Page 13 of The Heiress

I don’t mean to give her an encouraging look in the darkness of our balcony. Yet I do. It’s like I can’t help myself when I’m around her. The moment those dark eyes pierce my soul? My legs spread open and I turn into a slobbering mess.

It’s only handholding. Right? So, why is my heart still thundering in my chest while some has-been actor yucks it up on that huge screen? I can’t even focus on the movie anymore. I don’t know who these actors are. Bit before my time, you know? Why should I work so hard to pay attention? The other couple isn’t paying attention. They’re getting up and exiting the balcony, snickering over some private joke between them.

My perverted brain imagines them sneaking off to make out somewhere. Meanwhile, Lorde Sheen has decided that holding my hand is way too innocent for a playgirl like her.

Her fingers slip off my hand. At first, I’m sad to see it go.

Then it lands on my thigh. My inner thigh.

No prelude. No touching my knee or the outer parts of my leg. Lorde’s going straight for the kill, using the slit in my long dress to her advantage.

The air is thick and hot. You know what else is hot, Daisy? No! No way. Not going there. Stop it, brain.

I make the mistake of looking in her direction. She’s staring at me. Not at the theater below us or the movie projected onto the screen. Me. Only me, as if I’m the only thing in the world worth gazing at.

For as warm as it is in here, I’m frozen in my seat. I’m not powerless, but I’m immobile as Lorde’s fingertips graze against my underwear and tease my aching slit. No, not the one in my dress. The one in me.

My clit wakes up, firing off a billion signals to my brain.Hey, yeah, hey girl, let that happen over here!I bite my lip and suck in my breath. Lorde touches my thigh and my slit at the same time, a brilliant cacophony of sensations that wants to destroy me. In public, no less!

She inches toward the top of my underwear, finger-tugging at the fabric. Her eyes remain on me, even though I now look straight ahead into the blinding darkness of the theater. Lorde Sheen is waiting for me to tell her no. To tell her to back off and stop touching me so intimately. I can’t. No matter what I do, I can’t say no. Because I want this.

Heat engulfs my thighs. Tingles… so many damn tingles spread through my body. My nipples are suddenly sensitive. I’m not wearing a bra with this dress. Behold, my nipples poking through pink fabric. Lorde sure as hell is beholding them. What is she thinking of? Sucking them? Biting them? How badly does she want me naked? How about turning in my seat and pulling aside my dress so she can bang me right here, with her mother somewhere around? Is that other couple ever coming back? Not that I want an excuse to put a stop to this. Not that I need someone else… some strangers… to hold me accountable while I dive into folly.

My breath is sharp in my nostrils when her finger finds the width of my lingerie. Lorde also sucks in her breath. She’s found me hot and wet, after all. I’ve all but advertised how willing I am to have her touch me. Finger me. Make me come; make me hers.

I hate that line of thinking. That I’m somehowhers. The last thing I want to be is someone’s possession. It’s what I’ve been running from for so long. It’s what I’m afraid of whenever I go back home and my father says he has “big news” for me. I am not a possession.

Yet…

I want to be hers sobadly.

Is this some biological fuckery? Something in my brain turning me into a sex demon whenever I’m around Lorde Sheen? Like I’m some lowly animal that goes into heat and demands a healthy she-beast to keep her brain filled with orgasmic dopamine and some primal twist on reproductive stupidity? To find a way to tell and show the whole world that I’m hers?

Lorde is a brazen, brash woman. I shouldn’t be surprised that a girl like her, who is always with someone new in the papers, is pushing aside my lingerie and running her finger along the wet skin of my nether lips.

A million thoughts burst into my mind. This empty balcony. Asking me up here, knowing that we would more or less be alone… did she plan this? Did she think that because I made out with her I would be easy? That I would give up sex like she does? She would not be my first. I’m adept enough at sex to know what I want and when I should have it. Should.

She leans in close and whispers into my ear. “You’re wet, Daze.”

“Thank you for the professional commentary,” I mutter. “And it’s Daisy.” Just because she’s trying to finger me doesn’t mean she gets to call me “Daze.”

“That’s good. Because I would like nothing more than to take you out of here and somewhere even more private. How about a hotel? I’m dying here. I want to know what this tastes like.” She rubs my naked slit.

I shudder. “I bet you would.” Few have ever offered to eat me out. I wouldn’t mind it.

“Then do you know what I would do?”

No. Don’t meet her gaze. That’s what she wants. “What? Do tell?”

Her teeth touch my ear, and my shudder turns into a full-body groan. “I would fuck you so hard that everything would spin in front of you for a whole week. I wouldn’t let you walk away from my bed unless your thighs were sore and your pussy begging for mercy. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since you teased me in my apartment. You wouldn’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the work. Whatever you desire, Daisy, I’ll give it to you. Tonight.”

I close my eyes. “Would you give it to me until I came?”

“Absofuckinglutely.”

“How would you give it to me? Paint me a picture, Lorde.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll take you lying down, kneeling, or riding my strap-on like a cowgirl. Once I’m inside of you, I won’t care what it’s like. I won’t stop until you’re screaming my name in pleasure. I want all of me in you. I want you to know what it feels like to have me give you something so sinful that you’ve never dared to have it before.”

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