One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(22)
My cock jerks at the sight of it, of the ecstasy etched on her face. Blood pounds in my ears as the rest gathers below. No matter how much I want to, I can’t fucking look away—so I don’t. Knowing that if her eyes open, she’ll catch me, I remain where I stand as she gets lost in Sean’s coaxing.
“Want to come, Pup?” Sean utters, his voice coated in lust.
“Please,” she whimpers as he coats his fingers with her arousal before massaging her as she bucks into his hand.
Sean dives back in, and Cecelia erupts, face flushing as she pants out his name, her thigh shaking around his head as she digs her bare heel into his back. The sight and sound of her coming unleashes a desperate fucking need inside me. Hairs rising on the back of my neck, my angry dick pulses in my jeans, demanding attention, and I refuse it.
Unshackling myself, I hit the bottom of the stairs just as Sean’s door closes. Paralyzed where I stand, Cecelia’s muffled moans resume from behind it. Senses acute, my cock threatens a revolt as I catch the sound of the running refrigerator along with the tick of a tiny clock on a nearby shelf.
Refusing to entertain the obnoxious throb in my jeans, I stalk toward the sliding door and into the side yard. I glance around as if something nearby might bring me some relief.
Taking the bench seat, I lift the bar and start a dead press. Mentally warring, I continue to press in an effort to erase the images of her lust-covered features—the sight of her landing strip and dripping pussy, and the fucking sounds that came out of her as she orgasmed.
Even if he wanted me to see it—to face my attraction for her—he couldn’t have manipulated the timing that much.
Then again, we’re masters at deception.
Sean doesn’t do anything without thinking it through. Maybe he’s fighting her effect on him, desperate to believe the lies he’s telling—and losing. Perhaps this once, when it comes to her, he doesn’t have the fucking answer.
None of us do.
Instinct guides my every move and decision at this point in my life. Always has. It was not until I reached adulthood that I could fully recognize it for what it is. As faithfully as I follow, I sometimes wish it was more subtle. It’s anything but—always thrumming through me with unexplainable force while, at times screaming at me to obey. Refusing to give me any fucking peace.
Like now, as I’m roused from a much-needed dead sleep with the familiar inkling that I’m being watched, and without opening my eyes, by who.
That knowledge jolts me alert, and my eyes pop open to see her standing just outside the guest bathroom. Even feet away, it’s easy to make out the lust in her expression. Seeing she’s just as turned on as she was hours ago, I remain motionless, conveniently but unintentionally spread out for her viewing pleasure.
Taking her time, she soaks in every bared inch of me before settling her gaze on my cock. A cock that’s already betraying me as it stirs at the sight of her looking freshly fucked, lips swollen, wearing nothing but Sean’s T-shirt.
Her own alarm bells kick off as she senses my stare just before her desire-filled blue eyes fly to mine and widen. The now familiar electricity passes between us, my answering stare full of dare as I flick my gaze to my cock. A cock that now stands full fucking mast. I lift my chin a fraction just as she sputters out an apology before scurrying away like . . . a fucking mouse.
As Sean’s door quietly closes due to Cecelia’s hasty retreat, I can’t help but feel for the son of a bitch for his latest bold move. Intentional or not, he’s been baiting me with her since she got here. It’s past time for his wake-up call and hers.
Gloves off, sweetheart.
“Cha-ching.”
The ping jars me from the image of Cecelia running her hands along my dick when we faced off in the kitchen yesterday. I’d done my worst, and even in doing it, the hum of attraction was there, only strengthening with our latest sparring match. This one heavily incited by me. She’d given just as good as she got, but Sean’s latest test backfired in the end. He’d purposely left her in my path, again, and failed to make his point, again. She’s nowhere near ready or has the strength to endure the trials of being in our world. The more he tries, the more his efforts have proven futile.
The Dead Sergeants ring out through my earbuds as I eye the new balance in our piggy bank. Scanning the Nasdaq feed when the exchange opens for the day, the local news simultaneously pops up, streaming on another screen. Satisfaction thrums through me when I search for and discover Spencer’s company stock is plummeting according to plan. Once we’ve gathered enough evidence to bury him for the guns we found at the warehouse, it’s RIP for Spencer and onto the next target. Just as I think it, my phone rattles with an incoming text from Tyler.
T: Meet you at the garage.
Annoyance flares when I catch another whiff of the fucking carrot cake Cecelia plastered to my head yesterday, and I decide another shower is in order. Moving to push away from my desk, I pause when I catch a headline flash across the screen.
LOCAL WOMEN’S SHELTER RECEIVES A STAGGERING DONATION.
Killing the streaming music, I turn up the volume just as the anchor cues the reporter on site.
“I’m standing outside “Chance Two Woman’s Shelter” with director Loretta Dawson, where just days ago, an anonymous donor had a truck delivered. The truck was filled to the brim with supplies and non-perishables that will stock their pantry well through the new year. An unexpected but much-needed donation. Can you tell us a little more about that, Loretta?”