Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

I know I should feel guilty. I should be beating myself the fuck up and confessing to every god on the planet for fucking my best friend’s daughter and loving it. For thinking about repeating it. For being deranged and loving the fact that I’m her first.

But I’m not.

Because I’m a sick bastard and I’m not apologetic about it.

What’s the point of confessing if you don’t stop doing the act? And no, I surely don’t intend to stop.

Not now that I’ve had a taste of her.

Not now when she’s officially mine.

Fuck. I need to put a halt to these fucked-up thoughts, because my dick is pressing against my pants with the need to act on them.

I start to remove my hand, but she catches it in her smaller one and softly places it under her cheek, as if I’m her new pillow.

Ordinarily, I’d pull away and go to my room. I’d work out to deal with my own sleep problems, but I don’t this time.

This time, I lie on my side, facing her, facing her soft face and her dreamy expression. Then my hands are on that face, and I stroke her hair behind her ear.

“Don’t go…” she mumbles, and it’s probably about her father or maybe her mother.

But I’m the one who says, “I won’t go anywhere, baby girl.”





I wake up in pain.

My dick. It’s so fucking hard, it hurts.

I groan deep in my throat and open my eyes. Usually, I sleep in nothing because any friction from clothes causes this fucking discomfort.

I’m about to reach down and adjust it when my gaze lands on that colorful chameleon one. It’s so bright and shiny, like the green has slaughtered all the other colors.

“You slept here,” she blurts as if she’s been waiting for me to wake up so she can say the words.

Fuck. I did sleep here, and it’s early morning already. I don’t usually sleep that easily. I don’t sleep at all unless I exhaust my body in the gym first.

But I did. Last night. Even with my clothes on.

“I didn’t have a choice. You held my hand hostage.” I tip my chin at my palm that’s still under her cheek and how she’s gripping my wrist.

“I don’t care. It still counts.” She inches closer and I grunt when her thigh touches my raging erection.

At that, she stares down, her eyes widening. “It looks painful.”

“Whose fault is that?”

She sits up and the sheet falls away, exposing her tits that my eyes automatically go to. I love how comfortable she is in her nakedness around me. She doesn’t even attempt to hide from me anymore. “Mine?”

“Yes, it is. And do you know what that means?”

She shakes her head, even though her eyes are shining, still exploding with bright green.

“It means you’ll take care of it.”

Her teeth sink into the corner of her lip. “I will?”

“Get my dick out, Gwyneth.”

She scrambles between my legs, her small hands fumbling with my zipper, then my boxer briefs until she has my thick erection between her hands.

“What do I do now?” She stares from my dick to my face, and it’s that trust again. She trusts me to tell her what to do and she’ll follow through with it. No questions asked.

“Now, you put those pretty lips on it and suck.”

She strokes me a few times from bottom to top, and I grunt. My dick is turning harder with each of her innocent movements. But there’s nothing pure about the look in her eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” She licks her lips. “I’ve practiced.”

A red mist covers my vision at the image of her sucking someone else. The picture of her opening these lips to that kid with the not-some-normal bike hits me with fucking violence.

It’s illogical, doesn’t make any fucking sense, but it’s there and it’s starting a fire in my chest.

“You practiced?” I ask with a calm I don’t feel.

“Yeah, why do you think bananas are my favorite fruit? But you’re bigger…and…I don’t think I can take you all in. But I want to.” She bows her head and licks the crown of my dick and the drop of precum.

I suck in a harsh breath when she stuffs me into her mouth, taking as much of me as possible as she sucks and hollows her cheeks. Her movements are inexperienced, but that in itself is a fucking turn-on. What she lacks in experience, she makes up for with pure enthusiasm.

Her head bobs up and down as she sucks and licks, and I grab her by those strands, my hand fisting into them.

As if my hold spurs her on, her movements become longer yet out of control. She keeps her pace, on and on with her fingers fondling my balls.

“Fuck,” I grunt. “I love your mouth, Gwyneth.”

She quickens her pace and I use her hair to keep her in place as I rock my hips, hitting the back of her throat.

She sputters and chokes, but she doesn’t attempt to push me away. If anything, she encourages me. She opens her lips the widest possible and lets me fuck her mouth.

And I do it. I thrust forward until the friction is unbearable, until all my blood rushes to where her skin meets mine, where she’s handing me the reins to use her mouth any way I see fit.

My back muscles tighten with each jerk of my hips and I can feel the orgasm ripping through my balls.

Before I know it, a growl echoes in the air as I empty down her throat.