Page 9 of Guardian's Touch

“I don't understand why you're still so angry. I'm sorry for what I did, and I'm grateful you came in. What's so wrong about that?”

Everything. “There’s a lot you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me. Why does everything have to be such a secret? I've been here for two years, and I hardly know you. I didn't even know you owned a club! It's like we're strangers, and I don't want to be. Do you wish I had never come here?”

Her question rocks me back on my heels. “No. Not once, not ever.”

“Then why do you always treat me like an inconvenience? Why are you never here? You never tell me anything. Even when you’re here, you hardly look at me. You're not even looking at me now.”

The fact that she calls me out so easily makes my body go hot while I force myself to lift my gaze from the bed. “I have my reasons for everything I do.”

“So what's your reason? Do you hate me?”

“No.” Though at the moment, I do a little. I hate her for putting me through this. I hate the way she threatens my self-control. The fact that she's invaded my every thought, every dream. That she's the first thing I think of in the morning and the last before falling asleep, after jerking off to the thought of her and the hundreds of filthy fantasies I've concocted over many long, sleepless nights.

“Then I don't understand why. What did I do wrong? How can I make it up to you?” Her teeth sink into her lip, and I have to avert my eyes again because dear God, I don't know how much longer I can stay away.

“You should go to your room, Camilla. Right now.”

“See? You're doing it again. You're pushing me away. Why?”

Maybe it's because there are limits to a man's control.

Maybe it's to shut her the hell up and end these ceaseless questions.

Maybe it was always going to be this way.

Whatever the reason, I drop to my knees in front of her like the weak bastard I am, take her face in my hands, and cover her mouth with mine.

She gives a single, violent jolt like she's been shocked—then melts against me, whimpering when I skim the seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue. She parts them readily, and I plunge inside while sinking my hands into her hair.

A switch has been flipped, and I don't think I could ever go back to the way it was before. All the desire I've struggled to suppress rises to the surface, heating my blood, demanding more. I've waited so long.

And she is so willing, her crescent nails biting into my shoulders before she winds her arms around my neck and draws me closer.

Her perky tits press against my chest, drawing a growl from deep in my throat. I need to touch, to feel, to taste. I deserve it after fighting against my nature for so long. Denying myself what was right here in front of me, something I now know was just as eager to be claimed.

With my tongue massaging hers, I take one of her tits in my hand and squeeze, testing its firmness. Her guttural moan leaves my erect cock dripping in my pants while she parts her legs, inviting me closer. I can practically feel the heat radiating from her pussy—it draws me in, promising release. I could finally let go and lose myself in her.

I'm still touching her when she pulls back, her eyes wide and hazy with lust. “I need you,” she rasps, her fingers running through my hair, nails dancing along the back of my neck. “I've only ever wanted you. Please, take me. I'm yours.”

She's so fucking young. If I still had a heart, it would break thanks to her innocence. “Don't you know you don't say things like that to a man unless you are ready to deliver?”

“I want to deliver.” One of her legs hooks around my hip, making me groan in frustration. She's killing me.

“I've only ever wanted you,” she insists, arching her back to thrust her tit against my palm. It isn't enough to touch her through her dress. With one hand, I lower the zipper in back, and she peels the front of the dress away to reveal the two most perfect breasts I've ever set eyes on. Full and round and tipped by rosy nipples begging to be sucked.

The sight of them is enough to knock the air from my lungs at first. “Touch me,” she begs, almost on the verge of tears.

I do better than that. I lower her onto her back so I can kiss and lick and suck while working the dress farther down, over her waist and her hips. Soon she's in nothing but a see-through lace thong and a pair of heels, splayed out on my bed the way I've envisioned countless times. Staring up at me with those wide, innocent eyes, her chest heaving, her greedy fingers clutching at me, trying to pull me closer.

“Spread those thighs,” I groan, because what's the use in fighting? This was always going to happen. Eventually, I would break.

I could’ve lost her tonight. Camilla, the center of my life, the one good and pure thing Fate ever saw fit to grant me. I can’t afford to waste this chance.

“Has anyone ever looked at this pussy? Has anyone ever touched you?” All she does is shake her head. I knew the answer, but the confirmation is gratifying. No man has ever been where I'm about to go, pulling the soaked fabric away from her shaved mound to reveal her glistening, pink perfection.

I hold the thong up to my nose and breathe in deep, allowing her sweet, musky essence to overtake my senses. Soon that isn't enough, not with desire oozing from her entrance and soaking into the sheet under her. I almost can't remember why I ever fought this. She’s so eager, as hungry for my touch as I am to finally feel her under my tongue.

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