Page 29 of Under His Control

I can’t keep my eyes off her or my mind out of the gutter. When she bends over, the neck of her shirt dips and exposes the heavy swells of her breasts spilling forward in her bra.

Her hips and ass are tantalizing curves. The view from behind would be spectacular. I wish I could see it, wish I could hold on to those hips and press my cock or my face against her.

She rights herself and her lips are moving. So full and pink. I barely register the words coming out of them, only a gentle voice urging me to taste them, and a harsher one reminding me of the facts.

She’s my ex-stepdaughter.

She’s a traitor.

She’s a—

“—dirty fucking liar. Please forgive me.”

Another kiss.

Three more to go.

This was supposed to be her punishment, but it’s sweet torture for me too.

“I’m sorry—” she begins then abruptly stops.

Penelope’s line of sight and shocked expression tells me she finally noticed.

I can’t hide it. I’m wearing sweatpants, and covering it with my hands will only make this more awkward. Warmth fills my ears and my tone is sharper.

“Keep going.”

She snaps her gaze up to mine and recoils.

“I don’t think I should.”

“I say you should.”

“But you’re—you have an…”

She becomes flustered, her cheeks growing pink. Huh. If she’s struggling to say “hard” and “erection,” she probably doesn’t have much sexual experience.

Maybe she doesn’t have any.

I highly doubt that. Look at her. Some fucker would’ve made it his sole mission to have her.

“You’re stimulating my body with physical contact. That’s just biology. It doesn’t mean anything.”

I’m a dirty fucking liar too.

“Yes, it does! This is inappropriate and we should stop.”

I scowl. “You must really want to lose that ten grand. Keep whining and you will, or finish your apology.”

Penelope hesitates then continues in obvious reluctance. She speaks faster and drops quicker pecks instead of the lingering, subservient presses that started the trouble. Thank fuck when she delivers the last kiss on my left foot.

This wasn’t just inappropriate. It was dangerous. While she apologized for falsely accusing me of a crime I didn’t commit, I struggled not to actually attempt it.

I let out a long exhale through my nostrils.

“I accept your apology.”

Yet, I’ve never felt more dissatisfied.