An Innocent Obsession
“I hope you mean that,” she whispers.
“I never say things I don’t mean, Emery.” I press my forehead to hers. “Ever.”
After a moment, she takes a deep breath and nods. Secure in the knowledge that I have forever to convince her I’d die before letting her go, I force myself to relax. As much as possible when I’ve got a hard-on to beat the band, anyway.
Goddamn, this is heaven. Standing here in front of the most exquisite creature in the world and letting her tend to me. She sets aside my tie and—with a shy glance up at me through her eyelashes—starts to unbutton my shirt. The hem of her dress has ridden up, leaving her thighs bare and spread, as if my cock needs to get any harder. Already I’m dripping semen from the tip of my erection, my balls heavy and aching to release their contents as deep as possible inside of her.
When she’s finished unbuttoning my shirt, I let it fall to the ground and I think she’s going to faint again. As her blue-eyed gaze slides over me in unabashed wonder, her breath travels in and out in a wheeze. Color leeches from her cheeks and panic seizes me. “Emery—”
“I’m fine,” she blurts. “I’m fine, it’s just…you’re s-so…”
I grip the tops of her thighs and lean in, brushing our mouths together, memorizing her texture and taste. “Take a breath, angel. It’s just a body.” I tease her innocent tongue into a lazy kiss, hoping to calm her down. “This body is just the thing housing my heart—and that heart is fucking wild for you.”
Our eyes meet for a long beat of time. And then Emery peels her dress off over her head and sets it aside, leaving her in nothing. Not a fucking stitch. Just a wet, virgin pussy, jiggly, little tits and innocent, trusting eyes. It’s a wonder I’m not foaming at the mouth.
At least I don’t think I am.
“Angel,” I groan, stroking my growing cock through my pants. “I’ve waited a long time for you. I’ll do my best to control myself, but it might hurt a little this first time. You’ll forgive me, won’t you? I can’t stand the thought of you being angry at me.”
“I could never be mad at you, Daddy,” she whispers.
And my fucking world explodes with light.
Emery slaps her hands over her mouth, shaking her head vigorously. “I don’t know why I said that,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
She tries to slide off the bed, but I hold her by the shoulders, trying to come to grips with the rapid expansion taking place inside of me. There has always, always been something missing when it came to the opposite sex. Something I couldn’t put a finger on and gave up on trying to find a long time ago. To be exact, I stopped looking for the elusive missing piece the day I started sensing that warm, hidden presence in my world. It brought me far more comfort and contentment than I could hope to find with anyone else. Emery has just given me that same feeling, multiplied by a thousand. A million.
She’s what I’ve needed my whole life.
There is a degree of wickedness in me I’ve always known was there, but I didn’t know how to feed it. That simple word, a single whispered title, out of Emery’s mouth and my universe makes sense. I’m a red-blooded man and I’ve had no choice but to pleasure myself throughout my life. Years ago, I occasionally searched for what I needed with members of the opposite sex, but I’ve never, ever been fully satisfied. The vibration in my blood is telling me this is why. I’ve been missing this girl. I’ve been missing this bond that sings between us.
Not anymore. I’m never going to live without her again.
My hands drop from Emery’s shoulders to her knees and I push them wide open on the bed, revealing her sweet pussy, all glistening and dusted with blonde hair. Mine.
“Don’t be sorry, little girl,” I rasp, unzipping my pants with one hand. “Be nice and quiet while you and Daddy have play time.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Emery
Did I hear Clarke right?
When I accidentally called him the D word, I expected him to turn away from me with disgust or worse, laugh at me. I should have known better. I should have trusted my heart. Clarke Carroway is perfect for me in every way, just like I always dreamed.
I can barely believe this is reality. Clarke stands shirtless in front of me, his physique something straight out of the Greek mythology books Karen keeps on her shelf, wedged in between the romance novels. He is Zeus. Powerful, observant, mighty. Strong. Behind me, the city he practically owns offers the only light in the room. Twinkling lights that highlight the solid planes of his pectorals, the ridges of his stomach, the twining black hair that grows thicker, before vanishing into his waistband. A waistband that he’s reaching inside of now, his forearm flexing. And oh my God. My God.