BULKY

I try to close my thighs, but he holds them open, pulling my skirt higher until it’s almost exposing my panties. “H-how?”

His breath saws in and out against my ear. “Just play with it a little. You can do that for Papa, can’t you?” His middle finger presses to my entrance through the barrier of my emerald-green underwear. “And I’ll play with this sweet little treasure.”

He gently shifts me to his left thigh, so he can unzip his pants, his erection pushing out, thick and ready, though still trapped inside his black briefs. “I don’t know how, Papa.”

Quickly, he uses the wrist of his sleeve to swipe at the sweat forming on his upper lip. “Stroke it like you would pet a kitten.” Without waiting, he snags my hand and guides it to his arousal, grunting a curse when my touch finds him, testing him curiously. “Don’t you want to see what happens when you pet it long enough, baby?”

I gasp excitedly, my palm beginning to rake up and down his steel shaft. “What happens?” The pads of Gunner’s fingers find my clitoris and I whimper, squirming on his thigh as if confused by the sensation coursing through me. “What’s h-happening to me?”

His mouth is open on my neck, his fingers delving down the front of my panties, parting my wet folds and rubbing, rubbing on that sensitive spot. “When we feel good between our legs, we come, little girl. We release. It’s the best feeling you can have—and do you know what it tastes like when Papa comes from his cock?”

“What?” I ask, wide-eyed, squirming through his touch.

“It tastes like candy.”

I suck in a breath, my legs literally trembling with excitement, my core clenching tighter and tighter with every knowing stroke of his fingers. “Candy?” I slide my hand into his briefs, fisting his bare erection. Pumping my fist up and down the length. “Can I taste some?”

“Only if you’re a good girl,” he says roughly. “Only if you suck as hard as you can and swallow the candy down. All of it.”

“I will, Papa. I promise,” I say solemnly, sliding off his desk to the space between his splayed thighs. This isn’t the first time I’ve taken Gunner into my mouth, but I pretend it is. I examine his swollen inches with youthful apprehension, kissing the trunk cautiously, before closing my mouth over the bulbous head and swirling my tongue around it, experimentally.

“Oh, fuck yes, baby,” he growls, twining his fingers in my hair. “Suck the candy out.”

Flashing him a look that says I’m excited for candy, I pull a significant portion of him into my mouth, fisting the enormous base to hold him steady, stroking upward with a twisting wrist. His huge balls fall through the V of his pants and I take a moment to suck the left one into my mouth, tonguing it lovingly, like he instructed me to do the first time, my hand still riding up and down his sex, now lubricated by my saliva. I lick over to his right ball and give it the same reverent treatment, glorying in the way his thick thighs jolt, his hips shifting anxiously.

“It’s going to taste so good.” He tugs down my chin, his lower body rolling forward, teeth clenched. “Just try and fit a little more—”

A low buzz goes off in the room. “Mr. Kraft. John Lancaster is here to see you.”

I freeze in place with Gunner halfway down my throat. He goes very still, too, before dragging his erection from my mouth with a shaking hand, shoving it back into his pants. “Goddammit. What the hell is your father doing here?”

“I-I don’t know…”

I start to crawl out from behind the desk, but Gunner shakes his head. “There’s nowhere in here to hide and he’ll see you if you leave, Josie. You have to stay put. There’s no choice.”

Hide.

There’s no choice.

There is a choice, though. He could come clean to my father about us. We could explain to my father that we have feelings for each other. Instead, I’m being kept hidden like a dirty secret. And I can’t help what the clandestine nature of our trysts does to my body. Our dynamic, our secrecy, makes me undeniably hot. But it’s a little too real, too symbolic, being kept stuffed beneath a desk. A little too patronizing.

To his credit, Gunner looks conflicted, even guilty, like he wants to say something. But there’s no time. He barely manages to get his pants zipped when the office door opens.

“Gunner,” my father says, his tone jocular. “It’s been too long. How have you been?”

A creak tells me my father has taken a seat in front of the desk. Literally a foot away from the back of my head. “John,” Gunner says, his tone flat. “How is business these days?”