Page 30 of Butterfly

He pressed down on my clit, hard, and I tripped over the edge into free fall.

“That’s right. You come for Daddy,” he murmured, and I couldn’t protest, I was too busy following his orders as my sex spasmed around his fingers and more pleasure than I’d ever felt spilled out of me. At the last moment, he leaned over and captured my cry of pleasure with his mouth and swallowed my desire.

The footsteps faded away, and I practically slithered onto the floor, especially when he withdrew his fingers from my pussy, showed me how wet they were, and then sucked them into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled. “I can’t wait to get my mouth on you.”

He placed a soft, wet kiss on my forehead. “Okay, enough fun. Let’s work on this project.”

As he spoke, outlining our plan, I tried to participate, but I couldn’t focus.

“Mason, that can’t happen again,” I said.

“Sure thing, butterfly,” he agreed, easily. Too easily.

And part of me was glad, especially if it meant he could make me feel that way again. As if he could tell what I was thinking, he winked.

“I’ll make it good for you, I promise,” he said.

I believed him. And I was terrified—not only about how good I’d felt, how I’d let him do something so wrong, but that I’d gotten off on it. I’d gotten off on the choice being taken away from me; and from my stepbrother, of all people. I was messed up in the head.

Because I wanted more. More from this man with so many faces and facets. And god help me, I wanted to know all of them, almost more than I wanted his hands on me again.

12

MASON

“Calloway, you’re late!” Coach roared as I entered the rink.

He was right. I was late for practice, my fingers still smelled like Leslie’s pussy, and I didn’t feel one ounce of regret. Not for being late—even though Coach would have my head for it—and not for making my stepsister come, despite the forbidden nature of it, and despite her trying to tell me no.

The only thing I regretted was that my cock was still hard as a rock, even with the cup strangling the hell out of it. It hurt. I welcomed the pain. It would help me focus on my game.

“Where the fuck were you?” Matt, one of my roommates and teammates, asked when I skated up to him.

I shrugged, unable to contain my grin.

He shook his head. “That pussy better be worth it.”

Anger shot through me like a puck into the net. I’d known Matt since we were little kids stumbling around on skates together at hockey camp. While he recognized my obsession with Leslie, he’d never understood it—or what she truly meant to me.

Could I blame him? I’d only realized it when she left.

Even so, I had to resist knocking him into the side boards for dismissing Leslie as pussy. Yeah, I fucking wanted her, but I wanted her as more than a cum dumpster. I had plans for my stepsister—the long-term, own-her-forever, lock her down with a ring and plant-fucking-babies in her kind of plans.

Which made it hard not to teach Matt a lesson.

I wasn’t the only one thinking of lessons. Coach interrupted me before I could go after my friend.

“Alright, all you assholes. Since Calloway has no respect for things like schedules, instead of today’s scrimmage, you’re going to do a bag skate.”

Everyone stood there, muttering in disbelief. We hadn’t been punished yet this preseason. We’d been playing great so far.

Coach raised his voice. “Suicides, all of you.”

Fuck.

Glares from the whole team froze me out worse than the ice. This wasn’t great. As a new player and freshman, and especially as a second-string center, I hadn’t earned my place or respect from the team yet. That would change the first time I got on the ice for an actual game—and proved I deserved to be first—but in the meantime, getting the whole team punished for my lateness was not going to go over well.

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