by Logan Fox
My eyes fall closed, blocking out the screen, but its glow still plays over my eyelids.
Josiah breathes deep, and then lets everything out in a warm rush that tickles the hair on the side of my face.
Is he looking down at me? Watching me?
I slide one arm around his waist, tucking the other between our bodies.
His only response is another big breath, another warm exhale over my cheeks.
So I hug him, pressing myself even harder against him. The arm slung around my shoulders tightens like a boa constrictor.
My head moves up a little, until I’m nestled under his chin, and then he rests his head on mine.
Tighter.
My arm shakes. My body tenses.
His hand slides down my arm, then slips around my waist. He draws me closer still, until my body’s flush against his.
Now my head is on his shoulder.
I’m still staring straight ahead.
My heart goes thump, thump, thump so hard, I’m sure he can feel it. I lay my palm on his chest, and my hand moves as he breathes.
His bare skin is so warm and smooth. I trace the outline of his muscles, barely touching him now.
He shifts in his seat, and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. A sound that brings me to the here and now in a rush.
I freeze, my heart thundering now.
What are you doing?
He offers you comfort, and you start feeling him up?
I push away. Relief floods me when an inch of space appears between us. But then he makes that sound again, shifts, and drags me back.
This time, the movement tugs at the blanket around his waist.
There’s a bulge humping up under that blanket.
Oh, my God. He’s hard.
Hard for me.
His breathing picks up, no longer smooth and deep. He grabs my wrist and peels my fingers off him, as if he doesn’t want me to touch him anymore.
I can’t stop staring into his lap.
This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I drifted off to sleep, and now I’m having one of those dreams where I wake up tingling and wet after.
Josiah brings my hand to his mouth, and kisses my knuckle. The heel of my palm. The inside of my wrist.
Gentle little kisses I’d never have expected someone as fierce as him to be capable of.
Then he puts my hand on his belly and slowly moves it down. He stops before I reach the blanket.
I don’t have the courage to move it lower. I can barely breathe as it is. Josiah grasps my chin and tilts back my head, watching me for the longest time, scanning my face.
“You should go.” His voice is thick and rough, curt even.
My heart thumps like it wants to break free. “Yes,” I manage, despite every cell in my body screaming at me to stay.
His breath washes over my mouth, and my lips tingle. I lick them on automatic, and his eyes dart to my mouth.
“I dream about you,” he murmurs, still watching my mouth.
My belly tightens. “You do?”
“It’s sick.”
I swallow hard, too scared to ask.
“The things I do to you when I dream. They’re sick.”
My eyelids flutter at those words. I squeeze my legs together, trapping the sudden fierce ache in my core.
“Tell me.”
His eyes widen a little, then he shakes his head. He moves a section of my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear.
That same fingertip trails down my jaw, over my chin, brushes my lips.
I squirm and move up against him.
I’m hot and tight, and all I want is for him to unravel me, to lay me bare.
“No,” he says. “You won’t look at me again.”
“Tell me.” Despite my pounding heart, my prickling skin, I force my hand down an inch. My pinkie brushes the blanket on his lap.
Josiah’s body tenses. A puff of hot air washes over my mouth, and I’m forced to lick my lips again.
“Careful, darling,” he warns in a low voice. “That bell can’t be unrung.”
“Josiah—”
But then his mouth is flush with my throat.
I expect him to devour me, to tear me apart. Instead, his kiss is light as a feather, a sensual tease that makes me ache for something harder, rougher, fiercer.
My hand delves under the blanket. I skim the elastic of his boxers, my fingertips thrilling over that satiny fabric.
He grips the back of my neck, and works his way toward my mouth. Electric tension courses through my body in wave after wave of delicious, intoxicating lust.
I touch the tip of his cock a second later. It fills his underwear, engorged to the point of spilling out.
My breath hitches, and at the same instant, he tears his mouth from my skin.
He snatches my wrist and presses my hand to his chest.
His heart pounds in time with mine, his chest rising and falling erratically under my palm.
“We can’t do this,” he says.
“It’s just kissing.” I dart forward, burning to taste his mouth, my body aching for him to run his hands all over me.
“I won’t be able to stop,” he rasps.
“Who said I wanted you to?”
“We’re not thinking straight.”
I let out a laugh. “And?”
Josiah leans back and examines me. The predatory light gleaming in his eyes fades.
The tension between us snaps. His face slackens, and he drops his eyes.
“Josiah—”
“I’m going to bed,” he says, sitting forward stiffly and practically pushing me out of the way.
He’s right, of course.
I’m hurting, and I barely knew little Emma. I can’t imagine what he must be—
Josiah’s hand comes out of nowhere.
He grabs me by the throat and pushes me against the couch. I’m so shocked, all I manage is a gargled sound of protest.
“Why can’t I stop thinking about you?” he growls.
His fingers tighten, cutting off my air. I choke and try to peel his fingers from my throat.
I can’t.
He’s too strong.
Too angry.
