Concerto (North Security 2)

I press the heel of my hand against my cock, willing it to go down. For someone with a ridiculous amount of control over his body, I’m acting like a horny teenager who’s just seen a pair of tits for the first time.

Samantha appears at the door of my office, her cheeks an adorable shade of pink.

“Have a seat,” I tell her, wondering if I should have had this conversation in the living room or maybe the conservatory. Where do normal families talk about the birds and the bees? Then again, we’re about the furthest fucking thing from a normal family.

She crosses her ankles and folds her hands together, the picture of a good little student. Even though her little cunt must still be soft from orgasm, the folds still damp with arousal. It would be so easy to make her climax again, already warm and set and ready for me.

I lean back against the desk, trying not to think about how those hands looked clutching the pillow. “First of all, I’m sorry for walking in on you. I was worried and didn’t think… well, you have a right to privacy, and I want you to know that.”

Her flush deepens to red. “Please, sir—”

“Liam. We’ve talked about this.” At the beginning I didn’t want her to call me sir because she shouldn’t have to do that. Lately there’s a different reason. Because of the way my cock jerks every time she says the word. God, she’s almost begging. Please, sir. That’s how she would sound if I spread her wide on her bed, tasting her little pussy.

She coughs. “Can we just… is there any way we can pretend that never happened?”

Christ. The memory of her sweet little body writhing on the bed is forever burned into my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes. I can’t imagine that changing any time soon. “Look, I should have talked to you about sex a long time ago.”

“What?” The word comes out as a squeak.

“It’s part of my responsibility as your guardian.” And it’s not my responsibility to demonstrate any of this personally—not, not, not. I can’t touch her, but I can make sure she’s educated about it.

“I’m almost eighteen years old.”

“Which is why I should have done this a long time ago. It isn’t right that I let my own… discomfort get in the way of your sexual education. I hired tutors for math and science and history, but I neglected this subject entirely.”

She looks dubious. “You’re going to hire a sex tutor?”

The thought of teaching her what she needs to know makes my blood run fast and hot. I swallow around the knot in my throat. I would show her where to put her hands, her tongue; I would give her so much pleasure, until tears leaked down her cheeks. “I don’t think that will be necessary, but you still should know some elementary facts before you—”

Before she does what? Has sex? Who the hell is she going to have sex with when the only people she comes into contact with are military bastards employed by North Security?

As soon as the thought comes into my head, it’s all I can think about. What if she wants to have sex with someone who works for me? How will I keep from killing him? Where will I bury the body?

Then an even worse thought occurs to me. “You haven’t already had sex, have you?”

She looks stricken. “No, sir.”

I’m screwing this up. I don’t know what normal families do, what a healthy, supportive conversation about sex would look like, but it probably isn’t this. “I wouldn’t be angry if the answer were yes, Samantha. It’s your body. You get to make the decisions.”

Of course I don’t mention that if a man under my command took advantage of her, I would have some very inventive ways to teach him a lesson. Never mind that I’ve recently become obsessed with taking advantage of her myself. I haven’t touched her—and that can’t change. I can’t kiss her or lick her or… bite her. God, I want to bite her.

Her uncertain expression makes her look so young. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. Doing that in the middle of the day… saying your name… thinking about you when I do that.”

Hell. I have to stand and turn away from her to hide the massive, throbbing boner in my slacks. “You can do all those things. I just need to make sure you understand safe sex.”

She makes a face. “Why?”

Because there will be plenty of boys who want to fuck her on her goddamn global tour, where she’ll be both a celebrity and completely inexperienced. “Because you’re going to walk out of this house in three months, and you need to know what’s out there.”

Something passes through her eyes—maybe grief. “I see.”

“So,” I say, my voice businesslike. “Sex.”

“I know about condoms.”

She knows about condoms. “You do?”

“The oldest known use of condoms dates back fifteen thousand years ago, on a cave painting in France.”