Page 85 of For Her Own Good

“Hungry, perhaps?”

We haven’t eaten dinner yet and it’s getting late. I should’ve thought to get some food in her before, but I was distracted. She shakes her head again.

“No, not really. But there is something I want.”

It takes a great deal of my self-control not to say, “Anything. Tell me what it is and it’s yours.” The woman could get most anything for herself, she doesn’t need me to provide for her. Not materially, anyhow.

“And what might that be?”

“I haven’t…” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and something about that drives me wild. Perhaps the innocence bit again. But no matter what part of my brain it’s pinging, it’s still a potent gesture. Makes me want to rush her, shake her.Haven’t what? But as in most things with Starla, patience is rewarded. “I haven’t had you in my mouth yet. And I…I want to. May I?”

May she? For Christ’s sake,may she?

“Och, ye may if you’d really like, but you don’t have to, especially not right now. You’ve just—”

I can’t finish my sentence because she’s on her knees and curling her fingers into the waistband of my pants, grabbing ahold of my belt and tugging me forward until I’m at the edge of the bed, poor Wicket discarded in the tousle. Well, he probably shouldn’t see this, anyhow.

As before, she’s got no patience when removing my clothes. Pops a button off my shirt in her rush to get it off, even. That’s fine. My gran taught me how to sew—I’ll sew all the buttons Starla wants to tear off my clothes. She pushes the fabric over my shoulders and works the sleeves down my arms until they slide off at the wrists. Takes a hand and lays it on my chest, looks up at me through her lashes.

“I…I like how you look. You’re the handsomest daddy in the whole world.”

I take up her hand and kiss her knuckles, put it back where it was resting over my heart.

“And you’re the prettiest little girl a daddy could ask for.”

It’s not an exaggeration, she’s perfectly lovely. Especially when she wiggles up against me, her sweet round tits pressing up against my chest. I have to kiss her, can’t even help it, work my hands into her hair and rub my fingers over her scalp before I let locks of her hair run through my fingers like chestnut silk.

She breaks our kiss, but it’s only a second before she’s kissing down my neck and over the slope of my shoulder, running her little kitten tongue over my collarbone. She plants more kisses on my pecs, licks gently over my flat nipples then works her way to the center of my ribs and follows the narrowing trail of hair down to my waistband.

Unlike my shirt, she takes more time here, running fingers along the top of my slacks, and toying with the leather of my belt. Sliding her tongue across the plane of my skin until my hands have curled into fists so I don’t lose control in the face of her teasing. If this were the first of our fooling around, I’d likely be able to tolerate it better, but given that she rubbed off on me earlier as I finger-fucked her arse, well. I’m ready now. So very ready.

Starla stops her ministrations at my waist and scoots off the bed, tugging my belt until my back’s to the bed, and then… God, dear God, she sinks to her knees and reaches for my slacks again, this time making quick work of the buckle before sliding the belt out of its loops. I’ve got my eyes tightly shut, but when there’s a pause in her movements, I open them so I can check in on her.

She doesn’t look disturbed in any way, though, simply sitting back on her heels with my belt doubled over in her hands which are resting on her thighs.

“Would you…not now, but sometime, would you spank me with your belt?”

My voice is hoarse when I locate the wherewithal to answer her. “I think that could be arranged. Probably if you’ve been a very naughty girl. I would imagine that would smart rather a lot.”

She nods. “It does. But sometimes I like that. Or need it. Sometimes I need an excuse to cry, you know?”

“I think I understand.”

Even though I don’t have the same inclination, I think I do. Even if I didn’t, I would try to give it to her simply because she asked. I reach out to pet her head again, rub a lock of her hair between my fingers. Her lids sink closed and she lets me stroke her for a bit, looking very much at peace. My mind is still a mess from this morning, but if I can’t save everyone, at least I can bring her joy, pleasure, a few moments of serenity.

After a few minutes, she blinks open her eyes, lays the belt aside, and kneels up again to undo the button and zipper on my slacks and then she’s slipping them down until they puddle on the floor and I kick them off from around my feet. And then, Christ, there’s only a layer of cotton between her mouth and my cock and she leans forward, ghosting a breath over my erection, and I can feel the heat of her through the fabric.

Still being a tease, she runs her hand along my length, making me groan and drop my head back. My breath comes shallow as she strokes, and stops when she hooks her fingers over the band of my boxer briefs and tugs them down until my cock springs free. A relief, to be sure, but also—

“Ah…”

She runs her fingers over my flesh and it feels as though sparklers have been lit in my brain; all sizzle and light and senseless wonder. Gentle, she’s so gentle and cautious as she touches me, it’s going to drive me out of my skin.

Taking pity on me—or deciding that she would in fact like to render my brain into porridge—she circles her fingers around my cock and then lowers her head until her mouth surrounds my crown. And then I’m muttering all sorts of blasphemies as she uses her hand and her mouth to work at me, licking and sucking, bobbing her head until all my attention is focused on my cock.

I’m not proud of it, but how am I supposed to think of anything else? With the slick heat of her mouth, her dextrous tongue, and the way she works the rest of my shaft with her hand, I’m lucky I’m still on my feet.

“Star, I’m getting close. Do you want me to come in your mouth? Or—”

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