Page 19 of Praise Me: Pilot
“Fuck.” I groan, reaching down for my zipper. “Fuck!”
The door of the bathroom opens with a creak. There, outlined in the doorway is one of the fathers, a different man than the one I spoke to earlier. He’s holding a can of Miller Lite in his hand and he crushes that can slightly now in his grip, his expression turning wolfish as he absorbs what he’s seeing. Me, fully clothed, pumping between the legs of a bikini-clad beauty fourteen years my junior. “Get out,” I growl through my teeth, humping faster. “Now.”
“Let me watch,” he begs in a low, urgent voice. “I’ll pay. Anything.”
“Out.”
Visibly disappointed, and more than a little ashamed, he starts to close the door, but stops before he’s completely out of sight. “They’re looking for you because father-daughter chicken fighting is starting in a few minutes. It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds you.”
With that, he closes the bathroom door, leaving us with the sound of our labored breaths. Looking into Haylo’s vulnerable eyes, it hits me that I was on the verge of taking her purity standing up, which would have been impossible for her to enjoy as a virgin. Which means I’m being careless with my treasure. And I refuse to do that.
Pull it together.
Wincing in pain, I step back and allow her legs to drop, kissing her temple while fixing her bikini top. “I’m sorry for rushing this, angel. You deserve better than to have your innocence taken by an animal.” My lips find hers, roaming over them with pent-up need. “What is the agenda for this party? How long until we can be alone?”
“Not long. After the chicken fight contest, there’s a food truck coming for lunch, then I think we’re allowed to leave.” She’s staring at my mouth, in a trance. “After we eat.”
“Right.” Slowly, I wrap my hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall with my grip. Holding tight. She likes it so much her eyes glaze over, nearly rolling into the back of her head. “This body stays within reaching distance of my hands at all times. I’m guarding that sweet little cherry until it’s time to pluck it.”
She cries out, squeezing her legs together. “I won’t leave your side.”
“No, you won’t.” I kiss her softly, even as my grip tightens, possession roaring in my blood stream like an unfed lion. “Not today. And not for the next sixty years.”
CHAPTER 8
Haylo
Not today. And not for the next sixty years.
As Joel walks me out of the sorority house, leading me back in the direction of the pool, my hand locked inside of his, I’m fighting an internal battle.
My Daddy issues are winning for now. The fear of letting another man take up so much space in my life, giving him so much power over my feelings. I’d be crazy to do that. I’mnotgoing to do that. I’ll fight to protect my peace and keep myself in full control of who I allow to come in and out of my life. I’m not going to cry ever again because a man doesn’t see my value. Or because he leaves me lonely, over and over. On holidays. Birthdays.
No. I don’t want that. I won’t have it.
And yet, I crave the clutch of Joel’s hand around my throat. I crave his mouth and attention and dominance. The way he looks at me is unlike anything I’ve experienced. It’s more than lust, though there is a lifetime supply of that. But there’s…prideand tenderness, too. When he holds me, touches me, I’m the Holy Grail and he’s been searching for me his entire life. I’m not temporary. I’m the end game.
For once, I go searching for my emotional baggage, riffling through the contents, wanting to remind myself why a relationship with Joel is a no-no. But we’ve reached the pool now and my sorority sisters are gaping at my hand, which is joined with Joel in an iron grip that allows no one to question his ownership. Of me.
I’m not supposed to like that, right?
Being a prize. The possession of a man.
But then I hear his words whisper in my ear.I’m sorry for rushing this, angel. You deserve better than to have your innocence taken by an animal. You deserve the fucking stars.Something about his reverential treatment of me makes his possessiveness feel good. Right. Healthy. I grow toward it, like a flower seeking the sun.
“Okay…” crows Monica, her gaze absorbing the sight of me at Joel’s side, probably looking disheveled. Who wouldn’t after a gorgeous man’s kisses brought her to the brink of an orgasm? I’ve never even been kissed with tongue. I used to think that made me a prude or a loser, but no, if Joel’s confident, thorough tongue is the only one I ever taste, I am definitely the winner. “Now that we have everyone, we’re going to begin the chicken fight battle. Daughters, drag dear old dad…or whoever isfilling infor dad…into the pool and await the matchups!”
I squint up at him, endorphins rushing in my veins to find him already looking at me, like maybe he’s wishing he’d gone through with punching my V-card in the bathroom. My sex muscles give a happy, little cinch and my body turns toward his, as if compelled. “I don’t think you can swim in jeans. Did you bring trunks?”
A line moves in his cheek. “I did. I think I dropped them when I saw you in a thong.”
“Oops. Can’t wait to see you in them.”
“Can’t wait for you to see me out of them.”
I glance over at the pool and the grassy, surrounding area. Several fathers are changing into the trunks with the aid of a towel around their waist, disrobing undercover and yanking their shorts on afterward. Wanting to help Joel do the same, I spot a stack of white towels on one of the lounge chairs and start to walk in that direction, but I’m drawn to a halt when he snags my wrist, dragging me back into the heat of his body. “You were told not to leave my side, young lady.”
A twisted thrill curls in my tummy. “I just wanted to get you a towel.”
