Private Property (Rochester Trilogy 1)

She struggles, not knowing what to do, coming to terms with the invasion.

She looks up at me with trust. She may not know that’s what it is, but I know, and it scares the living hell out of me.

“Suck,” I tell her gently, and she closes her lips around me.

The suction is sweet. I enjoy that for a few moments, along with the faint wet sounds. Is there anything hotter than silence with only those faint wet sounds? It means I’m going down on a woman or she’s going down on me.

Then I begin to move my thumb in and out of her mouth, a little forward, a little back. And then again. It’s more than fucking her. It’s teaching her.

Showing her the rhythm my cock will use.

I push my thumb farther back, mostly because I want to see her gag. I want to see what happens when she’s pushed beyond her limit. It’s beautiful. And so wrong of me. I’m not a good man. She should not be kneeling in my office, but I’m not going to make her leave. Tears form at the corners of her eyes and dance a path down her cheeks.

“I made you come,” I murmur, my thumb still on her tongue. “I made you feel good that night. Do you want to make me feel good, too?”

She nods, and the sweet sincerity in her eyes almost unmans me. What a delicious little morsel. How she escaped Houston with this much innocence astounds me. It’s not that she hasn’t seen darkness, because I know she has. Her records are proof of that.

It’s that it hasn’t touched her, marked her, changed her.

Part of me is relieved that I might not change her, either. That she will escape this house unscathed by my secrets. But part of me wants to mark her.

I pull my thumb out and tap it against her lips. “My cock will be bigger than this. Are you ready? I want you to say, Yes, Mr. Rochester.”

Her lips move against my thumb in a kiss as she forms the words. “Yes, Mr. Rochester.”

I open my pants. My cock springs out, heavy and thick for her. She lets out this adorable little gasp. No wonder men like virgins. I can’t remember ever admiring a lack of experience. I thought it would be better if a woman knew how to take me deep, if she knew how to work her tongue, but seeing Jane’s eyes wide makes me ten feet tall.

I fist myself and stroke a couple times. I’m giving her time to get used to the idea. That’s what I tell myself, but in reality I’m giving her time to run away.

She’s far too innocent for what I want to do to her. Even if she acts tough, even if she looks seductive as hell on her knees, she’s soft inside.

My hand speeds up. Maybe I can just come on her face. Maybe that will somehow defile her less than making her suck me. Except she leans forward. A swipe of her tongue across my cock makes me suck in a breath. “Jesus.”

She does it again, and my hips buck toward her.

“Is this right?” she asks, and fuck me, her tone is pure feminine wisdom. She may not be experienced, but she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

Any impulse I have to protect her, any hope that I can get out of this unscathed evaporates. I stroke her hair and praise her as she learns what makes me groan. “You’re so beautiful. So sweet. So good. Don’t stop, sweetheart. I’m dying here. I’m dying for you.”

Then I lose the ability to speak. She looks up at me with those dark doe eyes. The climax rises out of the base of my spine. It spreads through my entire body like an electric shock. I stifle a yell as I hold on to her hair, tight, too tight, needing the connection to her as I come.

I’m panting, out of breath as she releases my cock.

Need heats her dark brown eyes, making them molten. Someone needs to come. There’s a million ways I could make her come. With my fingers. With my mouth. In a few minutes to recover, with my cock. All of those feel too intimate at the moment. Too emotional. I’m already exposed. I fist her hair and make her look at me. She pleads with a soft whimper.

I shove my shoe between her knees. “Ride it.”

There’s a moment of shock. Indecision. She wonders if I’m pushing her too far. I wonder the same damn thing. And then she lowers herself onto my shoe. I’m wearing old black oxfords, the leather worn and cracked. Her pussy rubs against it, slick and sensitive. Reaction flares in her expression. Her desire soaks into the fabric laces. She’s too hesitant, so I nudge her with my knee. It’s just enough humiliation to make her cheeks heat and her hips buck.