Her hands find her tits next, watching me through her eyelashes while she rolls her distended nipples in her palms, her chest beginning to heave.
“Oh shit,” I mutter thickly, devouring the sight. “Oh my God.”
I’m barely conscious of thrusting into her sexy mouth, faster, faster, fucking between her plump lips, the pleasure so enormous my spine twists top to bottom, making my vision go double. Oh fuck. What is happening? I meant to punish her with this blow job. Take what I needed, selfishly, the way I do everything else.
Instead, we’re in it together.
Working feverishly toward pleasure. Mine, mainly, since I’m hammering at her hot little mouth and she’s taking most of me, bobbing her head in this incredible rhythm we’ve designed without saying a word.
With her knowing eyes on me, I’m stripped bare, vulnerable. There is nothing to protect me from what this girl makes me feel—and I lash out. Goddamn me, I can’t help but ruin the perfect moment out of sheer self-preservation.
Fisting her hair roughly, I push deeper than I think she can stand. “If you’re not choking, little girl, you’re doing it wrong.”
Shelby coughs around my dick, her eyes tearing, but I get no pleasure out of it. In fact, in the moment, I hate myself more than I hate the world.
Shame is like a manacle around my neck as I pull out, stumbling away from her expression of dismay. Betrayal. I zip and button my rampant erection back into my dress pants. I can think of nothing to say. Everything sounds wrong on my tongue, no apology that would be good enough. I all but forced this innocent girl to give me pleasure and she was kind-hearted enough to forgive me, to participate and enjoy it, even though she’s innocent of men.
God.
My family was right to leave me on the side of the road and never come back.
Swiping a hand across my sweaty lip, I stride from the room before I can do something completely self-destructive like hold her, kiss her, ask her to teach me how to be good. Such a thing is impossible.
Chapter 5
Shelby
I pull the belt tighter around the fluffy, cream-colored robe and creep down the seemingly endless hallway. There really is no reason to creep, but the ceilings are so high, the art on the walls looks so expensive and it’s eerily quiet. I feel as though I’m in a library or a museum, so I try not to make a sound, my purpose made easier by the thick rugs arranged on the hallway floor.
Where am I going? I have no idea—and I might even be lost. After Alistair left the pool room, I followed a few moments later and promptly lost my way in the labyrinth Alistair calls home. Who needs this many rooms? Or bathrooms, for that matter? Every one is pristine and decorated expensively, just waiting for someone to arrive and enjoy. No one ever will, however, because the man who owns this house is so damaged on the inside, he can only drive people away.
When Alistair unzipped his pants in front of me, I could see his intentions clear as day. God help me, knowing he was trying to scare me off only made me want him more. What is the matter with me? The man practically forced his hardened sex in my mouth and I couldn’t even be angry with him. Or outraged. All I wanted was to heal his pain. Maybe I’m the damaged one.
I almost scream when a figure appears in front of me at the end of the hallway. For a split second, I think it’s Alistair and hope leaps in my chest, but a light comes on and illuminates Pauline instead. Remembering that she witnessed Alistair massaging my breasts from behind, my face burns. Pauline, however, appears just as before. Serene and indifferent.
“Miss Shelby, I’ve been asked to make sure you eat dinner. Is there something specific you would like?” She gestures to the room to my left. “I can have it brought up to the library, if you prefer.”
The housekeeper thinks I’ve intentionally ended up in front of the library, instead of ending up here by mistake in my lost wanderings—and I play along to avoid any more embarrassment. “Sure, that would be so nice. Thank you.” I wet my lips, realizing I am, in fact, starving. “Anything you have handy is perfect.”
“Oh now, give us a challenge, dear,” Pauline says, giving me a warm smile. “The man of the house eats the same seven meals on rotation. The chef is bored to tears. What is the food you’d like most in the world?”
“Brownies,” I blurt. “With whipped cream. Strawberries. A big glass of milk. Is that too much—”
Pauline cuts me off with a laugh. “It’s perfect. Please make yourself comfortable in the library and I’ll be back shortly.”