Page 74 of His Pretty Little Duet

God, I think I love you.

"You are going to be a very addictive little thing," he says, watching me crumble under his attention. "You remember what I told you. You belong to me. Nothing in your past matters. I will be making sure you are spoilt rotten. The way you deserve."

God, his words...

The peaceful finality to his declaration ratchets up too many emotions. The tears I was withholding blink from my lashes, and I grip his hair as he focuses on my pleasure. Dipping to mouth my pebbled nipples again, his tongue laps gently, provocatively. The feel of his wet solid muscle on my sensitive beads rushes to where his fingers work at a methodical pace. I have never felt anything like it. Comfort and calm. Safety and bliss.

All about me.

Every act. As though he can read my body, my heart, what I need and didn’t know. He understands the primal desires that I barely recognise myself, attuned to every shudder, every buck, all the rolling motions drifting me out to a place of overwhelming sensation. I close my eyes and swim in an ocean of pleasure, moaning loudly.

Then my pussy grips his reverent fingers, causing him to wrap his arm around my waist and cradle my rolling head moments before my orgasm pours through my cells. "What do you say, sweet girl?"

My head rocks back into his palm as I cry out, "Sir."

He holds my small trembling frame to the hard slab of his, enveloping me in the safety of his powerful arm. As his fingers twist and roll against the muscles inside me, I am so consumed by him, by his words, by the throes of my orgasm, that I start to sob.

I think I love you.

Something is different. He's different. Resting my head on the thick swell of his bicep, I struggle with the emotional turmoil inside my mind. I want to dive headfirst into this blissfulmoment that is him and me, but lurking under the surface is utter fear and the lingering sense of my impending rejection.

Grab opportunity by the balls.

On our sides, my small body in the long commanding cocoon of his, I can feel his heart on my spine, beating away like a powerful, sturdy drum. Slung over my waist is his thick arm, banding me to his torso, and over my calves is his long heavy leg, while his hand cradles my barely noticeable swollen stomach. The emotion hurts. What happens when my dad comes? Will he care that I've been intimate with his associate?

A man twice my age?

Slut. Slut.

Grab opportunity by the balls, slut.

I clear my throat. "Can I ask you a question, Sir?"

His breath warms the top of my hair as he murmurs, "What would you like to know?"

I twist to face him, coming within an inch of his lips, the same lips I am dying to feel again. "Do you think my father will help me with the baby?"

He blinks slowly, a mask of indifference setting firmly on his handsome features. "It matters little."

My brows pinch in. "It matters to me."

"It shouldn’t." His nose touches mine, and he draws small circles on the tip. It is so tender. So sweet. "Work on that."

A man like him couldn't possibly understand the weight of poverty, of having no skills to offer the world. "I can't look after him alone."

He leans back, eyes like blue diamonds, flashing seriously at me. "I have already confirmed that you will be looked after. I don't make idle comments."

My heart grows, but I want to take a pin to it, to deflate the hopeful naivety with which it expands. My head hasn't forgottenthe past eighteen years of lackless offerings turned betrayal. "By you?"

"Yes."

"But what about my dad?"

His eyes narrow. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm your everything. Your teacher. Your lover. The only person responsible for you. For your health. For your happiness. For your orgasms. Do I make myself clear?"

Lover... The word sings in my mind. "My lover?"

He sighs roughly while I'm seemingly missing some point, a petulant child chanting,'But why.'The tiny sea-foam-blue freckles in his irises seem to glow as he says, "It isn't as romantic as it sounds, little deer."

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