Lust (The Elite Seven #1)(27)

“Nothing. I have a cold. Please just let me past,” she begs, trying to sidestep me.

I block her exit and take her by the shoulders, moving her out of the path of the exit door and over to a secluded corner.

She huffs, but allows me to guide her before she breaks away from my hold. Dabbing her eyes, a weird snort-hiccup escapes, and then she’s laughing.

“Oh my god, I’m a mess,” she giggles. It’s not natural, and I see real pain in her features. But I’m out of my comfort zone. My mother was always very private with her emotions apart from when Robbie…

“I’m sick of being me, you know? The expectation. When can I come up for air and take a breath?” She blows, pulling me back from Robbie’s ghost.

I don’t say anything, allowing her to vent.

“My father is a slave to his urges, but expects me to be some study machine and not let loose just one time, you know?” she continues, pacing back and forth a few steps.

She grabs the fabric of her blouse across her chest just above her tits, and thumps her hand down, drawing my eyes there.

“I just want to have a good time without worrying what’s going to get back to him,” she huffs, stilling her posture and taking me in.

Her observation of me is almost obscene.

Bright eyes stroke over every inch of me, lingering on my dick for far too long before roaming back up to my lips.

The scrutiny makes me squirm. It’s unexpected and horny as fuck.

Taking me off guard and confusing the shit out of me, her body launches at me. Before I even realize what the hell is happening, soft, fat lips crush to mine, hands find their way into my hair, and soft tits press against my chest as her warm tongue slips into my mouth.

It’s rushed, rough, inexperienced, and fucking perfection.

Her sweet apple blossom scent wraps its arms around me, cocooning me in the moment. I wrap her in my embrace and back her against the wall, devouring her mouth, nibbling and caressing. My dick hardens, demanding I push against her. Suddenly, her body stiffens beneath mine, and her hands drop to my shoulders, pushing me.

I pull away, dizzy with lust. I breathe deep, ready to fuck her right here in the corridor.

Red swollen lips tremble, and wild, sex-crazed eyes dance with trepidation.

“I’m sorry. Oh my god, what am I doing?” she all but squeals. “This was…” She frowns.

“Horny as hell?” I offer.

“A mistake.” She focuses those blues on me.

“A beautiful mistake,” I counter with a swipe of my tongue across my lips.

“You better not tell a soul about this. Promise me.”

“What?”

“Promise me?” she says, more urgent.

“Who would care?” I laugh, but her eyes narrow to slits.

“I don’t want to be one of your conquests,” she growls before crossing her arms and storming off.

Who the fuck would I tell?





Moans, fake and high-pitched, greet me when I get home. The naked form of a female is laid out on the study room floor on what looks like a tarp.

What the actual fuck?

I move closer, then halt. My dad is standing above her, hovering at her head, holding his dick. He begins pissing on her as she pants and rubs it in like its nectar from the gods.

What the fucking hell? Gross. He’s always seemed so uptight and vanilla. I can’t un-see this shit. He better not have done this kinky shit to my saint of a mother, the fucking pervert.

“I have people coming over, so if you could wrap that up, or at least close a fucking door, that will be great.” I grunt, rolling my eyes. I drop my keys on the counter, ignoring the woman squealing and slipping as she tries to get up.

It would be fucking comical if this weren’t our family home and that wasn’t once my mom’s study.

His midlife crisis is getting old.

I grab a cartoon of juice and throw my ass onto the couch in the living room, watching through the doorway as the woman who looks like his old secretary throws on her clothes and hurries to leave.

Wearing only a pair of low-rise slacks, my old man saunters into the living room and stands facing me, lines creasing his eyes and forehead. I hate how much he reminds me of me. I don’t want to be anything like him.

Hands go to his hips to intimidate. Prick.

“We need to talk.”

I sit forward, resting my arms on my knees.

“About you fucking whores in my mother’s house?”

“My house,” he barks.

He’s pathetic. He got the house in the divorce, but this will always be my mother’s house.

“You’ll get used to seeing Melissa around here. She’s not a fling, and certainly not a whore.”

Melissa. That was his fucking secretary.

“If you say so,” I spit out, getting to my feet.

Raging forward, his hand swipes out fast, catching the carton and sending it flying across the room.

“You will learn respect, Rhett. I’m sick of your disrespectful bullshit,” he seethes.

Me disrespectful? He must be fucking high to accuse anyone of that when he’s a disgrace. The only name being whispered about and doing damage to our family reputation is his.

Fucking sluts half his age and cheating with his secretary.

He gives no fucks about my mother, me, or the memory of his son. Not once has he spoken about Robbie or been to his grave. I wonder if he even thinks about him. Does Robbie visit him when he closes his eyes like he does me?