PENELOPE STOOD WHEN her guardian came in. She’d barely been sitting anyway, perched on the edge of the couch like a bird ready to take flight. She was wearing only a silk robe, and suddenly, she had a moment of panic.
Why had she thought this was a good idea? Bishop was likely to freak out, possibly even throw her out of the house. She wasn’t a child anymore. If she made his life difficult, there was no obligation for him to keep her around.
But she had no intention of making his life difficult. Rather, her hope was to make his life far more enjoyable, and hers too. The man was nearly thirty, and from what she could tell, had no social life at all. What single guy that age wouldn’t welcome a horny, eighteen-year-old girl living under his roof who was ready to strip naked and please him whenever he wanted it?
She didn’t have any experience with a real sex life, but she was pretty sure she was right about that.
Besides, she wasn’t looking for commitment or a relationship. She just wanted her hot guardian to usher her into the world of adulthood with some down and dirty fucking, a lot of experimentation, and as many orgasms as he could provide.
He studied the female sexual response for a living. What more could a carnally curious girl ask for? Pen wanted him to teach her about her own body and the body of a man, and how to bring the ultimate pleasure to both.
Now she just had to convince him, and not get kicked out of the house in the process.
She recalled the look on his face when she’d bent over in front of him right where she was standing now. There was definitely something there. She hadn’t imagined it, had she? He’d looked half ready to pull her down on the couch and crawl on top of her.
That look she’d seen in his eyes had been pure, animal lust, and after she’d seen it, she’d been a little concerned that her skirt was so short she might leave a wet spot on the couch next to him. She’d been so wet around him lately, she was surprised she wasn’t dehydrated.
And then the way he’d run out of the room today, when she’d tried to seduce him from afar while blowing out her candles. Yes. There was something there. She just hoped she could get him to let his guard down.
She fiddled with the sash of her robe and watched as he went straight to the desk without looking at her, and began rummaging in a drawer. She used his distraction as an opportunity to go lock the library door before padding back to the center of the room, waiting for him to notice her.
Finally, he pulled something from a drawer and came out from behind the desk toward her, his eyes examining what she saw was an envelope in his hands.
“Your birthday gift from your father, Penelope.” He looked up as he drew closer, and stopped short, directly in front of her, his eyes scanning her from neck to toe, then back to her face.
“You’re not dressed,” he practically croaked.
She waved a hand in dismissal. “I just got out of the shower.” Then, purposely, she smoothed her hands down the curves of her hips, sliding her palms against the satin fabric of the robe. “It’s not like I’m naked.”
Bishop cleared his throat and looked at his hands. “You’re a young woman now,” he murmured. “You can’t just go around half-dressed.”
Before she could respond, he thrust the envelope toward her. “Your birthday money from your father.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, taking the business-sized envelope and fingering the flap. Just a check. No card. Just like every other birthday.
She sensed Bishop was going to retreat, so she blurted out something in an effort to keep him in front of her. “I spent his money last year on those drugs.”
Silence stretched as he didn’t respond.
She peeked up at him, and his eyes looked pained. “I won’t this year,” she hurried to add. “Because of you.”
He gave her a resigned look before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key fob bearing the logo of a luxury brand. He picked up her hand and pressed the key into it. “From me,” he said. “Happy birthday.”
She gaped down at the item in her hand. That one present from Bishop was worth more than every birthday present her father had ever given her, combined. Her voice went high-pitched. “You bought me a car?”
He shrugged. “You need to get out more. A girl your age shouldn’t sit at home with a boring college professor and read every night.”
“Woman.”
He blinked at her, confused.
“You called me a girl, but I’m not anymore. I’m an adult now. A woman.”
“Yes.” He half smiled. “Of course. Happy birthday, Miss Penelope.”
“Thank you, Professor Cole,” she said flirtatiously, mocking his formality.
His chest rose and fell, his pectoral muscles at level with her eyes. “I assumed you’d want to run out and see the car.”
She shook her head, imagining brushing her naked breasts across his powerful chest as she straddled him, naked, feeling small on top of his large frame.
“Not yet,” she breathed. A chill passed through her, and she shivered, knowing her nipples were as hard as diamonds.
Bishop lowered his eyes to her chest and seemed to stop breathing for a moment.
“You should go put some clothes on.”
She shook her head again, realizing they were talking only in murmurs now. Whispering to each other like lovers. “I’m excited about the car, Bishop, but right now there’s something more pressing I want to talk to you about.”
