Page 11 of Sacred Vow

CAESAR

T illy fucking Bardot.

I have no words.

She’s a spitfire and has more than surprised me.

Seeing her at Vixen was like breathing for the first time.

The women I’m used to being with at the club are there to get off and explore their kinks, but Tilly, with one look in her eyes, I could see that she was there for more.

She wanted to put on a show. She wanted to feel alive and get under my skin.

She wanted me to want her, and fuck, I’ve never wanted anything more.

I wanted to feel her body under mine, wanted to feel the way her sweet little cunt would squeeze my cock. I didn’t want to just fuck her, I wanted to become consumed in her, and I would have until her friend begged her to leave.

I get it. Shit happens and I’d never hold that against her, but I won’t lie, watching her leave Vixen before I could even have a taste was disappointing, and I knew my chances of ever seeing her again were slim.

She’s not someone I’ve ever seen at the club, and I wasn’t about to be that creep who hacks into the system and steals her information.

When she walked away, I had no choice but to come to terms with the fact it was never going to happen, despite not being able to get her out of my head these past few days.

My cock is practically raw from jerking off in my shower, trying to work her out of my system, but it’s impossible. I won’t be able to move past this until I’ve had her.

Imagine my surprise when I walk into my home to find the spitfire sitting on my couch with every intention to fuck my son. She can have at him if that’s what she wants, but there’s no denying he can’t fuck her the way she needs.

I saw how she came at Vixen, the way her orgasm exploded through her body, and as much as I love my son, he’s not capable of giving her what she really wants. That much was clear when I went down to figure out what the fuck I was going to feed this girl for dinner and found Zephyr deep inside her.

She was riding him the way I’ve imagined her riding me, that sexy body rolling and thrusting as her tits bobbed in my face. She’s a wild vixen, and it’ll take a fucking beast to tame that intensity. Luckily for her, that’s exactly what I intend to do.

She was fucking gorgeous riding him, and when I touched her and pinched those pretty nipples, her whole body buzzed with electricity. She was so fucking responsive to me, and I can’t wait to see just how far that goes.

Is it wrong to want to fuck my son’s new girlfriend? Probably. But is that going to stop me? Hell no.

There’s no denying it now. I see how she wants it, see how she comes alive when those blazing green eyes are on me. She needs to see this through just as much as I do. And as far as Zephyr is concerned, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Fuck. I sound like such a dick. But we all know that Tilly isn’t Zeph’s endgame, and from the sound of the constant fucking that’s been going down since the moment I got home, they’re both getting what they wanted out of this arrangement.

Now, if he were in love with her, I’d find a way to shelve this intense need to fuck his girl, but until then, I need to get this out of my system.

It’s well past midnight, and I sit in my living room, the smell of sex in the air—the smell of her in the air .

They’ve fucked right through dinner, and I’ve listened to Zeph give her lackluster orgasms all night to the point, I’m almost certain she faked the last two.

Poor girl. It’s almost as though I’m now required to fuck her, just to do the Di Rozé name justice.

It’s been quiet for the better part of twenty minutes, and as I sip my whiskey, contemplating just how far I’m willing to take this with Tilly, I hear the familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs. They’re too soft and careful to belong to Zeph, so I can only assume it’s Tilly.

I track her steps, able to picture her so perfectly on the stairs, trying to sneak out of Zeph’s room and through the silence of my home. Is she trying to slip out in the middle of the night, plagued by regrets, or has she finally had her fill of my son and has come looking for me?

Fuck. What kind of egotistical bullshit is that?

Am I that full of myself to assume this beautiful girl is slipping out of my son’s room to come please me after spending a good portion of the night screwing my son?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Tilly reaches the bottom step, and I sit in the dark living room, waiting to see what she’ll do. She could either continue straight and head through the foyer and out my front door, or she could swing around to the right and into the living room.

The anticipation almost kills me, and I’m just seconds from getting to my feet to get a better view, not okay with the possibility of her leaving without getting to lay my eyes on her one last time.

If she chooses to leave, then I have to be okay with it.

