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When I lift my finger to my lips, it’s like crack. One taste is never enough.
I plunge my face into her pussy, thrusting my tongue into her barely used hole. Knowing that I’m the only man in the world that’s ever put my cock in this tight little ring is driving me wild. I slide the point of my tongue down through the silky, puffy flesh of her lips, then hover, teasing her, just above her swollen clit.
Something between a moan and gurgle escapes her lips, and she pushes her ass against my tongue. Her forwardness earns her a light spank on her ass. “Stay still. You know I won’t ask you twice.”
Her thighs quiver, her muffled pleas floating through them like music to my ears. It doesn’t take long until my self-control disappears into a puff of smoke, and I wrap my lips around her clit and suck. Hard.
Now I let her knees buckle and let her ass push into my face. I let her grind her sex against me as I suck, nibble and bite her clit, stopping only to travel the small distance to her hole and fuck her with my tongue.
“Please,” she gasps.
I tear my mouth away from my latest obsession long enough to ask, “Please what?”
“Please fuck me,” she all but sobs.
Her words melt away the last fraction of resolve I have left. Fueled by nothing short of animalistic desire, I free my dick from the constraints of my zipper and slide it into her tight cunt. Remembering she’s only done this once before, I just about manage to stop myself from plowing into her. Instead, I grit my teeth and slide into her slowly, letting out a throaty moan when she gasps; and again, when her pussy conforms to my cock like a custom-made glove. “This pussy is mine,” I growl, palming her ass. “Whose pussy is this?”
There’s no hesitation this time. Her words come from deep in her chest, laced with lust and longing. “Yours,” she chokes, curling her fist against the table as I pump into her. “It’s yours, Lorcan. I belong to you.”
I belong to you.
The breathless words tumbling from her lips are too much for my cock to handle. I wind my fist in her hair, making her arch her back and expose her beautiful tits to me, and pull her back against my chest. Hot, thick ropes explode from me, filling up her tight cunt. “Good girl,” I whisper in her ear as the orgasm washes over me, “you good fucking girl.”
She’s still panting and withering against me, frictionless from our glistening skin. “Lean back on your heels,” I demand.
She does so carefully, my cock sliding out of her wetness. I dip my hand between her thighs and catch my cum as it falls out her pussy. Nibbling and sucking on her earlobe, I reach over her, holding her back against my chest. Then I spread my juices over her swollen pussy, using it like lube.
My not-so-innocent China Doll leans all of her weight against my chest, her breasts bouncing as she grinds against my palm. One hand massaging her pussy, I use the other to roll her stiffened nipples between my thumb and forefinger, pinching and pulling harder and harder to the tune of her moans.
When she comes, it’s hard and hypnotic. She buckles against my palm, filling it with fresh juices, every fiber of her body quivering against my chest.
I hold her there until her breathing slows, and her eyes open again, a small, bashful smile lingering on her lips.
I spin her round to face me, pulling her legs around my waist. “My little China Doll,” I murmur, planting the most gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. Her eyes are glazed over, still riding the high of her orgasm. Then, she buries herself into my arms, her heart beating out of her chest and against mine.
War seems a million miles away when she’s in my arms.
Poppy
I’m like a horse with blinders. I wake up every morning, and if I stare at the day ahead, I can pretend that all of the problems looming in my peripheral vision don’t exist.
Almost.
Orna hasn’t visited me in three weeks. Not since the day she read the letter and scurried out of the museum faster than a freight train. Her sister, Callie has been coming in her place, bringing me three meals a day without a word nor a smile. My heart is heavy with losing the only person that I had considered to be a “friend” in my new twisted reality. Her sudden disappearance also opened up a handful of new questions about who the hell my father really is.
My days bleed into each other, the only thing that changes is the antique I’m working on and the mood Lorcan’s in. I wake up, shower, stuff a croissant in my mouth and travel the twenty feet to my workshop. I plug in the iPod Shuffle Lorcan gave me, listen to the same twenty tracks on repeat as I paint, stain, sand, or polish. Then I stop for lunch, before working until my back aches and I’m dizzy from fumes.
Then there’s the long stretch of darkness between dinner and Lorcan’s visit. The silence. It’s the time when the blinkers come off, and the problems and the unanswered questions eat away at my brain and crush down on my chest.
I want to know who my father is. Who hereallyis. Because with every reaction I get from people at this estate—first Lorcan, then Cillian, now Orna—it’s getting harder and harder to believe that he was nothing but an overgrown corner boy.
Lorcan comes after midnight, every night. And every night, the question burns on the tip of my tongue. It melts away the second his hands find my body.
We’ve moved into a new reality. One that exists only in my bed and only under the cloak of darkness. When the key scrapes in the lock, the anticipation brews in the pit of my stomach; I never know what Lorcan is going to slide under my covers that night.
Some nights, he’s in a playful mood. He’ll run his hands, lips, and tongue over every inch of my goose-bumped flesh—every inch except for the spot between my thighs. He’ll nibble at my neck, suck on my swollen tits, and only when I’m delirious with desire, only when I’m clawing at the pillows and begging him to fuck me, does he give me what I crave.
Other nights, he doesn’t say anything at all. The scent of liquor lingers on his ragged breath, the dirt clinging to his suit. Those nights, he fucks me rough. Parting my thighs with a forceful knee and taking what’s his, without a single word leaving his lips. I’ve come to accept that I love those nights as much as I love the ones where he brings me to my own orgasm. There’s something disgustingly satisfying about being used as a fuck toy. As his escape to whatever horrors are happening in his day.
