This is no little girl lying on my bed. Somewhere between arriving here, me sticking two fingers inside her, and her sucking the taste of herself from my mouth, I’ve begun to realize that she’s probably more experienced at this than I am. I’m not a virgin, but I’ve been busy, okay? I won’t tell you how many notches I have in my belt because you’d either laugh or cry. But that’s not going to stop me. I don’t think a freight train with faulty brakes could stop me right now.

Holly stares at me with those glittering black eyes of her. A section of purple/blue/green hair is laying over her collar bone. It shifts as she moves her shoulders, bringing them forward, moving them back.

Her vest falls over the swell of her breasts, unveiling them to the gloom of the bedroom, and she lies back on my bed. I’m tempted to turn on the light. But experience has taught me — aha, experience — that women don’t like it with the lights on. There’s enough of it though — I can see the sensual spheres of her areolas — surprisingly dark, but I guess she was a brunette before she dyed her hair — and the pale swell of her breasts behind them.

“Now you,” she says.

Holy hell, her voice has turned into this rough, sexy-as-shit thing I’d listen to all night if I could.

A thought which, unfortunately, leads to another.

What time is it? Wasn’t her father sending a car for her?

I try and push it down, but it just rears straight back up again — almost like my erection every time I tried to subdue it tonight.

“I’m waiting…” Holly croons at me. Her hand slides over her breast, and she tweaks her nipple, watching me from under her lashes.

“What… what time is it?”

For a moment, her face doesn’t change. My heart rate accelerates — not because of sexy fun time, but in acute panic.

“What time—?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Holly yells, shoving herself up on her elbows. Her eyes are wide, her lips open. “Are you gor real?”

She sounds so disgusted I take a step back, my hand falling away from my pants.

“Holly, it’s just—”

“Un-fucking-believable.” She sits up, yanking her vest over those gorgeous, petite breasts with enough force to make them bounce. “I should’ve known. What was I expecting? A fucking dweeb like you would never—”

Her voice slides into a low-pitched whine.

…Did she just call me a dweeb?

“What are you, like, three?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can snap my jaw closed.

Holly freezes in the process of sliding her arm into her jersey. “Three?” She turns to look at me, eyes wide and interrogatory. “Three?” Her voice isn’t husky anymore — it’s shrill.

I lick my lips. “Look, it’s just, your dad—it’s late—if he—”

She’s staring at me so hard, I give up. Then her face sets like Jell-O. Her hand disappears into her jersey, emerging a second later holding her phone.

Holly only looks away once — and that’s to unlock her phone and open a menu. Then her eyes flash back to mine.

Her mouth pulls into a thin line. Her eyes narrow.

I take another step back. “Holly, no. Please. Don’t…”

Those eyes narrow even more.

“Don’t send it.”

She lifts the phone to her ear.

Oh good God, no. I begin shaking my head as I take a step forward and lift my hand — placating as all hell.

“Holly—” a fierce whisper now “—don’t. I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I didn’t mean—please don’t—”

Her voice — stiff, strained — cuts me off. “Daddy?”

My heart drops ten feet down and shatters. Holly shifts, getting onto her knees, her face twisting into a scowl.

“Hey. Are you still at work?”

My hand falls to my side, my stomach twisting.

My career is over.

I’ll never get back from this. If Mr. Hill fires me, it’ll be a black mark on my resume for the rest of my natural life. I’ll never be able to retire at forty like I planned. Never have time to work on that novel, the one about the financial analyst who develops superpowers and predicts the financial futures for every major corporation in the world — and causes World War Three in the process. I’ll never make enough from my book deal to buy that island I’ve been dreaming of.

I draw a deep breath and slowly resign myself to a miserable life.

“No, I understand. It’s okay, Daddy. Really, it’s fine,” she says.

I blink. What?

“Yeah, listen…” Holly’s scowl fades. Her free hand disappears under her vest. She tugs it up, sliding out her arm again. “That guy from your work had to go home. Said something an important project.”

I did what? Said what?

Holly’s features transform into something foxy and about five years too mature for her face.

“So I’m going over to Lisa’s, okay? Her folks are out of town so she’s got the place to herself and she’s literally dying of boredom.”

Holly transfers the phone to her other hand. Her vest comes off. She tosses it at me, and I barely manage to catch it in time. I lift it, catching her ginger-snap scent.

“Then I’ll see you for Christmas lunch?”

Her hand slides over her breast. She squeezes it, so hard that a tremor courses through my muscles.

“Okay. Yeah. Noon’s fine. Okay. Love you too, Daddy. Night..and Merry Christmas.”

The phone drops to the bed.

I clear my throat. “Holly, I’m so s—”

“Take it out,” she cuts in. “I want to watch you jerk off.”

My hand doesn’t seem to mind obeying orders from little Holly. Whether this is because my brain’s decided it’s taking an imaginary vacation on that island I might still someday own or what, I don’t know.

I guess my hormones are in control right now instead of the usual left-hand side of my brain.

“Closer,” Holly says.

Now both her hands are on her breasts, her nipples tight little buds from all the attention she’s been giving them.

The only thing still keeping a modicum of decency to her thin frame is that skirt. That is, until she hikes it up to her waist and slides one of her hands under it.

Someone groans — probably me. Okay, definitely me.

I take a step closer. Tug down my zipper — God, I can feel every one of those teeth rasping over my engorged shaft — and then yank down my briefs. My dick springs out like one of those foldaway beds.

Holly’s eyes flash down.

They widen.

And then she looks up at me, her lips twitching into a naughty grin. “No wonder you had so much trouble keeping it in your pants,” she whispers. “Go on. Don’t be shy.”

She tugs away her underwear and slides her fingertips over her sex, shuddering.

Again, I’m only too happy to comply.