Feed me, sir
LOLITA
My favorite part of hunting down a man is stalking my prey, waiting, watching, teasing from one corner of the room. The slow build-up is everything. The tension that stretches between us until it finally snaps, until I have them exactly where I want them, right between my legs, desperate, hungry, and completely undone by me.
It always starts small.
The little shorts I wear. The way I take a light run past them so my body moves just enough to catch their attention. The careless toss of my hair. The glance I pretend not to give.
I barely ever put on makeup. I never needed it. I was already too pretty without it, and I knew it. That kind of beauty does not ask for attention. It already has it.
To hell with my late mum for all the times she forced me to cover up and be plain. Still, she was the same woman who would hold my face in her hands and tell me how rare I was.
“Lolita,” she would say, her voice soft but certain, “you are going to grow into a heart stopper. Men will fall at your feet. Your beauty will travel beyond Italy, and your father will protect you, choosing only the most worthy suitor for a princess like you.”
I believed her.
But I never wanted just one worthy suitor.
I wanted a couple.
One man had never been enough for me, and I doubted it ever would be.
Carlos was my father’s favorite guard. He had been with us since I was in high school, always around, always silently doing his job.
His body was carved with intention. Broad chest, strong arms, a quiet strength that showed even in the way he stood. His skin carried a soft tan, and his dark curls sat in tight rings on his head, controlled but not tame.
He spoke fluently, and he never spoke too much.
Unlike the others, he never stared at me.
Never let his eyes linger.
Never slipped.
That alone made me want him more.
Almost as much as I wanted to go back to America, the land where I could do whatever I wanted without being watched and controlled by Daddy.
The good thing was that tonight, Carlos would serve two purposes.
And I intended to enjoy both.
***
I checked the time. It was past midnight.
Perfect.
I slipped out of bed, pushing my covers aside, my skin meeting the cool air.
At the door, I paused, then knocked twice.
Carlos was stationed outside, making sure the Don’s daughter stayed exactly where she was supposed to be.
“Carlos?” I called, letting my voice soften, sweet and fragile, with just a hint of something deeper underneath.
Innocence was my favorite weapon. Men loved it. They loved believing they were the first to ruin you.
I ruined myself.
I simply let them take the credit.
“Miss Lolita, is everything okay?” he asked, his voice cautious through the door.
“I need help,” I said, letting my voice shake. “I think I sprained my ankle leaving the bathroom.”
There was a pause. I could almost hear the hesitation in his breath.
Then the lock clicked.
The moment the door opened, I dropped to the floor, clutching my ankle like it was the source of unbearable pain. My towel lay forgotten on the bed, and the only thing covering me was my lace underwear.
I let out a soft cry, fragile, convincing.
“God, it hurts. I can’t take it,” I whispered, wincing, my body curling slightly.
Carlos moved immediately, his instincts overriding whatever doubt he had. He crouched in front of me, reaching for my leg, but I pulled back sharply, letting my breath hitch.
“It hurts,” I said again, my eyes squeezing shut.
It was all pretense, but it felt real enough. All I had to do was think about the endless days I had been trapped in this house, the suffocating control, the boredom that clawed at me from the inside.
When he tried again, I leaned forward suddenly, closing the distance between us.
“Oh my God, Carlos… please be gentle with me,” I murmured, my voice softer now.
He froze.
“Lolita… what are you doing?” Carlos asked, already trying to pull back.
I caught his collar before he could move away.
“No,” I whispered. “Don’t go.”
My fingers tightened slightly, my gaze lifting to meet his. The innocence was still there, but it had cracked, just enough for him to see what lay beneath it.
I shifted closer, my body brushing against his, slow and intentional.
“Please,” I said again, but this time it was not about my ankle.
My hands moved, exploring, testing, feeling the tension in him, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.
Carlos managed to get up, but he didn’t let go of my hold just yet.
“Innocent Lolita,” I said softly, almost teasing, “the one you drove to school, the one you never looked at.”
I tilted my head, watching him through my lashes.
“Look at me now.”
My voice dropped to a whisper.
“Will you take care of me, Sir Carlos?”
This time, there was no mistaking what I meant.
And I could see it in his eyes.
He understood.
“Will you feed me, good sir?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper as my fingers slipped lower, teasing the edge of his waistband.
I did not wait for permission.
I pushed his trousers down slowly, and deliberately, watching every flicker of hesitation and restraint on his face. Then I let them fall.
What he had been holding back pressed free, heavy and unapologetic, rising between us like it had been waiting for this moment just as much as I had.
It was enough to make me pause.
My eyes lingered, taking him in fully, appreciating the weight, the thickness, the shape.
Carlos let out a low rough groan, the strain in his voice told me he was already losing the battle.
I shifted. I sank to my knees.
My gaze lifted, dragging up his body until it met his eyes, holding him there, making sure he felt every second of it.
The shadow of his length fell across my face, warm and consuming. I could almost taste him.
It was the perfect c*ck to break daddy’s heart to.
A small smile curved at my lips.
