Wet & Wicked: Forbidden Collection Of Lust

Twice As Dirty (IV)

ELARA’S POV~

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, the Persian rug scratching my knees. I was eye-level with the monster between his legs.

He was massive from this angle. The head was a deep, bruised purple, slick with my spit and his own juices, the vein on the underside throbbing wildly, looking like it was about to burst.

"Open your mouth, Elara," Hugh commanded, his hand stroking himself furiously now, right in front of my face. The speed was blurring. "But don't catch it. Daddy wants to mark you. He wants to see it on your cheeks. On your chin. Wear Daddy's c*m, baby."

"Daddy, please," I whimpered, my hands gripping his thighs, feeling the rock-hard muscle there tremble. "Someone might come in. The staff—"

"Let them watch," he growled, his pace becoming erratic, his balls drawing up tight. "Let them see what a good girl you are to Daddy. Let them see who you belong to."

His hand moved like a blur. Up. Down. Up. Down.

"Elara," he groaned, his head falling back, his neck corded with strain. "I'm... Daddy's cumming, baby. Take it. Take it like a good girl."

He roared a dark, primal sound that vibrated in the floorboards, and then it hit me.

It was hot, thick and heavy.

Rope after rope of white c*m splashed across my face. The first one hit my cheek with a wet slap, sliding down to my chin. The second caught my closed eyelid, it was sticky and warm. The third landed right on my bottom lip, the saltiness hitting my tongue instantly.

He gripped my hair tighter, milking the last drops onto my skin, marking me, claiming me. He was painting me with himself, branding me as his property.

"Look at me," he panted, his chest heaving, his c**k still twitching in his hand, leaking the last few drops onto my forehead. "Open your eyes, Elara. See what you did to Daddy."

I opened my eyes, blinking through the mess, the white streaks blurring my vision. I looked up at the man who was my guardian, my stepfather, and now, the man whose c*m was dripping down my face, sliding into the corner of my mouth.

"Good girl," Hugh whispered, his thumb brushing a stray drop from my lip, pushing it into my mouth. "Daddy's very... very good girl. Now lick it clean, Elara. Taste the sin."

The silence in the study was deafening right after that, broken only by the ragged sound of Hugh’s breathing.

He stood over me, his chest heaving, his c**k still twitching in his hand, glistening with the last few drops of what he’d just spilled all over my face.

Then, his eyes cleared.

The lust fog lifted, replaced by something cold and sharp. Shame.

His face twisted. The jaw that had been clenched in pleasure now hardened into a mask of regret. He looked down at me, at his c*m dripping from my eyelashes, sliding down my chin, soaking into the silk of my dress and his lip curled.

"Jesus," he spat, the word sounding like a curse. He released himself, stepping back so fast he nearly tripped over the rug. "Look at you. Look what you... what we..."

He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, tugging at the strands.

"Get up, Elara," he commanded, his voice suddenly cold, stripped of the "Daddy" warmth. "Clean yourself up. Now."

"I... Daddy..." I sobbed, wiping at my cheek, but the sticky wetness only smeared more.

"Don't 'Daddy' me," he snapped, turning his back on me, walking toward the window where the sun mocked us both. "Get out. Go to your room. Leave me."

The dismissal was like a blow to me.

I scrambled up, my legs shaking, the Persian rug scratched rough against my knees. I didn't look at him. I couldn't anymore.

I ran for the door, my hands clawing at my face, trying to wipe away the evidence of his sin, the salt of his release burning my skin.

I burst out of the study, blindly running down the hallway.

I was a mess. Tears were streaming down my face, mixing with the drying c*m. I was wiping my cheeks furiously with my sleeve, scrubbing at the sticky mess, desperate to erase the smell, the feel, the sin of what just happened.

"Elara?"

The voice stopped me dead.

I crashed right into a wall of muscle.

Cole.

He was standing there, looking dapper in a tuxedo, a glass of scotch in his hand. He must have been waiting for Hugh, but as he caught me, his arms wrapping around my shaking frame instantly, his eyes widened.

"Shh, I've got you, sweetheart," Cole murmured, his voice was like velvet, so soothing and deep. He pulled me into his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head, pressing my face into his shoulder. "It's okay. Let it out. Daddy’s gone, isn't he?"

I sobbed harder, my hands gripping his lapels, my face buried in the expensive fabric of his jacket. I was ruining his tux, wiping Hugh’s c*m all over the black silk.

"Did he yell at you?" Cole whispered, his hand stroking my hair in slow, rhythmic circles. "You're trembling, Elara. You're shaking so bad."

He shifted slightly, his chin lowering until it rested on top of my head.

Then, he inhaled with a long, deep, deliberate breath.

I froze. He was sniffing me.

His nose pressed closer to my hairline, right where Hugh’s release had splashed against my temple.

"Shh," Cole soothed again, but his voice had dropped an octave, vibrating with a dark curiosity. "You smell... stressed, Elara. Like a storm just passed through that room."

He took another breath, sharper this time.

"It's heavy," he murmured, almost to himself. "Salt and musk. And something else..."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes were dark and unreadable, a charming smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes.

"Let it out, baby," Cole whispered, his thumb brushing a tear and a streak of white from my cheek. "I'm right here. I'll always be the one you run to when he's too much, isn’t it?”

"Isn't it?" Cole finished, his voice was a low hum against my hair.

He didn't pull away. He just stood there, holding me in the hallway, his arms like a cage of warmth.

I was trembling. My hands were still dirty with the residue of Hugh’s release, wiping it onto Cole’s tuxedo, ruining the fabric. I felt disgusting. I felt like a child who had been caught doing something wicked.

Cole’s hand was stroking my hair. Slowly. Rhythmicly.

He’s my brother, I thought, my eyes squeezed shut. He’s the one who taught me how to ride a bike. He’s the one who scared off the boys at school.

But then, he shifted.

His nose brushed against my temple. He inhaled. Then… He froze. For a second, the stroking stopped. His hand hovered in my hair.

He smells it, my heart screamed. He smells Hugh. He smells the sin.

I waited for him to push me away. To curse. To ask what the hell happened in that room.

But he didn't.

Instead, his hand resumed its motion, but the rhythm was different now. It was tighter. More possessive.

"Shh," Cole whispered, his chin resting on top of my head. "It's okay. I've got you. You're safe here."

But I wasn't safe.

His body was warm, solid, and as he held me, I felt the tension radiating off him. He was angry. Not at me, but at the scent clinging to me. The scent of our father.

"You're shaking, Elara," he murmured, his voice dropping, vibrating in his chest against my ear. "You're freezing."

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable, scanning my face, the smeared makeup, the white streaks drying on my skin.

"Come with me," he said. It wasn't a question.

He didn't wait for an answer. He kept one arm around my waist and led me toward his room.

The door clicked shut behind us, locking out the rest of the world.

Cole didn't turn on the lights. He walked me to the edge of his bed and sat me down. He stood in front of me, towering over me.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

I looked up.

He was beautiful. My big brother. The heir to the empire. The rival to the man who had just broken me.

He reached out, his thumb brushing my cheek. He wiped away a tear, but his thumb came away wet with something else. Something salty.

He stared at his thumb for a second.

Then, he looked back at me.

"Elara," he breathed my name like a prayer and a curse. "What did he do to you?"