Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
We shake hands then I usher him back out the door and into the frigid wind where his snow Cat is still rumbling.
I need to go jump in my ice bath, reset my focus and hope my cock turtles up, giving me a goddamn break for an hour.
There’s a storm coming in, the warning came through on the radio this morning, but it’s far enough away it shouldn’t affect the party. I should go chop wood some wood or workout in the gym for a few hours. Something, anything to take the edge off.
I leave my monitors and computers in black mode as I step back into the hallway, locking the door behind me, then turn left toward the back coat room and one of the less conspicuous doors to outside.
But before I take two fucking steps, Carina twirls around the corner.
“Papa!” she squeals, breaking out in a wide smile, tip-toe skipping my way. “I was coming to find you.”
What the fuck is she wearing?
Christ on the cross. I run my hands down my face, plugging my eye sockets with my fingers, my dick already a battering ram in my pants. The flavor of her lips still haunting me.
“How was practice, baby?” I grit out between clenched teeth as she spins my way, wearing the thinnest tights and bodysuit and come-fuck-me tutu.
Pink.
Just like the one she was wearing the day she stepped into this house four years ago.
Only, this one is smaller. Fucking teasing brat.
Blood pumps through my veins into my erection; the blinding pain in my balls nearly brings me to my knees as I imagine pumping all that seed into that baby making cavern between her legs.
“Alik was…Alik.” She grimaces, then takes an elegant bow, her toes on pointe. “You know, the usual. But I think it went well. I think we are ready for tomorrow. You ready to show off your favorite granddaughter on the big stage?”
She winks, fucking winks at me; no one has ever winked at me and lived. Then, Jesus, then she does a perfect pirouette, turns away and bows.
Nose to her knees. Ass up. Head down. Perfect.
“You curse too much. I’m going to wash your mouth out with my tongue. Or maybe something bigger. And harder.” I say as she stands, looking at me over her shoulder, bobbing her eyebrows. “What else are you ready for?” I say as I bring down a hard smack on her cock-teasing ass and note the dark dot of wetness on the crotch of her leotard and the outline of the world’s cutest camel toe.
“Fuck, that feels good.” She rubs her ass with her hands, then turns on her toes, shrugs, falling down onto flat feet as I point at the floor in front of me.
Her hands rest on her hips, the protrusion of her bones making me feel weak as I reach down and adjust my hard-on.
“What do you want, Santa?” She flutters her dark eyelashes around those honey-colored eyes, making me clench my fists to keep from deep-dicking her right here in the hallway where the scent of roast beef and gingerbread wafts in the air from the kitchen.
I lean down, taking her pulse with my palm, fingers slipping around that delicate neck again, letting her know I control her every breath.
“I have everything I want, but I’m going to show you what I need later. But, it’s our secret, you understand that, right? No telling.”
She nods, swallowing as she fusses with her tutu, making me want to dive between her legs and feel all that tulle scratching at the sides of my face as I eat out her barely legal cunt and swallow down her sugar and spice nectar.
Her eyes darken and her body seems to shrink. “Lucy will hate me forever if she finds out.”
She offers a tight smile, but there is such sadness in her eyes. My self-hatred burns me from the inside out.
“Lala…” I use her pet name from Mama. “I know this is wrong. I’m wrong. I’m an ugly man, your grandfather. Not who you should want.” I’m twisted with unfamiliar doubt and insecurity. Things I’ve never felt before. “You are young, sweet, and more beautiful than any masterpiece or perfect rose. If I were a stronger man, I would end this now.”
“No!” She yelps, pushing onto her toes again, hands on my chest, clutching at my shirt, her sorrow echoing down the hall as I hear Mama clanking around in the kitchen. “Please, don’t even say that.”
“But you…” I brush my knuckles down her throat, her chest, and flatten my palm over her heart. Grinding my teeth, I point at myself. “And me.”
Sadness hollows her features as I note the ripples of her breastbone under her skin. I vow to let her know, for the rest of her life, she is beautiful and worthy and loved without starving herself for some dance or some standard of ballet beauty.