His Summer Intern

This one, though…I’m not so eager to escape.

And that worries me more than anything.

5

Caleb

I wait until she’s in the shower to roll over, bury my face in her pillow and beat off.

My erection didn’t subside all night, pressed up tight to her bare, smooth ass, but I know fucking her again is going to take work. She might have had mercy and forgiven me, but there’s a line in the sand between us now. If I cross it again before she’s ready, a brick wall will replace the line and that will be unacceptable to me. I want nothing between us. Nothing.

Facedown, I buck into my fist, imagining it’s her tight little pussy.

Imagining she’s not only forgiven me, but shyly asked me if we can fuck again.

She blushes and spreads her thighs for my cock, her middle finger busily stroking her clit, whimpers tripping over her lips. Her red nipples jiggle up and down as I drive into her wet fuck hole, the glazing of her green eyes telling me she’s going to come fast. Good girl. So am I. I can’t last longer than a minute in her ripe little body, my spine already beginning to tighten. Slick, she’s so fucking slick, starting to orgasm around me, her breathy moans of my name driving me over the edge.

“Christ. Shit. Yes, yes, yes,” I groan into the pillow, jerking my load into the sheets. “Take it, princess. Please no more crying. Please. No more.”

I’m still panting when the shower shuts off. My dick remains half-hard because my fist doesn’t even come close to comparing to her pussy. And though it hurts, I zip it into a pair of jeans and go to make coffee. My mug pauses halfway to my mouth when she walks out in one of the dresses I bought her. A pink one with white dots all over it that buttons up the front. It’s short as hell and molds to her tits. Not going to lie, both of those things were a real selling point for me.

“You look pretty,” I say, my voice sounding gruff to my own ears.

“Thanks.” She smooths her hands down the skirt. “You, um…didn’t buy me any bras.”

“Oops.” I sip my coffee.

Humor twitches her lips.

And I love that she can smile at me, even though we both know I need to get back into her good graces. I hired Sarah so I could learn about women, but I only care about this woman now. I’ll be taking notes on her. Careful, detailed ones.

So far, I’ve learned that she’s tougher than she looks. Her feet are bruised and still she walks without a limp, as if refusing to betray weakness.

She’s merciful. Forgiving. I can still feel her fingers stroking my neck last night, granting me absolution I didn’t deserve.

She’s cunning. Trading me information about her so I wouldn’t tie her up.

I can’t wait to find out more about her today.

I will know everything soon.

It’s almost unbearable to exist in a state where things about her remain a mystery.

“What are we going to do today?” she asks, biting her lip and looking around.

One word of encouragement and I’d spend the day licking her pussy. That thought must be pretty apparent on my face, because she turns pink. “You decide,” I almost groan. “I’m going to observe you.”

“Right.” Her eyes light up. “I’m going to bake a cake.”

A laugh catches me off guard. “A cake? What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion is wanting to eat cake.” She starts opening cabinets, going up on her tiptoes to search for ingredients, her sweet ass peeking out beneath the hem of the dress. “I haven’t had anything sugary in so long.”

My heart drops into my stomach, dislodging the surge of lust. Where has this girl been?

What has she gone through?

When I find out who has hurt this girl, my vengeance is going to be swift and deadly.

Never mind that I hurt her, too.

Swallowing the fist-sized lump in my throat, I open my notebook on the table and click my pen, ready to take notes as she bakes. I’m a little surprised I have all the necessary ingredients. Eggs, milk, sugar, butter, vanilla extract. There is no frosting and I curse myself for not buying the whole damn store last night.

She moves like something out of a dream, her face alight with simple pleasure as she cracks eggs, mixes everything in a bowl. My pen scratches over the blank paper, writing down everything I observe. She’s neat, cleaning the counter after adding each ingredient. She’s left-handed. When she pulls her hair back, the ponytail lands mid-back and the sunlight picks out different colors. Reddish brown and buttermilk blonde. There’s a dimple in her cheek, but it only appears when she’s concentrating, pursing her lips. Her lips move when she’s reading the backs of packages. She makes me so hard, I have to ease my zipper down quietly to give my cock some breathing room. And that steel staff stands straight up, brushing the underside of the table as I continue to take notes. Notes that grow more obsessive by the moment.