Page 120 of His Pretty Little Duet

"You slept well, little deer," he says in a husky purr that assists the gleam in igniting my pulse. "You didn't even move when I came to bed. That's very good. Did you dream?"

"Of burning Maggie's chicken pie." I chuckle, remembering when our lovely cook had to use the fire extinguisher. Then, blushing, I lay my hands on my bare thighs to hide the way my knees inadvertently squeeze together as I say, "And of you, Sir."

He reclines further into his big wingback chair, saying, "Show me what dreaming of me looks like."

My heart does a double tap, but outwardly, I only worry my bottom lip while I hike my thighs up and let my knees fall apart. His eyes are unwavering from mine, but his intent blazes within them. After a few seconds, he drops his gaze to between my legs.

I blush immediately.

He drags his thumb along his lower lip, his eyes trained on my pussy and the underside of my backside pressed to the desk. The heat from his gaze prickles the little blonde hairs I have newly grown for him.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and he raises his hot gaze to meet my apprehensive one. "I said,show me, little deer."

He watches my throat roll, noting everything. He's always made me nervous, always set butterflies to flight within me, but now this part of our relationship is both absolute intimacy and a test for me to pass.

Can I touch myself and be present?

Am I comfortable in my own skin?

Have I moved on from what I saw—what I know—happened to me?

No. It's an easy answer.

No.

He knows this, too, but I try to please him, lifting my hand and touching the lips between my legs that are already slick inmy desire for him. The wetness is a point of embarrassment as my finger slides through the thin slick result of my deep arousal.

I open my mouth, ignore the echo of grunting in my head—the blood-curdling sounds of my foster brothers' pleasure the day they all took turns with this body—and part the flesh at my core for the man who lies to keep me safe, who protects me with unwavering focus.

Even from myself.

The man whose touch can drown the voices, the discomfort while everyone else's, including my own, still scorches like a fire.

I touch the inner bud, and my backside pulses off the table when sensation zaps through me. A reaction of both phantom pain and real pleasure. I groan from my throat, hating the feel of my body as it responds without my consent, but I mask the sound. Mix it with a moan that is visceral because I'm torn in two wanting closure, to please him, to play and show him how comfortable I am in my body but also wanting no one to lay a finger on my skin but him…

Not even myself.

Not my untrustworthy hands. The same ones that gripped Jake's shoulders when he thrust into me. That convinced him I enjoyed it…Did I? Did I convince him? Did he honestly believe I consented with my hands that night?

If not with that, then with my pussy. I consented with that.

Didn’t I?

When I touch myself, the muscles inside me consent when they pulse. And I hate it.

My finger trembles on my slit as these thoughts flood me. I don't want to feel what Jake felt.“A few minutes ago, you were hugging me so tight with your pussy you didn't want me to leave."

It wasn't me.

I did want him to leave.

"So pretty," Clay says, a hoarse timbre wrapped around his voice. "You still don’t trust yourself, sweet girl. Don't be fake with me."

I stop touching myself and deflate on a little sigh. "Is it trust?" I ask softly. "I just wantyouto touch me. That's all."

"You don’t trust your bodyanymore. Your pussy. Your fingers.Yes.You still trust me, but I need you to show me what's mine. Open yourself up in front of me and show me what your pretty young pussy looks like, but you’re not ready. " He rolls the chair an inch closer to me, reaching out to grip the wood either side of my thighs. Enveloping me is the scent I love more than cookies and bread and melting chocolate and all the mouth-watering luxuries I now enjoy daily because of him—the scent of his cologne, of sweet cigars, and warm male flesh. "Do you want me to play with your body, sweet girl?"

I nod. "Yes, please, Sir."

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