I pushed him too far.
“Quiet, darling,” he says quietly. His arm muscles bunch as he drags me to the side and then forces me onto my back on the couch. “The more you struggle, the more I want you.”
He tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.
He tried to stop me, but I wanted more.
Fear paralyzes me. My hands thump to the leather seat beside me.
Breathe, Candy. Just breathe. He won’t hurt you. He can’t.
Those thoughts are as naive as I am.
“You want to know what I dreamed?” he asks, scanning my body as if he can see right through my pajamas. “How about I show you instead?”
Something coils deep in my belly, but it’s not fear.
It’s excitement.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Josiah
Candy’s pulse flickers against my thumb. She’s terrified, and I can’t blame her. But I gave her a chance, and she chose not to take it.
Now she’ll have to pay the price.
There are eight sins, not just seven. Curiosity took me places I should never have gone. Forced me to have thoughts I never should have had.
Thoughts of Candy, naked.
Normal guys would have pictured her with spread legs, inviting them into her cunt with wild abandon.
Not me.
She never gave freely in those sick fantasies.
I can still taste her skin on my lips, but it’s not enough. I want more. I want her lust coating my lips and tongue. I want her to look away every time she sees me.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Why?
She’s beautiful. Smart. And because she’s broken, like me.
She’s perfect, but I can’t have her.
It’s forbidden. Taboo.
A black mark on my soul for all of eternity. I don’t believe in heaven or hell…but if I did, then this would send me straight to Lucifer’s lap and have me sucking his dick for the rest of eternity in penance for what I’m about to do. For what I want to take from her.
And that’s the only reason I can fathom.
But once fantasy becomes reality, there’ll be no need to keep playing shit like this in my head, will there?
Her mouth is wide as she gasps for air; a wet, inviting O. And fuck, how badly I want to stuff my cock in there and have her to suck me off.
But what she told me earlier echoes in a warning. She’s a fighter; she’ll probably bite off my dick before sucking it under duress.
I hold her down, one hand on her throat, the other palming her tits. Her nipples are hard little nubs, and that’s too tempting to leave to the imagination.
I rip open the front of her pajamas, baring her perfect breasts. The movie paints her skin in swathes of red and orange and white, muscles squirming as she struggles for breath.
Leaning over, I draw a nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, teasing my tongue over that tight bud.
Candy moves under me. It’s impossible to tell if she’s trying to escape or get more of her tit in my mouth.
Her breathless moan is like a physical hand over my cock, stroking me harder and harder, until I can’t bear having my dick trapped behind my trunks anymore.
“See what you do to me?” I whisper furiously. Keeping my hand on her throat, I sit up on my knees, drawing my cock out from behind my underwear with the other. “This is all you, darling.”
Her eyes dart down, and then they squeeze shut. Her lips quiver out a theatrical, “I’m sorry.”
I almost laugh.
She’s not sorry.
She knows what she does to me. It probably gives her some kind of sick pleasure, torturing me like this.
“Look at me.”
Those blue eyes pop open, wide, and begging for mercy.
“Look at me, darling.”
She licks her lips, and stares at my cock as I slowly start rubbing my hand down its length.
“Did you…?” Her voice fades as if she’s become hypnotized. I squeeze at her neck, bringing her back to the present.
“Did I what?”
She shakes her head, eyelids fluttering as if she can’t bring herself to ask.
“Did I imagine this? Is that what you want to know?”
Another lick of her lips.
Fuck, now I know she’s doing this shit on purpose. I groan, fighting back the urge to jam my dick through her plump lips.
She’ll fight you.
And the thought makes me even harder.
I told her I don’t date because Dad forbids it.
That was a lie.
A lot of what I told her is a lie.
I’m the son of the fucking Devil—lying is second nature.
I don’t date because I knew the moment I had my first orgasm that I couldn’t trust myself around girls. I know because the first time I came, it wasn’t from fapping over some crusty porno mag.
“You weren’t wearing these pink PJs,” I say, trying to smile and realizing I probably look like a lunatic. “But yeah, close enough.”
Her breath hitches, and her eyes flutter. I let go of my cock and instead tug down the hem of her PJ bottoms.
She’s not wearing underwear.
And that’s all I see before she starts struggling.
“There we go,” I murmur, easily keeping her legs trapped between mine. “That’s the one part of you I never could picture.”
“Josiah, wait. Stop. We shouldn’t—”
“Too late. Way too fucking late.” I groan as I wedge my free hand between her thighs. “Open.”
“No, Josiah, please. Let me go.”
Her disobedience does delicious things to my body. As much as I want to keep my hand on her throat, to remind her how easily I could snuff her out, I need both hands to open her, to bare her to me.
I expect her to bolt, scream, struggle. But when I lift her knees and slowly part her legs, all she does is cover her face with her hands.
“Jesus,” I breathe, drinking in the sight of her perfect pussy. I run my knuckle through her slit, groaning deep in my throat. “You’re fucking dripping for me.”
