feel of her pulse fluttering.

“You said you couldn’t make yourself come,” I rasp, speaking each word slowly. “I want to see why.”

5

Domenico

My hand rests around her throat, my thumb brushing the frantic pulse beneath her skin. She trembles against my chest, her bare back warm through my shirt.

“Show me,” I repeat, my voice low and unhurried, even as my cock strains against my pants. “Show me how you’ve touched yourself, Kira.”

Her hands stay in her lap, fingers curled into loose fists. She doesn’t move or speak. My patience thins to a single strand. I release her throat and grab both her legs, throwing them over mine.

Her ass lifts from the mattress, and I spread my thighs wider, forcing hers open with the motion. She gasps—a sharp, startled sound that goes straight to my dick. Her cunt is inches from my hand. I can smell her arousal, and it’s fucking intoxicating.

Grunting with annoyance, I take her hand and guide it down her stomach, past the slight curve of her navel, through the dark hair between her thighs. I press her palm against her pussy.

“Show me,” I growl.