Page 112 of Stone: The Precursor

“Don’t.” She releases my shirt slowly, “Hold the chair.” I pull her chair closer, needing to smell her sweetness. I inhale smelling her arousal, while I continue to wash her legs, stopping right at her knee. I can’t go any closer. I’m barely holding on as it is. I’m dying to taste her pussy, hear her cry and wrap those smooth thighs around my head, while I use my tongue to play with her clit, but I won’t rush. I go back to my task, my cock getting harder holding her arch in my hand. Even her pretty pink toenails are making me hard. Shit. There are no words exchanged between us when I wipe the last of the water from her feet and pull another kitchen chair to rest her cleaned feet on them.

“Thank you.”

I dry my hands and watch her. Her eyes go to the front of my jeans and I don’t hide my erection from her, enjoying how she’s looking at me. Turning, I take everything back to clean my hands at the sink. “You need to eat.”

Mixing the eggs, I cut her some avocado, like I did before. Once the pan is at right temperature, I pour in her eggs. They bubble softly, and I slowly move it around the pan feeling her eyes on me. Plating up her food I slide it across from her liking that she’s eating the I prepared.

The blanket falls off her shoulder and she brushes her hair out of her face and picks up her fork and scoops up the eggs, eating them. I could see her sitting here again. Eating my food again, letting me fuck her again and again. I should take her to the jeep. Let her drive home or take her home. She for sureshouldn’t be here another night, but the rabid need I have for her hasn’t lessened despite being inside her most of the night.

Pulling a cigarette out of my back pocket I watch every elegant move she makes, the poised way she eats. So fucking polite. I strike a match on the bottom of the small vial I carry and light the tip. The scratch makes her raise her head.

“So no cool vape pen for you?”

“Not my thing.”

“You would be the type to smoke something different.”

“Cigarettes remind me of my stepfather.”

“Tell me about him.” She pops a slice of avocado in her mouth.

“Nothing to tell. He was a piece of garbage. Hurt my mother and my sister.”

She swallows, looking paler than before. “What did he do?”

“You really want to hear about my bastard of a stepfather?”

She lifts her chin and my cock starts to leak. She has her bratty face on. “Yes. I want to know about him.”

I take another inhale, needing to feel the acidic burn in my chest at old memories. Old regrets. I lean forward wanting to shock her, wanting to horrify her. Make it so that she wants nothing to do with me so that when she leaves tomorrow, I can say I did it for her own good. “He beat the shit out of my mother.” I don’t add what he did to Ivory when she was 12. The only people that know her story are Onyx and my mother to some extent, although we’ve never discussed it. Camryn sets down the fork and picks up her coffee with shaky hands. “Where is he?”

“Trapped in hell.”

I let the statement hang and she looks uncomfortable, curiosity filling her eyes. I wait for her to ask me.Did you kill him?She doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“I’m not. He’s exactly where he needs to be.”

The frown on her face is cute. It’s even cuter when she crosses her arms. “I was talking about your mother and your sister.”

Another inhale, another forceful push of bad memories to the dark recesses of my mind.

“Is that a cigar?”

Her change of subject makes me smile again.“There’s my countess. Classy. They teach you that in boarding school? The art of conversation? How to deflect and move on?”

Her eyes narrow and I open my legs wider at the fire I see in her eyes. My damn dick is running out of room in my pants. Her annoyance and anger I can deal with. Her pity and empathy will destroy me and make it harder for me to walk away.

“Yes, actually. I learned the art of not letting an asshole irritate me. I’m not going to let you bait me.”

“Why? I enjoy it.”

“Jerk. I’ve never seen a cigarette like that.”

I roll the thin brown stick between my fingers. “They’re called cigarillos.”

“And the smell. It’s like root-beer.”