Page 131 of His Pretty Little Duet

The faucet is pivoted to the wall, creating a stream down the white porcelain tiles, a mild spray misting the air. I wonder for a moment how she reached the head in order to twist it. Quickly noting the small step in the corner, I frown at the image of her carelessly bracing herself on top of it.

I walk straight into the shower when I hear her little sigh. My heart shatters at the vision of her so tiny. The need to wrap my body around hers, to visually give her mass, muscles that shield her, is consuming.

She stares ahead, lost in the white marble until I slide down beside her. Scooping her up, I position her between myoutstretched legs. She rests her head on my dress shirt which is slowly absorbing the spray of water from the faucet above.

When I tilt her chin, two big apologetic eyes lock on me. "I'm not sad. I just sat down, and it was nice."

Lies.

"We don't lie to one other, sweet girl." I push the wet blonde strands from her pinkening cheek. "It'll get better." Light streams of water trail down her face, a coat of mist collecting on her, settling in tiny beads. "I'm not a soft man. I won't always say or do the right things. You're a young woman and you need a mother. Or a sister. But all you have is me. Forgive me if I don't comfort you the way you need."

She sighs, batting her blonde lashes, opaque watery orbs collected between the bristles bursting on her skin with each slow flutter. "This works, Sir." She rolls her head on my shirt, nudging me gently. "You're all I need."

"Look at me," I order, bringing my hands up to cup both of her wet cheeks. She lifts her head obediently and then crawls around my lap until she straddles my thighs.

Her body is completely exposed, open. Pert breasts—sloping perfection to her delicate ribcage. Her nipples—bullets that twitch my cock.

Her nervous habit kicks in; absentmindedly, her fingers make work of her wet hair, twirling thick wet ringlets around each digit.

She peers up at me and her eyes hold my breath in my throat—brilliant green and silvery-blue. Unparalleled in their beauty but also in such vivid pain.

My forehead tightens.

I want to see those enchanting orbs shine, bordered in crinkles of glee, clear from ghosts and memories, steady with pride and determination. With happiness. Hope. Love… forherself."I know you don't see what I see, little deer."

She looks away, her lower lip vibrating as she tries to fight the pull of her emotions. "I see the girl in the recording. The one who didn't fight for herself but travelled all over the city to fight for her brother, to find his killer."

Her jaw wrestles with tremors within my cradling palms. And dammit, if I could trade my life to change hers, I would. "Sweet girl," I say, encouraging her to look at me again with the gentle tilt of her face. She does. "The girl in the footage is a survivor… Do I seem like the kind of man who loves easily?" Her breath hitches at the word—love. I don't say it often, but I say it enough. Perhaps she needs to hear it more. "I love you, little deer, and I will love you even when you won't, even when you can't. So you don't need to right now."

"And you say you're not a soft man," she says, her brows pulling with, her gaze filling with tears.

"You have the most enchanting eyes; I blame them."

"You can talk." She looks adoringly at me. "You are the single most beautiful person alive, Sir."

I sigh roughly; she is damn blind. "If only you looked in the mirror more. Now, sweet girl, give me a smile."

She offers me a sad smile for my order, so I kiss it firmly, feeling her relax into the kiss. Her backside shifts along the taut muscles in my thighs, her pelvis making a rolling motion that stiffens my cock.

Allowing her bare pussy to grind along the fabric-covered bulge of my shaft, I eat at her mouth as she fumbles in her need for pleasure.

I stifle the growl fraught within my throat as her little dance right now and the enduring discomfort from this morning has the man in me barking to sink into her. To fill my girl with cum, to fill her with?—

I shake the thought. My hands slide into her wet crown, fisting the strands tightly so I can tilt and kiss along her face, herjaw, her throat. The roll of her nervousness massages along my tongue when she swallows.

She moans with her chin to the ceiling, her pussy grounding down on my shaft to its husky tempo, her mind disappearing again in the pleasure.

I won't take her.Dammit,I want to. I will not allow myself to take her until she forgives herself. Until she sees what I see when I look at her. I won't allow her to hide behind my arousal, to love herself throughmydesire.

My lips skate along her collarbone before I bite the ridge gently and then drag my tongue down. Sliding my hand to her back, my palm spanning out, I push her spine towards me. She bows beneath the pressure, her chest rising, her nipples meeting my eager mouth. I lick at the pebbled bullet—one of my favourite parts of her impeccable body.

They are a contradiction to her classic, soft femininity. While her every curve is smooth and subtle, her nipples scream she's made to be fucked like an animal. They engorge and flush with rich blood, lengthen and expand, creating a sinful little bullet that makes my cock leak.

Her moans become throaty as I give my sweet girl the attention she needs. Sucking, mouthing, licking the malleable, pulsing little tubes.

Her hands move into my hair, and my body vibrates with the need to fuck her, so I need to do something I crave just as much as my own release. Something I have become rather addicted to, and she deserves. She deserves her pleasure. All the pleasures I can give.

Her nipple pops from my mouth as I demand, "Stand up, sweet girl." I grip her hips and aid her as she climbs to her feet. I gaze at her pretty pussy, newly dusted in short blonde hairs that harden my cock to the point of pain. "Put one of your knees onmy shoulder and grind on my face like you do my thigh when I play with your tight body on my lap."

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