The hammering of her heart drowned out the ticking of the grandfather clock. She stared at his chest, watching the expansion and contraction of his ribcage grow quicker as his breaths became shallower.
She tilted her chin up, meeting his shadowed eyes. He leaned in closer to her.
His irises looked purely black now, as he stared down at her with an intensity that was as familiar as it was jarring. Was it lust? Fear? It was a look that should frighten any young woman, she thought. But it didn’t frighten her. It turned her on.
What did that say about her? She’d seen that same look in his eyes earlier when he’d retreated from her birthday celebration. She had to make him stay now.
“I must seem greedy, but there’s something else I want from you for my birthday.” She licked her lips, wondering if her nerves could survive the conversation.
He shook his head, his forehead nearly touching hers, his lips parted. “I can’t give you anything else.” His voice trembled, barely audible. “I can’t.”
But, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he reached out and stroked up the silky fabric on her arm with the back of one finger.
With the odd sensation that she was outside her body and watching it happen, Penelope didn’t break eye contact with him as she untied the sash of her robe with shaking fingers. She slid her hands up the neck of the garment, pulling it apart and letting it slip off her shoulders to puddle on the floor.
“Penelope.” His desperate tone made the word a plea for mercy, but she would give him none.
Her nipples puckered so hard from cold air and adrenaline that they pinched. She realized her fingers were cold too. Freezing. Those things, coupled with the unreal feeling she had in her head, brought a thought that seemed as if it came from miles away. Was she going into shock? Would she simply lose consciousness if his lips touched hers?
She took his hands in hers.
“You’re so cold, honey,” he said, but his unblinking, inky eyes reflected only hunger, not concern.
She placed his large hands on her naked breasts, and he didn’t stop her. Her guardian’s warm skin against her tight nipples sent a jolt of pure pleasure through her, and she gasped reflexively. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood up, and she wondered again about shock. It occurred to her that this man had now touched her intimately before he’d even kissed her, and something about that felt so dirty. Excitement slickened her upper thighs.
Bishop didn’t move to caress her, but he dropped his eyes to where his hands were touching her and exhaled a breath that sounded as if he’s been holding it for months.
Standing on her tiptoes, she closed the distance between their mouths. She nuzzled her lips to his, pressing his hands hard against her bare chest.
She didn’t want her father’s money. She didn’t want a car. All she wanted was Bishop to see her as a woman, to use her as a sexual being.
She’d never made a man come, and she wanted Bishop to be the first. She’d fantasized about the weight of him on top of her, watching his face as he experienced the ultimate pleasure with her body, knowing she’d given him that.
Impatient now, she molded her naked body to him, exploring his mouth more urgently. “Please,” she whispered against his lips, and, finally, he responded. He groaned, the sound of rusty hinges on an old, forgotten trunk that’s finally been opened after years of neglect.
Much the same way, Bishop opened to her, kissing her back, slowly at first, and then plunging his tongue into her mouth as if claiming her, pinching her sensitive nipples.
“God,” he choked out, just as fireworks sparked behind her eyes and her knees went weak. He moved his hands to grip her upper arms, thankfully holding her up, but he pulled back, practically shaking her in his urgency. “No. This is wrong,” he said, his voice gruff.
“I locked the door, Bishop.”
But his dark eyes were now glassy with panic, and her heart sank. She didn’t think she could pull him back from this.
“We can’t. God, we can’t do this.” His fingers dug into her arms so hard she was sure he would bruise her.
“Please,” she begged, and reached for his him. She flattened her palm against his hard stomach and plunged her hand down behind his waistband, finding his erection without any trouble. From the size of him, there was no avoiding it. She wrapped her hand around his rigid flesh and squeezed.
A sound of wanting came out of her mouth that she’d never made before. It was guttural, an feral noise. She closed her eyes, memorizing how he felt in her hand, a steel bar in velvet. A gift for her to enjoy.
Bishop’s cock was suddenly her whole world. She wanted it everywhere, every day. She wanted him to do things to her with it. Rough, dirty things.
“Penelope, Jesus. Don’t.” He pushed her back, but not far enough that she had to let go of him, she noticed.
“You want this,” she purred. “I want this. Don’t make me stop.”
He looked nearly crazed, and she bit her lip and smiled. She was going to have him, on the day of her eighteenth birthday, just like she’d planned.
He wrenched her hand from his pants with a grimace and picked her up like a doll, like she weighed nothing. He brought her to the sofa, and without care, dropped her onto it. Then, much to her disappointment, instead of climbing on top of her, pushing her back into the cushions and taking her, he went to the brass bar cart by the window and leaned on it, causing the neat rows of crystal glassware to knock together with a sharp, melodic tinkling.
