Page 10 of Ward Willing
Hard.
She cries out as her hands come to my hair, gripping it tightly. I insert one finger, and even that’s tight. How the fuck was my cock inside of her? How the fuck did I fit? I curl my finger and she shakes harder, her leg trembling on my shoulder.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, her hands fisting my hair for purchase.
I lick and taste her until she’s muttering expletives, until her pussy squeezes my finger, until she pulses around it. I keep going when she cries out again, my tunnel vision narrowing until all I want to do is ruin her with pleasure.
The trip, the defiance, themaddeningattitude…I want to rip it all away and expose her until she’s a mess on my tongue, until she knows who the fuck I am to her.
“That’s my good girl,” I purr. “This is where you belong. With my mouth on your cunt and your taste on my tongue.”
She comes again, this time sobbing as her body squeezes me and her toes curl. She pulls my hair so hard I think she’s going to rip it from the root, but then she sags against the wall, easing up on her hold.
I remove my hand and her leg, standing in front of her as she watches me with hooded eyes.
“That was incredible…” she says, then mumbles what sounds like nonsense. Her eyes are heavy, and a similar heaviness settles over me, despite my cock begging for release.
Without thinking, I pull her dress down and take her hand, leading her out of the room. It’s still raining when we get back to the restaurant, but everyone is gone and presumably back in their rooms. After we drunkenly stumble up the stairs, I pull Zoe into my room, and she walks straight to my bed before collapsing on top of it, shoes forgotten somewhere on the dance floor.
* * *
My head aches when I wake up, but I’ve had worse hangovers. There’s an unfamiliar drag to my movements as I sit up, my eyes adjusting to the bright suite.
A flash of dark hair catches my eye, and next to it—a purple flower.
Regret fills me, and I jump out of bed as I stare down at my best friend’s daughter. She rolls over onto her back, and when her eyes find mine, they’re neutral and assessing.
Like she’s waiting to see what I’m going to say.
Panic fills me. Pure, unadulterated anxiety runs through my veins, and I rub my face with my hand as bits of last night flash through my mind.
The rain.
The arguing.
The kiss.
And then…
I run my hand through my hair, nearly wincing at how sore my scalp is from her pulling my hair while she climaxed. Zoe sits up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows.
Glaring at her, I take another step back.
No.
No.
“Thisneverfucking happened.”
Swallowing, she nods once. “It never happened,” she repeats.
CHAPTERONE
THE PROFESSOR
Zoe
Present, One Year Later
