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I go hard the moment the words are out of her mouth. I want to think of her like a child, someone’s child, Drew’s child. But she’s no child. She’s a woman. A beautiful woman at that, and she was wet for me back there.
She can hardly look at me as she makes this offer, to allow me to take her. It reeks of inexperience. She has no idea what this means.
I would ravage her, hurt her, play with her, fuck her. I wouldn’t let up until she was boneless and weary and barely able to stand. I want that. I wanted it the moment I saw her holding that kid’s tiny cock. I wanted it when I grabbed her ponytail and when I touched those beautiful tits.
But claiming her means something. I don’t claim women. I don’t have an old lady for a reason. They are liabilities. The last woman I had in my life was killed just before I could get her out of an unsafe situation. Now, my daughter Shannon lives apart from club life to keep her from falling into this trap.
This girl ... I don’t know her background. I know her father. He’s actually a pretty good man, a man I could get behind under different circumstances. I doubt he’d want his daughter being ravaged by some other club’s leader. He wouldn’t want this for her, just like I wouldn’t want it for my daughter.
But here she is, big brown eyes flitting nervously around the room, focusing anywhere but on my face, lest she find me mocking or angry or dismissive. I don’t think she realizes how beautiful she is, how affecting with her slim build, her modest breasts, her long legs, and her pale skin. I’m sure she’s been protected from the darker parts of club life, parts she only just began to see tonight in that room. Parts I’d prefer, most days, didn’t happen here.
I sit forward, grabbing the shampoo, squirting it in my hand. “Turn around,” I say coarsely, and as she scoots around, I lather her long hair, scrubbing it into her scalp while she moans with pleasure.
She moans. I’m not even touching her sexually and she sounds half over the cliff. My dick gets harder thinking about how responsive she must be in bed. I lean her back to rinse out the soap, then repeat the process with conditioner. Once that’s done, I grab the bar soap and lather her back and arms. I reach around and run my soapy hands over her tits. She leans back against my chest.
So trusting. I want to shake her and tell her not to trust me, that no woman in this life should ever trust a man like me. But here she is, warm and soft and leaning back as I wash as much of the day from her skin as I can, as if washing her will wash away all the ways in which this is wrong.
I move my hands down to her abdomen, then lower, my fingers light against her folds, finding the button of her clit. Her hips arch up to meet my touch. I never penetrate her, only stroke the skin between her legs as she moves her hips, her breathing shallow, her skin flushed.
I could go further. She’s asked me to, offered her body to me, but still, it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. She doesn’t know the consequences of making this decision. If she goes back to Blazing Pistons with my mark on her, she will be viewed as dirty, damaged property. Her father likely has a club member in mind for her. He’s probably planning on foisting her on someone he trusts, hoping that man will keep her safe.
I know better than anyone that there is no “safe” in this world, but this girl will be better off in her father’s world, with someone who really cares about her to keep an eye on her.
It’s that thought that makes me push her away. I rise up, dripping, and step out of the tub. I grab a towel and start drying my skin roughly. In the mirror, I can see her watching me, her eyebrows in a V, confusion written all over her face. Her cheeks are bright pink. She was close. I feel a little bad about not getting her off.
She stands as well and steps behind me. She doesn’t take a towel, just reaches out and traces the line of my side, all the way down to below my ass. Her fingertips trace along my backside, cupping my cheeks, sneaking around to my stomach. I close my eyes, because I don’t want to see the desire and determination in her eyes. I want to stay away from her, but she’s pushing all of my buttons so easily.
I turn and wrap her in my towel, effectively severing her touch. She looks up at me, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes me want nothing more than to pick her up and take her straight to bed.
I won’t, though. I have principles.
So I turn away, making my way to my closet. I pull on the first shirt and pants I find, and walk out the door, leaving her still standing in the bathroom, wrapped in my towel.
I lock the door from the outside, with a key.
*
