Page 33 of Our Little Secret
He kisses me until I feel like I’m melting. I know we must be close to campus by now, and I feel a little pang in my chest at having to leave him. His cock is still half-hard, resting on his thigh, and my pussy clenches at the sight of it. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already an addict.
He drags the tips of his fingers over my bare mound, and I shudder slightly. I keep it waxed because I like how it both feels and looks, and given his appreciation for it, I’ll keep it smooth for him.
Suddenly, he reaches into his briefcase, rummages around and pulls out a black Sharpie. He snaps the cap off with his teeth, his eyes flashing with a dark intensity that makes it hard to breathe.
And then he starts writing on my bare mound. The drag of the marker makes me moan softly, my lips parted as I watch him write on me. I gasp when I see what he’s written.
Daddy’s girl
The words are stark against my pale skin, Jake’s neat block writing a contrast to the filthy claim he’s written on me. Hecaps the marker and kisses my neck as we both stare at his handiwork.
“Say it,” he whispers, teasing his fingers all around where he’s marked me.
“I’m Daddy’s girl,” I say, and he rewards me by sliding two fingers into my dripping pussy. The fact that I’m painfully turned on by this is completely unhinged, but I don’t care. Reality doesn’t seem to matter when it comes to my feelings for my former stepfather.
“Now you’ll remember who this pussy belongs to. Who you belong to.” He presses his thumb against my clit. He doesn’t move it though, making the gesture feel deeply possessive. “Every time you look down, you’ll know what’s written here.” He fucks me slowly with his fingers. “No washing it off. Not until I say so.”
I whimper, my thighs shaking. I’m so wet that the sound of his fingers moving in and out fills the back of the car. There’s no way the driver doesn’t know what we’re doing back here. We haven’t been quiet, and the thought makes my stomach lurch slightly.
“You’re so wet, baby girl. I think you like being marked, don’t you?” He curls his fingers inside me, pressing deliberately against my g-spot, and I bite my lip to hold back my moan. I nod, and he strokes against my g-spot again. “This pretty cunt is mine. Say it.”
“My cunt belongs to Daddy,” I breathe, and he kisses me.
“Good girl.” He slips his fingers out of me, leaving me wet and swollen. “Clean off my fingers and get dressed. We’re almost at school.”
I eagerly suck his fingers into my mouth, tasting myself on his skin. I have no idea how I’m supposed to concentrate for the rest of the day now that he’s marked me and left me on the edge.
He kisses me again. “My sweet Cammie. I’ll be home as early as I can tonight.”
I cuddle into him. “I’ll be waiting for you, Daddy.”
Fifteen
Jacob
I’ve been on edge ever since Camryn got out of the back of the Town Car, tottering away on shaky legs. I cleaned her up as best I could—smoothing out her hair, wiping away her smudged mascara, kissing her swollen, dick-sucking lips, but watching her walk away from me made me want to leap out of the car, haul her back in and take her home with me.
I don’t recognize who I am with her. I want to tie her to the bed and fuck her for hours. Days. I want to mark her with hickeys, love bites, hand prints, fingertip bruises. I want to come on her ass, her tits, her face. She’s unleashed a monster, one I don’t know how to tame.
I’m unhinged.
I try to calm myself down by reminding myself who she used to be to me. That I used to be a father figure to her. But I must be seriously twisted, because that only turns me on more.
I only half-listened in meetings and conference calls today. I spent the entire day waiting for the second I can get back to my sweet little secret.
My shoes click on the tiled floor of the lobby, restless energy churning through me as I tap my key card and call the elevator for the penthouse. I tap my fingers against my thigh, check my watch, shift on my feet. Finally, the elevator arrives and I step inside. My phone starts to ring, but I silence it immediately. Whoever it is can leave a goddamn voice mail. I have more important things to do.
When I step into the penthouse, it’s bathed in the amber light of golden hour, everything glowing softly, as though it’s been put through a filter. I toe off my shoes and drop my things by the front door, tugging at the collar of my shirt as I move further into the penthouse. I’m so used to working insane hours, to coming home to an empty, silent home. I can’t remember the last time I was home on a weekday before 8 PM.
The light really is something this time of day.
I can smell tomatoes and garlic coming from the kitchen, so I head in that direction. By the time I get there, my mouth is watering, but I forget all about food when I see her.
Camryn. My Cammie.
She’s standing at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, stirring what has to be homemade pasta sauce. I spot a few stray pieces of onion and chopped basil on the nearby cutting board, and a crusty loaf of bread in a paper bag from a local bakery. Her hair’s damp, and she looks all fresh and clean, like she’s just gotten out of the shower.
I realize she’s wearing one of my T-shirts, not her own clothing, and my balls give a little throb. It skims her thighs as she moves, her damp hair darkening the collar slightly. She hums as she stirs, a nameless melody that wraps itself around my heart and squeezes.
