Page 4

ADRIAN

T he skin of my back burned as I leaned against the large tree overlooking Marisela’s bedroom window.

The air was thick, my cock thicker. I could feel it throbbing as I did my best to keep the sensitive flesh from grating against my zipper.

It was lust, for sure. Pumping through my veins.

The testosterone building. Clouding my logic and making this kind of risk-taking seem reasonable.

I wasn’t an adrenaline junkie. But suddenly nothing seemed better than slipping in through that window and taking this girl in her sleep.

Something about her told me she was a fighter too. The type to kick and scream and claw at my back. Open old wounds and create some new ones of her own.

I needed a release. I needed it more than I needed to eat, sleep, and breathe.

And it was like she knew it. Like she knew I was watching her.

Like she wanted me to watch her. As she approached the window and tugged the pretty pink curtains back.

And then she was staring down at me as I took in a deep breath and slipped a palm past the waistband of my pants.

She couldn’t see me. Not like I could see her.

I was a shadow in the blackness of her yard while she was illuminated like an angel above me, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and her plump red lips pursed into a smirk.

I didn’t know what she was smiling at, but I didn’t like that it wasn’t me.

The longer she watched, or at least appeared to watch, the harder my dick became. It was reckless. To stroke myself in plain view for anyone looking to creep up behind me. One palm flat against the bark, the other pumping like my life depended on it.

Yep, it was reckless and I didn’t give a shit.

When she licked her bottom lip, I imagined her licking me instead.

And when she perched her ass on the windowsill, the slight breeze blowing her hair back out of her face, I pictured that same ass bent over my desk.

Two globes bouncing in rhythm with my panicked thrusts.

My imagination was so fucking vivid I could almost feel her.

Taste her. Until I then felt myself teetering dangerously close to the precipice of coming.

My hand stilled. I yanked it free and readjusted my zipper. Ejaculation meant losing control. And I wasn’t ready to do that yet.

Maybe I was a masochist after all. My balls sure as fuck thought so. But control was the only weapon I had in my arsenal, and I refused to give that up to anyone. Myself included.

I lifted my mask, just long enough to shove a finger into my mouth. The salty taste of my own precum a poor substitute for what I really wanted. That first taste of virgin pussy.

I sucked on the tip for a moment, imagining the light shade of pink smeared across my white bedsheets when I found her hymen intact and took that first deep thrust to rupture the thin membrane that had my name written across like an open invitation.

Property of the bastard son of Tate Prescott. It had a certain ring to it.

Was she a virgin? Who the fuck knew? That tidbit of information sure as shit wasn’t in her school file but I liked to think she was. I liked to think I’d be the first man to taste her. Fuck her. Bring her to her knees.

I groaned at the thought, dropping my hand from my mouth and shoving my mask back over my chin.

My gaze was drawn upward, and I watched as Marisela tilted her head, almost as if she could hear me.

Once again, she couldn’t. But I enjoyed the thought that she could.

And that she liked it. She liked the idea of me defiling her.

Of turning daddy’s little princess into my own personal whore.

A fuck toy for all the fucked-up things I wanted to do to her.

Maybe not today. But someday soon. It was a promise as much as it was a threat.