THOUGH IT WAS a night for tossing and turning, Bishop, aided by the alcohol he rarely drank, fell into a deep sleep.
Somewhere in the night, he dreamt of her. She lifted the covers and slid in next to him. She’d come to him naked, and the feel of her against him was cool, soft and stimulating to his heated skin. Her small body felt smooth and lithe, and he groaned as she pressed her bare flesh along his side.
He let her pull off his boxers, freeing his throbbing erection. When he’d fled the library earlier, he’d been too ashamed to masturbate while thinking of her for the second time that day. He denied his want instead, knowing he couldn’t have her. Knowing he shouldn’t even think of her like that.
So, he was more desperate and aching than ever when she untangled his underwear from his feet and slid back up him to kiss his neck. As she nuzzled him, she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and squeezed. Shifting her weight until she was nearly on top of him, she stroked him up and down between their bodies.
“I’m yours,” she whispered. “I’m yours to fuck, Bishop. Take me.”
He cupped one of her breasts and pinched her pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it in his grip, stretching the rosy nub, causing her to throw her head back and gasp. She slid up so her breasts were closer to his face, and he seized the opportunity, lowering his head enough to take that assaulted nipple in mouth, gentle now. Apologizing with his lips and his tongue for the rough treatment. Suckling first at one breast, then the other.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh yes, Bishop. This is what I wanted for my birthday.”
He blinked, and things began to feel less dreamlike. Confusion suddenly cut through his whiskey-soaked brain.
Pulling his head back as far as his pillow would allow, he willed his eyes to focus on the shapely, tempting succubus who had stolen into his bed.
“Penelope, what are you doing here?” His voice sounded quiet and somehow isolated in his dim bedroom, a room only he and the housekeeper had ever been in, until now.
“Don’t stop,” his naked ward begged in a whisper, writhing against him. “I need something.” Her voice was small and desperate. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t masturbate.”
She continued running her hands up and down his hard length, and he groaned, his hips jerking of their own accord, thrusting his cock into her small grasp.
“I can’t,” he ground out, but she only gripped him tighter.
“Maybe this is a dream, Bishop,” she suggested, so quietly it was almost inaudible, even to his keen hearing. “Tell yourself you’re just dreaming,” she pleaded.
He rolled them both so she was now half under him, and braced himself above her with one arm.
His brain, though still slow with sleep and drink, protested her idea. But the room was dark, the night surreal, and he found himself thinking, maybe it is. Maybe I am dreaming.
The only light was from the moon that spilled across his bed, illuminating Penelope’s naked torso like a beacon to his salvation. He’d never wanted anything so badly.
Tentatively, he touched a breast again, caressing it, his resolve weakening precariously when she arched against his palm and whimpered. He traced a finger around one of her hard tips, and then down, until he gripped her small hip in his hand. Her fingers were still wrapped around him, and he rocked his pelvis forward, thrusting into her grasp again. Positioned as he was, he could almost pretend he was entering her.
Entering his Penelope. Oh god.
Her hand wasn’t as strong as her tight pussy walls would be, so as nice as it felt, Bishop knew actually fucking her would be infinitely better.
In a moment of pure weakness—of absolute lust-driven insanity—he let some of the forbidden thoughts behind that dam in his head spill over. Thinking about them, letting himself explore the dark depths of them while her hand was wrapped around him, nearly made his eyes roll back in his head.
He wanted to sink inside her more than he wanted to breathe. He wanted to take her so badly that living in the same house as her, now that she was finally of age, might kill him. He could think of nothing all day except burying himself in her, and this was just the first day of her eighteenth year. What about the next day, and the next, and the next hundred after that?
How could he survive living in the same house as her and not taking her when the need grew too strong? Pushing her up against a wall of her father’s home and taking her roughly, until he emptied his hot seed into her young pussy. Calling her down to the lab so she could suck him off and swallow his cum as if she was greedy for it. Instructing her to go to his room when her studies were completed for the day, where he would stretch her tight ass so he could use her there too, like the wicked, wicked man he was.
He wasn’t thinking straight. Wasn’t thinking at all. He was licking and caressing his young ward’s tits like they were the last meal of a starving man. She had wrapped a leg around his and was grinding herself against him. Rubbing her wet core against his hard quad muscle wantonly, trying to get herself off.
He moved up from her breasts. If he was going to pretend this wasn’t actually happening—that this was just a dream—he was at least going to get the one thing he wanted most of all.
So, he kissed her. Kissed his sweet, young Penelope. The girl whom he was in charge of. The young woman who had seized his terrified heart, and whom he couldn’t seem to shake loose.
He explored her slowly at first. Her lips were full and soft, and tasted like no eighteen-year-old should—of whiskey and bubblegum—and it was so good. He wanted to eat her up. Consume her, so she’d always be a part of him. Her tongue licked at his bottom lip, and he thought he might explode. He’d never experienced a desire like this.
