Wet & Wicked: Forbidden Collection Of Lust

Twice As Dirty (X)

Hugh’s POV~

I followed her up the stairs, my loafers were silent on the plush carpet, but my heart heavily thudding in my chest like a drum.

I let her think she had a head start. I heard her door click shut, the lock engaging with a flimsy snick. It was almost cute. A mouse trying to lock out the wolf.

I stood outside her door for a long moment, adjusting the cufflinks at my wrists. The gold doorknob was cool against my skin. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the master key. Click.

The bolt slid back with a heavy thud. Then I pushed the door open.

She was standing by the window, her back to me, still in that red dress. I knew she had changed out of it. I didn’t want to think about it that Cole had gotten to touch her first before me.

She spun around, her eyes were wide, reflecting the silver light.

"Hugh… Daddy, what are you doing?" she breathed, backing up until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the four-poster bed. "I said I wanted to be alone."

"I know what you said, Elara," I replied, my voice calm, dead calm. I closed the door behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room. "But we need to talk. Man to woman. No more pretending. No more 'stepdaughter' shit."

I walked over to the armchair in the corner, but I didn't sit. I stood over her, letting my shadow fall across her body, blocking out the moon entirely. She was shrouded in my darkness now.

"Why?" she whispered, her was voice trembling. "Why do you look at me like that? Why did you even marry Mom if you felt... nothing?"

I laughed. But it wasn't a happy sound. It was dry, like dead leaves skittering on pavement. I reached out, my knuckle tracing the edge of her jaw. She flinched, a sharp intake of breath, but she didn't pull away.

"Your mother," I said, my thumb pressing into the soft underside of her chin, forcing her to look up at me. "She was convenient. A transaction. She had the social grace I needed; I had the money she craved. We were a business arrangement with a marriage license."

I leaned in, my face was inches from hers. I could smell her light, floral perfume that smelt so innocent. It made the predator in me roar.

"I didn't marry her for her. I married her for you," I growled, my grip tightening. "I needed a reason to be in your house. To sit at your dinner table. To watch you grow up from the other side of the morning paper."

Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "That's... that's sick."

"Sick?" My lips have a cruel twist. "Maybe. But it’s the truth. I watched you, Elara. Every boyfriend, every broken heart, every time you laughed at a joke I didn't understand. I was patient. I waited."

I paced away, pouring myself a drink from the decanter on her vanity, though I didn't really want it. I just needed to move, to burn off the energy coiling in my loins.

"And then... the accident," she sobbed, finding her voice, tears pricking her eyes. "Mom died, Hugh! How can you be so cold?"

I spun around, slamming the glass down on the wood. It landed with a crack.

"I didn't cause the crash," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "But I knew the brakes were slipping. I knew the storm was coming. And when they called me from the hospital... when they told me she was gone..."

I walked back to her, backing her fully against the bedpost. I placed my hands on the dark wood on either side of her head, caging her in. She was trapped. My chest was heaving now, the memory of that night turning my blood to liquid fire.

"I didn't cry," I whispered, looking into her eyes, watching the pupil dilate. "I didn't shed a single tear for the woman I slept next to for five years. I walked straight to your room. You were asleep, curled up with that ragged stuffed bear. And I stood over you for an hour, just breathing in the air."

I leaned down, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my hot breath making her shiver.

"It was a gift, Elara. Her death was a gift from God. The shadow was gone. The contract was void. You were finally mine."

She shoved at my chest, her palms flat against the hard muscle. "Let me go! I hate you!"

I didn't budge. I was a mountain, and she was just a girl throwing herself against stone.

"Don't lie to me," I commanded, my hand sliding down from the wood to grip her hip, squeezing hard enough to bruise through the fabric. "Look at your hands, little bird. You're not pushing me away. You're holding on."

"I hate you," she whispered again, but her voice shook. Her chest was heaving against mine, the swell of her breasts pressing into me with every frantic breath that she took.

I looked down.

The fabric of her dress was thin. I could see the hard, pebbled points of her n*****s straining against the fabric, begging for attention. A dark flush was creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks a deep, shameful red.

"No, you don't," I said, my other hand coming up to tangle in her hair, yanking her head back to expose the long, elegant line of her throat. "You've known since the first time I touched your hand and you didn't pull away. You felt it then. The pull. The sin."

Then I kissed her.

I crushed my mouth to hers, my lips were hard, and demanding. She gasped and it was a sweet, and wet sound to my ears.

I took the opportunity to thrust my tongue deep into her mouth, tasting the red wine she had drank at the hall and the fear of her soul. I kissed her like I was trying to crawl inside her skin. She tasted like innocence and a forbidden fruit.

Mine.

I pulled back just an inch, my breath turned ragged, her lipstick was smeared across her face like a war paint.

"Your mother was just a ghost," I panted, my hand sliding from her hair down to the neckline of her dress. I hooked a finger into the fabric, pulling it down just an inch, exposing the curve of her breast. "And now... I'm going to make you forget she ever existed."

I pushed her down onto the bed. The mattress groaned under our combined weight. I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, my knees forcing her legs apart, settling my weight between her thighs.

I felt her wetness and her heat.

Her thighs were clenching around my hips. It was a reflexive, desperate attempt to trap me there. She was blushing furiously, her full lips that was swollen and red from my kiss, parted as she panted for air.

"Say it," I growled, my free hand stroking her cheek, then her neck, then lower, tracing the damp valley between her breasts. "Say you want your Daddy."

"Daddy," she sobbed, arching beneath me, grinding her hips up against the hard, throbbing length of my c**k that was straining painfully against my trousers. I was rock hard, the fabric was biting into me, the precum already dampening the fabric of my boxers. "Please... I—"

"That's my good girl," I whispered, leaning down to nip at her earlobe, my hips grinding down against her, letting her feel exactly what she did to me. "You're soaking my trousers, Elara. You're a dirty little thing, aren't you? Getting wet for the man who admits to watching you sleep?"

I captured her mouth again, swallowing her moans, owning every inch of the space between us. I could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, matching the rhythm of my own.

The war for her had just turned lethal. And I had no intention of losing.