His back expanded as he took four deep breaths before he straightened and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, pouring two drinks. He knocked one back immediately and refilled it, the second much deeper than the first. He seized both glasses and paused, staring out the window.
His back was straight, his posture perfect. She didn’t know what he was seeing in his mind’s eye, but she knew he wasn’t seeing anything out that window. She knew this just like she knew the moment was over. She sat up and retrieved her robe, wrapping it back around her naked body and retying the sash. Tears pricked at her eyes.
Finally, he came to the couch. He handed her the small glass of spirits and slowly lowered himself down next to her.
“I know you’re not old enough to drink that,” he said. “And you know I don’t condone any kind of drinking or drugs on your part, but in this rare case, I think we both need it.”
She knocked back the drink in one gulp, coughing and gasping at the burn, but she didn’t care. “I’ve been on my own most of my life,” she bit out. “Don’t tell me there’s anything I’m not old enough to do.”
He gulped half of his generous pour and set the glass on the coffee table in front of them. Shifting on the sofa to face her, he took her hand.
“Penelope,” he said quietly, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Knowing his visual impairment, she purposely took her hand from his and wiped her cheek before allowing him to take her hand again.
He looked down at her hand in his, now wet with tears, and his lips pulled thin.
“You’re my ward,” he said simply, his voice firm. “It’s immoral. I’m standing in the place of your father.”
“No,” she shot back. “I was your ward, when I was a minor.” She shifted, uncomfortable from where her satin robe stuck to the wetness on the backs of her thighs caused by her earlier excitement. “Yesterday,” she added tartly, knowing it didn’t help her case to point out that just the day before she was a child in the eyes of the law, but she was angry, and she’d always been reckless when she was angry.
He squeezed his eyes shut, then picked up his glass for another swallow of whiskey.
She wiped more tears with her other hand.
“Don’t cry, Penelope.
“I like you. I don’t need anything serious. I just really want you to do things to me. Sexual things. I don’t know what to do with these feelings,” she said, her voice accusatory. “I haven’t felt like this before. It feels like I’m so horny I might go crazy.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him, then bit her lip and looked away. This wasn’t how she’d planned for this to go at all. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “That probably sounds ridiculous to you.”
“No.” He shook his head again and cleared his throat. “But these aren’t true feelings, Pen. You’re eighteen. You’re dealing with powerful hormones right now, and…” He trailed off.
“And what?” Her voice was tremulous. How could he write this off like it was just a teenage crush, when it was obviously much more than that? Surely he felt it too.
She blinked, unsure where that thought had come from. Was it more than that? Did she want more than sex from him?
He continued his clinical explanation of the chaos taking place in her heart.
“It’s deeper than just lust, Pen. Your father never gave you the love and acceptance you needed, not even during the most vulnerable times of your life. Now I’m here in place of your father. You’re transferring your need for that love and attention to me.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She scowled. “I didn’t want to have sex with my father.”
Bishop squeezed his eyes shut at her frank words before trying again. “Talk to your therapist about this.”
She made a sound of disbelief.
“Penelope, this is important. I need you to talk to your therapist about this.”
“Okay,” she said evenly, “but if I’m going to explore my damage, then you are too.”
He narrowed his eyes, clearly wary of where she was going with this.
“You tell me what your problem is.” She set her jaw, challenging him with her eyes.
“My problem?”
“Why won’t you touch me? I know you want to.” She ignored the scornful look on his face and plowed on. “I know you think I’m too young to know anything, but I saw the look on your face when I blew out my candles today.” She leaned toward him. “You were one notch away from losing it and fucking me on the dining room table.”
His face reddened, and his jaw flexed. “Don’t talk like that, Pen.”
She tilted her head and studied him. She was on the right path.
“What’d you run out of there for?” she asked, her tone coaxing him to confess. “Did you go to your room and jack off? Did you touch yourself? Did you think of me and make yourself come?”
He grabbed his glass and swallowed the rest of the amber liquid, spilling some down his chin and wiping at it viciously with the back of his hand. His fingers were trembling, which alarmed her.
“Bishop,” she said, worried now. “What is going on?”
He stood up suddenly. “I’m not fit to be around you,” he said. He looked around, as if checking for things to clean up or something to seize upon to save him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I can’t be here with you.” He filled his glass with whiskey for a third time and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.