He kissed her like he was desperate to be a part of her, because he was. He swept his tongue into her mouth and deepened the act, exploring her swollen lips, wondering if this made her feel the way it made him feel, but that was impossible. No one could feel a pull this strong. A woman could never feel like she might die without him. He didn’t deserve a love like that.
“This isn’t right,” he murmured into Penelope’s mouth. “You’re barely eighteen. Your father didn’t put me in charge of your care so I would do this to you. He wouldn’t want me touching you like this.” But his voice was weak. Where there should have been conviction behind his words, instead, there was the tone of a man asking for forgiveness for his weakness as he plowed ahead with his wicked sin.
She released his cock and scooted further beneath him, her large, chocolate eyes wide and trusting as she spread her legs and positioned him at her entrance.
“Please, Bishop. I want you to be my first.”
He gritted his teeth so hard he thought he might break them. Her first. Her slippery warmth bathed the head of his dick and beckoned him into her with promises of ecstasy and belonging.
Just one small push is all it would take.
If he thrust his hips forward just once, he’d be inside her. That one quick movement would transform this act from something he could never do into something he’d already done. And something already done was so much easier to do again. And again.
He wanted that. Wanted his little Penelope again and again. It would be so easy to ignore all the reasons he shouldn’t.
He stopped breathing, and it took more strength than he thought he possessed, but he pulled back and shifted up, lowering his weight onto his hip and placing his dick instead on her shaved-bare mound, safely above her entrance.
Penelope bit her lip under him and made a sound of frustration, but then wriggled against his erection. “I’m so horny I can’t sleep,” she complained. “I need to come. I know you can make me orgasm, Bishop. You know how. Then I’ll go away. I promise.”
He looked down between them, wishing his eyesight was better, because in the dim light, he couldn’t clearly see what his cock looked like so close to that special spot between Penelope’s legs, and he really wanted to tuck that visual away for later.
“No, honey,” he said, but started moving against her anyway. “We can’t do things like this.” With a knee, he shoved her thighs apart, forcing her to spread wide under him. “I’m nearly ten years older than you,” he whispered. “Your legal guardian.” He ducked his chin to look at Penelope’s body underneath him and cursed. “God, help me. I can’t stop.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to stop.”
He knew the rest of her argument, but she stopped talking and so did he. Neither of them were listening anyway. He reached between them and felt for the apex of her wetness. Dipping a finger into her folds, he found the hard nub of her clitoris. He caressed that firm spot with his first two fingers, lingering there, back and forth, up and down, hard and soft, as her breathing became more erratic.
He’d studied the subjects who came to Dr. Sullivan’s lab. Through his research on female sexual response, Bishop was intimately familiar with how women touched themselves to achieve orgasm. None the same way, but almost always their techniques were within the same basic repertoire of movements. He went through them now, gauging Penelope’s reactions, her soft intakes of breath. Her mewling cries of building pleasure.
She’d asked him to give her an orgasm to help her sleep, and she was right, he did technically know how to make a woman come, even if he’d never done it in practice, only in theory. But he’d studied it for years.
Pen had asked him to be her first. She wanted to give him her virginity. Such a special, special thing. As he touched her, and watched in wonder at the visceral excitement he was creating in her, he hoped in some small way that this was special too—the fact that he’d never stimulated a woman to climax before, not personally. Not in bed. Handing a female subject a vibrator and then being in the same room when it happened, while she was hooked up to monitors, didn’t count.
So, Pen would be the first woman he pleasured to orgasm.
Maybe that was a nice thing. He hoped it was, because he had nothing else to give her. Sexually, there was nothing special left for him, he thought bitterly.
She wriggled and whimpered, and his dick twitched, his balls tightening and aching as he watched her excitement grow. He was going to stimulate his ward until she came, and that was okay, because it was dark, and she was in need. In the light of morning they could pretend it hadn’t happened.
He was helping her, and that’s all he would do. He’d give her the relief she needed so she could sleep, but he wouldn’t use her body to come. He’d control himself. Then he could feel okay about it.
The noises Pen made under him could cause him to lose his mind. They were beautiful, perfect, and sinful. And the idea that he was creating those responses in her was nearly enough to make him come apart too.
He concentrated on the rhythm she seemed to respond to the most—up and down, steady pressure. “Okay, honey,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “Go ahead and come for me now.”
Her breaths shortened, building to a crescendo. He increased the pressure of his touch just a bit, and she arched her back high, her hard nipples coming close enough to his lips that he took one of them into his mouth and suckled her as she climaxed underneath him.
She writhed and shuddered, digging her hands into his hair and pulling him harder against her breast as she rode out her orgasm against his fingers.
*****