Page 254 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Her scent rolls into my nose, that hypnotic chocolate—the roses she loves so much.
It gets stronger, and I find myself not thinking about the hate, just thinking about her and the jealousy that caused it.
Parts of me harden that I’d rather not acknowledge right now. But I can’t stop my hand from wandering to my cock and wrapping around it. I pump once, twice. Stroking down my length, I keep my hand loose because I know how wrong this is. To think of the girl who grew up as my sister while I touch myself.
One hand presses against the shower glass, the guilt almost tipping me over.
I still can’t stop.
The loose grip is still enough to drive me crazy.
Her scent feels closer.
Her name sits on my tongue as I picture her arms sliding around my waist from behind, one moving up over my bleeding chest. Fingertips over my racing heart, her other hand moving lower. Her mouth at my ear, whispering, “I’m sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you?”
For a second, I feel ready to reach for the blade and wake myself from this twisted fantasy.
She’s your sister.
She’s off-limits.
This is wrong.
I tell myself all those things, and yet, my grip tightens, my hand moving faster as I work myself.
Because she’s… everything I want.
Moving from base to tip and over my wet slit, I envision her hand tightening on me, driving me crazy. Precum leaks out, and my hips rock slowly at first, then fast, needy and desperate to feel her.
Every sweet moment flashes in my mind. Our scars lining up in the kitchen, her comforting me through a nightmare, leaning into me in the music room, our mouths so close. My heart pounded then. I remember every beat, feeling like it would leave bruises on my ribcage.
My heart pounds now, aching for her through every sick and twisted thought. Sharing a shower, layering kisses down my spine, I want them in other places right in this very moment.
She’s your sister.
That thought doesn’t stop me from feeling like I could come any second. My pounding heart hikes up to a scary pace, and my fast-moving grip turns loose again.
The sensitivity doesn’t waver. Moans fall out of my mouth, and I can’t control them or the thoughts of Dollie moving to the front of me and staring up at me through wet pink hair that clings to her naked breasts.
Another breath of her scent.
It’s almost too much, but I can’t help wanting more. My grip tightens again as I imagine what the suction of Dollie’s mouth would feel like as she takes me deep into her throat. Her perfect pouty lips tight around me. Her tongue moving over every sensitive spot.
My balls bounce up and down as I near my climax.
But then her scent fades away… and I no longer picture her—the beautiful image sitting between my legs, the need to worship me in her lust-filled eyes. Someone else appears there, and his white face paint and red nose send me reeling.
I fall back into the wall behind me, my head making a cracking sound against the tiles.
My chest pounds harder than ever before.
He isn’t here.
He hasn’t touched me in years, but I can feel him on me. Dirty touches from dirty gloves that can’t be washed away, even with a shower and the heaps of body wash I layer on, that burn each wound.
Only one thing would work.
A touch from Dollie.
