Page 12 of Secret Bump

"Imagine that on your clit."

Her inhale is sharp. Needy.

Good.

Having regained control, I lift her onto my desk.

Her kilt is still rumpled, but it’s covering her panties again, and I need to see them.

I set my hands on her knees. There’s an immediate spark, hot and sizzling. Her breath hitches, but her legs slide open willingly. I look up at her face, soaking in the needy, hopeful expression for a moment before I fold the skirt up and reveal her cotton-covered mound.

“I didn’t…I’m not…” She blushes. I don’t know exactly what she’s protesting, but it doesn’t matter. She’s perfect.

I drag in a breath and choose my words carefully. “Isabelle, I want you exactly as you are. Whatever this is between us—”Obsession, desperate need, maybe even love?“—I’ve never felt this with anyone else. I’ve never, ever done this…” I trail off and laugh.

I have this girl perched on my desk in the middle of the work day, and I’m making wild promises.

There isn’t a chance in hell I’d believe me.

But Isabelle looks at me with the softest, deepest trust in her eyes. “I know,” she whispers. “I don’t know how, but I do. I’m yours, Mr. Emerson.”

Jesus, the way she calls me Mr. Emerson should be illegal, it’s so good. No drug could touch this high.

I trace my fingers over the waistband of her panties, along the slice of belly revealed there. “I want to take these off you.”

“What if someone comes in?”

I press a button on my desk, locking the door. “We won’t be disturbed.”

“Then I want you to take them off me,” she says, her breath catching again.

“Do you want me to see your pussy?”

She nods.

I peel the white cotton down and reveal the most innocent, perfect cunt I could ever imagine. Blonde curls dust her mound in a wild, innocent way, the hair sparse enough it doesn’t actually disguise the shape of her.

She’s puffy and pink beneath her delicate curls, her lips soft and full. The little wisps of hair dusting down her labia are damp from her desire, and her sweet, musky scent swirls around me, making my head spin with hungry need.

I bow my head and kiss her mound, right above her clit.

She whimpers.

My sweet girl needs a kiss so badly.

Inhaling, I kiss my way down to her slit, my lips feathering over her folds, learning the perfect shape of her sex. So lovely. So fucking sexy.

I push her legs wider, and her pussy blooms for me, revealing a tight pink hole and the source of that lovely slickness sliding over her flesh.

God damn it.

Mouth watering, I give in to my hunger and lap her up, my tongue big and wide against her flesh.

She tastes as bright as her name promises, heady and delicious. My tongue wants to stab deep into her body, but she tenses as I test her entrance, so I lick elsewhere, learning what makes her go soft, what makes her sigh.

When I latch on to her clit, she arches her back, her legs falling all the way open. A girl come alive, fully, for the first time.

“Oh, Mr. Emerson,” she moans. “Mister. Emerson!”

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