Her body hitches. Her thighs tense as if she wants to close her legs, but I wedge my waist between them. She shudders, and then a long, wretched sob escapes her.
I tug away her hands, slide my hand behind her neck, and draw her head up so I can look into her eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
She sniffs, blinks hard. A crystal tear flashes down her cheek. “It’ll hurt,” is all she whispers.
I tilt my head a little. “Why would it—?” I start, smiling around the question. Then my mouth goes slack. “Wait, you’ve never…?”
She shakes her head, pressing her quivering mouth into a line.
Fuck.
I gently lay her head back. My hands grasp roughly at her breasts as I trail them down her body. When I reach her thighs, my fingers dimple her skin with how I force them apart.
She lets out a cry of surprise when my tongue flicks against her soaked pussy, and then her body shudders as she releases a long breath.
I use one hand to drag up her folds, baring her clit, while the other wraps my cock in a stranglehold. Slowly, shuddering, I massage her clit with my tongue as I bring myself to the brink.
She whimpers like she’s in pain, but her hand tangles in my hair, forcing me harder against her.
Jesus, I’m so fucking close. It’s taking everything I have not to shift up and thrust my cock into her, to have her virgin walls gripping me like a fist.
“I—I—” she cuts off with a deep moan, her hips bucking.
Fuck, this is torture. I rub out her climax with my thumb, lifting to my knees and coming as close as I dare to her.
Bright blue eyes pop open when I touch my cock to her entrance.
I’m grimacing, every muscle in my body about to snap.
Jesus.
The heat from her pussy coats my dick. I smear my crown through her folds, grunting at how wet and hot she is.
Her fingernails bring blood out on my skin as she drags them down my arm, her back arching as she comes.
A second later, I come too. Cum squirts over her clit, her pussy, her hole. She shudders when I use the tip of my cock to smear it all over her, to force some of that creamy liquid between her lips. Not going in more than half an inch, not fucking daring.
Not now.
Not yet.
My muscles quiver, and I finally relax.
But I can’t stop stroking her, can’t stop relishing in the hot mess I’ve made.
I’ve ruined her, and I’d do it again a hundred times.
When I look up, she’s staring at me with rapture painted on her face.
Her body sags as she lets out a long sigh. I shift up, coming to lie beside her and then cradle her body with mine.
I drag her PJs up her legs. Then I cup my hand over her pussy and squeeze until the fabric goes damp. She squirms at that touch, and then goes still.
I close my eyes and press my lips to her neck as I wait for our heartbeats to slow to normal.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“For what?”
“Not…not going all the way yet.”
My heart hitches at the word yet, but I force myself not to linger on its promise.
I huff out a breath that ricochets off her skin and back against my mouth. “Honestly, I’m shocked I had so much self-control.”
I’m smiling now, but my lips smooth a moment later. I’d thought of her as a slut, but she’s still a goddamn virgin. I’d thought of her as a bitch, when in fact, she’s just broken, like I am.
Ruined…like me.
I brush a strand of hair from her face, relishing how she shivers at my touch. I owe her something, a piece of myself, in exchange for what she�
�s given me…for what she allowed me to take.
“She killed herself.”
Candy goes stiff in my arms. “Your mom?”
“Gassed herself in the garage.” I kiss her earlobe, the side of her neck.
My hand slips behind her PJs elastic so I can cup her ass. “Yeah.”
“Shit, Jo—”
“She was eight months pregnant with Emma.”
“Pregnant—?”
“Didn’t get it right the first time, so she tried again just after Emma was born.”
She turns, eyes wide and brimming with sympathy. I’ve never wanted to kiss her so badly in my life, but the timing’s wrong.
“Wait…so Emma never really knew her mom?”
I shake my head.
“Shit. That’s so sad.”
“Can’t miss something you’ve never had, can you?”
Candy searches my faces, but fuck knows what she’s looking for. If it’s sympathy, she’s not going to find it. Not now, not ever.
That’s what people get wrong. They think shit like this is personal. It’s not.
It’s as random as a lottery.
Some people can just afford more tickets than others.
Some can’t afford any at all.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Candy
My heart aches for Josiah. There’s such a terrible sadness in his eyes, it makes tears prick at my lids. But then the moment passes, and a sly grin lifts his lips.
He slides the hand he had on my ass between my legs, stroking me roughly. I let out a moan, bucking into him, so one of his fingers slips inside.
“You keep making that sound, I won’t be able to control myself,” he murmurs, putting his mouth by my ear.
But I don’t want him to stop. Not anymore.
I’m ready for him to tear me open.
As if he senses my answer, he starts raining tiny kisses along my jawline, working his way closer to my mouth as his finger slides in and out of me at a tortuously slow pace.
He fidgets behind me, pulls down the waistband of my bottoms to the curve of my ass.
Exposing me.
My heart’s racing.
Our breathing picks up again.
I reach behind me hesitantly, fumbling clumsily along his waistline.
