Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Never have I been so hard. Not even in my youth. There is no blue pill on this planet that could give me wood like she does.
“Papa?” she calls to the darkness, her head turning on the floor of the stage. “You are out there, right? I see your outline. How did I do? Good enough for the party?”
“Perfect,” I grunt, my throat raw, mouth dry as I rip my handkerchief from my back pocket for a hasty cleanup, then battle my still-stiff boner into my pants.
“You always say that,” she chirps back, pushing up to sit cross-legged, holding her hand flat over her eyebrows like a salute, squinting. “Come out where I can see you. You’re like some creeper in the back of a porn theater.”
Yes, yes, I am and you’re my little triple X starlet.
“Coming.” I push to my feet, lightheaded with white dots in my vision from the power of the orgasm, my dick tugging at my boxers where they are stuck with the sticky cum.
“I felt like I totally flubbed that Rond de Jambe en L'air in that last Arabesque.”
On a burning exhale, I move to the aisle and walk into the light. She’s my greatest distraction. I meant only to stay for a minute before heading to my workshop where business awaits. As it always does.
“There wasn’t anything out of place.” I grunt clearing my throat, stuffing my hands in my pockets and stalling ten steps from the edge of the stage as she stretches her legs in a wide ‘V’ in front of her, leaning forward onto her elbows, her chin in her hands.
God, what I could do with that flexible little body.
I want to praise the fuck out of her, but my control hangs by a silk thread. The twisting in my belly competes with the iron bars I keep around my heart, knowing she’s the one who holds the key.
“Are you okay, Papa?” she says, her brow worried as she sits up and runs her hands down her legs, massaging her calves while alternating between pointing and flexing her toes. Her melodic voice flutters around in the logged walls of the auditorium like a thousand butterflies.
I built this place as a shrine to her. The construction took a year under my meticulous scrutiny.
Getting things done here, north of nowhere in the Canadian wilderness, requires not only money but influence. The world moves slower here.
The three months out of the year when it’s not blue balls cold out, I had teams working round the clock. By winter, the enormous addition to the mansion was enclosed and the remainder of the work could be completed come blizzard or Armageddon.
I wanted her on stage. Under the lights. Performing.
For me.
Even as I realize each addition to the compound here is just another golden bar on her gilded cage, I can’t stop.
“Yes,” I answer, taking a step back. “Things on my mind.”
“Investment problems?” She rolls her head around on her elegant neck, looking upward and around the room. “I knew you shouldn’t have spent so much building this. It’s over the top, Lucy and I don’t need such extravagances.”
Lucy. Her stepsister. My granddaughter by blood. I care for her deeply, but nothing like how I feel for Carina.
They are as different as summer sunshine and winter storms. Both necessary and beautiful in their own way, but Lucy is more like me than even I choose to admit. I’ve told Carina I am an investor. Stocks, currency, commodities and the like. I keep it vague and she doesn’t delve.
If she knew the truth, she would leave and my life would be over.
When Carina’s hands move from her calves to her thighs, my gaze lingers between them where I know her tight, wet pussy is waiting for my claiming.
I shake my head, choking on my own saliva as my mouth waters like a mountain river in spring, then run a hand over the top of my head. Keeping space between us is the only way.
Deep down, the last spark of a civilized man in me hopes I will grow weary of her. That this is some chemical imbalance that will right itself in the frozen winter nights and sweep away the endless dreams of my cock pushing into the slick wetness of her virginity. And that all those depraved fantasies will be replaced by bloodshed and the ruthless pursuit of leaving this ice-ridden hideaway, so I can return to my rightful place as the kingpin of the empire I was forced to leave back in Chicago.
“You deserve everything,” I mutter as I force myself to turn away, each step like walking through wet cement as the soft brushing of movement comes from behind, then there’s the delicate tap tap tap of her feet on the carpeted aisleway.
Keep walking.
Don’t turn around.