I won’t chase her out the door, begging her to stay, but if she does choose to stay and those blazing green eyes come to mine with that same intensity I felt in the club and earlier tonight, I don’t know if I’d be able to resist.

The seconds tick by, and I clutch my glass so tight it might break, and then finally, she turns the corner into the living room. Her head is down, watching where she’s walking, and I remain silent, simply watching her to see what she wants.

She’s heading toward my kitchen, wearing nothing but my son’s shirt, not having realized I’m sitting here.

She’s so petite that it’s almost a fucking dress on her, and I can’t help but love it.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the shirt she had on earlier in the night.

Tattoos, pretty eyes, and thick thighs. There’s no easy way to put it, the thick thighs part of her shirt is straight up misleading.

The part about tattoos is still up for question, but the pretty eyes?

Shit, I’ve been held captive under those eyes, and it was the most thrilling night of my existence.

My gaze sails over her body, and as I lift my glass to my lips and take a sip of whiskey, her back stiffens, sensing my stare on her just like she had in the club. She pauses a moment before lifting her gaze and glancing over her shoulder.

She sucks in a breath, and I see the very moment her beautiful cheeks fill with color. “Sorry, I umm . . . didn’t realize you were down here.” I keep watching her in silence, loving the way she squirms under my gaze. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all.”

Tilly gestures toward the kitchen. “Is it okay if I raid your kitchen?” she questions, her gaze darkening as she holds my stare. “We got a little distracted and skipped dinner.”

I lift my glass, indicating for her to go ahead. “Have at it,” I rumble. “There’s plenty of food for you both in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” she says. “It’s just me though. Zeph crashed about twenty minutes ago. I think I, uhhh . . . wore him out.”

A proud smirk rests on her lips as she continues into my kitchen, and I don’t doubt her for a second.

Zeph isn’t someone who can easily be worn out.

He takes care of himself. He’s at the gym everyday and takes that shit as seriously as I do, but judging by the way Tilly was riding him earlier in the night, I don’t doubt that she has the power to bring any man to his knees.

My poor son will be feeling the effects of Tilly Bardot for weeks.

She certainly is a little firecracker, a woman who knows what she wants and won’t stop until she gets it. I like that about her. There’s a fire in her, a pull that excites me, and I can’t wait to figure her out.

Tilly goes about her business, helping herself to my fridge and figuring out something to eat.

She bends over as she scoops something out of the lower portion of the fridge, and my eyes become glued to her perfect ass, watching the way my son’s shirt rides up and exposes her creamy skin.

She wears a black thong beneath the shirt, and I’ve never wanted to tear something off someone’s body more in my life.

To bend her over and glide my tongue through her wetness and feel the way she detonates beneath my touch.

The fuck is wrong with me? Forty-eight years old, and I can barely control myself, but what’s more? I know she’ll fucking love it. She’s young enough to be my daughter for fuck’s sake. But based on the way she slowly rolls her body back up, there’s no denying that this was her intention all along.

This feisty hellcat isn’t here to eat, she came to fuck, and who the hell am I to deny her?

After closing the fridge, she walks over to the counter and puts everything down, her back to me as she searches through my cupboards for a plate. I can’t fucking resist.

Getting up from the couch, I silently pad across my moon-lit living room, my cock already rock hard through my pants.

With every step toward her, the beautiful scent of her perfume becomes stronger, and I will to breathe her in, to bury my face in the crook of her neck and become intoxicated by everything that she is.

She hasn’t noticed my movement, and as I reach the kitchen, my need to touch her is almost paralyzing. I take my time, inching closer toward her, and as she shifts her body directly in front of the counter, I step in behind her, caging her against my body.

“Tell me, hellcat,” I purr into her ear as I place my whiskey down on the counter, my other hand dropping low on her waist. “Do you always fake your orgasms?”

Tilly sucks in a breath, her back stiffening against my chest as I lower my face into the elegant curve of her neck and breathe her in. The pulse at the base of her throat is thrumming, beating wildly just like the heavy thump of my heart. She smells devine, an angelic mix of sex and roses.