Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
She caught her smiling bottom lip between her teeth and stepped in.
I unhooked the showerhead and chuckled at her little squeal of anticipatory delight. “It’s cute that you think you’ll enjoy this. Spread.”
She opened her legs wide, bracing her feet on the rolled edges of the tub. “We have done this before. I distinctly remember not hating it. Water pressure is a girl’s best friend.”
I was about to enjoy destroying that confidence. Holding her gaze, I unscrewed the attachment, releasing a powerful, unchecked torrent of water.
Then I brought it directly against her clit.
She let out a whoop of surprise. I shushed her. “Do you want someone to hear?”
She clamped her lips shut.
“Do you want them to know what a nasty girl you are?” I taunted her. She was close, her toes curling and flexing as her breathing sped into sharp, desperate whimpers. “You might be able to stay quiet through the first one. Maybe the second. But what about...seven?”
Her back arched and a high-pitched whine escaped through her nose. I didn’t move the hose away.
“You’ll scream, eventually. “Probably for mercy.” I grinned as she kicked and grasped the seat of the chair until I was sure she would snap it.
She shook her head and whispered, “No,” but the panic in her eyes contradicted her professed resolve.
The house was so big, the chances of anyone getting close enough to hear were slim. I wasn’t sure if she knew that and was playing along, but I trusted her to use her safe word if she became concerned.
I leaned in and nibbled her ear. “Does that get you off? Thinking my family might overhear you coming?”
The muscles in her thighs spasmed.
“I know it does,” I whispered. “I remember the rehearsal dinner. The storage room. You were so wet.”
“Ah!” she yelped, bucking her hips wildly.
“It’s more fun this way, isn’t it?” I cupped one of her breasts and circled her nipple with my thumb. I worked the hose around in a circle too. “It’s not like putting on a show at the resort. If someone caught you here, you would feel ashamed.
“Imagine it,” I went on, kissing her throat. “How guilty you would feel. How filthy and embarrassed.”
“Mm-m—” she stammered, but she couldn’t finish before the next orgasm hit her. She let out a long, defeated moan. “Mercy!”
I pulled the hose away and quickly hit the valve to divert the water back to the faucet. “Four?”
“Three,” she shot back, panting.
“I was so close.” I screwed the showerhead back on and hung it on its hook. “There. You can get all clean, first.”
“What about you?” The direction of her gaze indicated that she wasn’t talking about the order of showers.
“Oh, this?” I gave my aching shaft a few teasing strokes. She wanted me to fuck her as much as I wanted to fuck her, but I enjoyed being denied as much as she did. “We’ll take care of this later. Right now, let’s get cleaned up for dinner.”
So I could get her good and dirty later.
* * * *
I couldn’t stop giving Charlotte sidelong glances as we made our way downstairs. Her dress, which I’d first mistaken for black, was a deep green silk that hugged her body elegantly, little wrinkles of ruching draping from the smooth central column of the bodice to disguise the precise outline of her figure. The crew neckline and lack of sleeves gave her an air of effortless glamor, as did the pulled-up hairstyle she’d copied from a video tutorial. My fingers itched to play with one of the artfully loose tendrils that brushed her subtly made-up face.
“You’re sure this is all right?” she asked again, adjusting the shoulders of her gown. “I’m not too fancy?”
“I’m wearing a tuxedo,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but without a tie,” she muttered. “Which is right there in the phrase ‘black tie,’ so how am I supposed to know which rules apply?”
“You look stunning,” I said firmly.
We made our way around the curve of the grand staircase, and voices drifted up to us from below. Small, childlike voices, but with the robotic, practiced high-society cadence learned from their parents.
My niece and nephew were eight and ten, respectively, but they spoke like contemporaries of Katharine Hepburn.
“Uncle Matthew,” Bennett addressed me, turning from his sister as if I had interrupted their conversation on the stock market. “So nice to see you again.”
“Yes, we barely see you aside from Christmas and Easter,” Briony added.
“And the regatta,” Bennett reminded her, adding, “We didn’t attend this year, because Mommy was at the spa.”
“Oh, I bet she was.” I caught a sidelong glance at Charlotte’s face, trying to gauge her reaction.
My sister’s children had all the warmth of an Edward Gorey drawing and the physical appearance to match. It didn’t help that their nanny dressed them like escapees from a Victorian asylum for criminal children.