Now she’s just wearing panties and a little sports bra, but she’s otherwise naked, and I expect to see nerves in her expression as our eyes meet again.
Instead, I see nothing but raw need.
I curl my fingers around her thigh and slowly lift it, maintaining eye contact the whole time while I hitch her leg over my shoulder.
Her whole body catches on an unsteady breath as I ghost my mouth along her inner thigh and onto the soft cotton. There’s a tantalizing damp spot in the middle, and I press my tongue there, tasting her through her underwear.
She cries out, her hands going to my head. “Justin, wait—“
I stop. I don’t move, I just stop, and press my forehead to her lower belly.
Her little hand strokes my head. “I’ve never done this before.”
She’s twenty-two. That can’t be right.
“Nobody’s licked your tight little pussy?”
“Nobody’s ever…” She takes a deep breath. “Done anything.”
And I told her I want to be her Daddy.
Fuck… I look up, my pulse heavy. “You’re a virgin.”
When she nods, I’m filled with a violent pride, a savage thrill that I’ll be the first man to claim her. But a second thought follows that. A practical one, intruding against my will. “Does that mean you aren’t on birth control?”
Her eyes go wide. “No.”
“I don’t have any condoms.” Fuck. “I should have thought of that sooner. I wasn’t prepared for a visitor this week, so we’ll take it slow.”
Her tongue pokes out as she searches my face. “We can do other stuff?”
“There’s a lot we can do.” I take a deep inhale of her sweet scent before standing. Then I press her against the door, relishing the way she shakes in my arms.
Our next kiss is wild. As hungry as I feel, she matches it with rabid strokes of her tongue and the sweet little panting sound she makes. My erection strains at my boxer briefs, and the urge to fuck her right here isn’t dampened nearly enough by the new knowledge that she’s a virgin.
I can’t be naked with her in the shower. She will not come out of it nearly as pure as she goes in.
CHAPTER10
ABIGAIL
With a roar, Justin peels himself off me and points to the bathroom. “You take the first shower.”
“We could take it together.”
His chest heaves. “Believe me, I want to. But it’s better if we keep some clothes between us. Just for the afternoon.” He scrubs his hand over his jaw, his eyes glittering. “After I get my first taste of your sweet little pussy, we’ll go for a drive and pick up some condoms. If you want to.”
“I do.” My heart is pounding now. “I’ll be quick in the shower.”
His burning gaze follows me all the way. I don’t bother to close the bathroom door, peeling off my bra and panties in plain sight of him as I wait for the water to heat up.
I scrub the mud off my legs with an extra-aggressive amount of soap, then I go over every inch of my body with a washcloth.We’ll go for a drive and pick up some condoms.
This is a normal thing for people to do. Healthy, straightforward. Twenty-two-year-olds have sex all the time. Iwantto have sex—right now, no condom required—with the sexy-as-hell Navy SEAL leaning against the wall just outside the bathroom.
But it’s still a big thing, at least psychologically. For years, I’ve been stuck in the same emotional state I was in when my parents died. Their legacies, and my responsibility for those legacies, have dominated every moment of my life, even when I tried to go to college.
Tried, and failed.