Page 137 of Masked Sins
“Good.”
“As good as that was, I never gave you permission to come.”
“That’s convenient, because I want to do it again. All night. And maybe into tomorrow.”
She smiles, rolling her hips once against my sensitive cock. My hand shoots out, and I grip her firmly to keep her from moving, the sensation too intense. I stare down at her, eyes narrowed.
“Keep moving like that, and I’ll chafe your ass even more.”
She bites her lower lip. “I’d like that.” Her eyes are glazed over, and she brings a hand to my face. “Please,Master.”
I’ve turned my stepsister into a nymphomaniac.
“You didn’t eat very much dinner,” I say, lifting up and slowly pulling out of her.
“So? I could live on sex right now.”
Chuckling, I spread her legs and watch as my seed drips out, shivering at the pleasure it brings me to see my cum dripping out of her perfect pussy. Taking my finger, I scoop the cum back into her, pushing it inside. She gasps.
“Mm, baby. You look so good pumped full of my cum.”
Her hooded eyes watch me as I climb off the bed and walk to the bathroom. Wetting a washcloth with warm water, I walk back to where Layla is still sprawled on my bed. Placing it against her core, I clean her up, and then I help her off the bed.
“Go to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
She stands, and I take in her fully naked body. She’s…fuck.
I walk over to her, placing a hand on the back of her head and fisting her hair. I kiss her, yanking her neck back slightly and plunging my tongue inside her mouth. She moans, one of her hands coming to my chest.
I pull away. “We’re not done. But you need energy. And I need a moment,” I tell her, laughing.
“Orion,” she whispers, one hand coming to my chin. Her eyes flit over my face, and something softens in her expression. “I’m glad it was you.”
Thirty minutes later, I walk over to the kitchen island where Layla sits, carrying the meal I’ve made her—fettuccine Alfredo with a fresh tomato and basil salad on the side. She balks when I set her plates down, along with a glass of water. She’d changed into pajama shorts with a cat print and a plain black tank top. Her copper hair is clipped up on top of her head, and I can’t help staring at her every chance I get.
“You just whipped up some fancy pasta, no big deal,” she says, rolling her eyes as she digs in. “You like to cook. I remember that now, from before.”
Cooking for her used to be my favorite thing.
“I do like to cook.” Taking a seat next to her, she smiles at me as she eats.
Yeah, it still might be my favorite thing—cooking for her, watching her eat, watching her throat bob when she swallows.
“Have you ever thought about opening a restaurant? Maybe branching off from bars and kink clubs?”
I chew my pasta as I think about her question. After swallowing, I take a sip of my water.
“Maybe. I like the feeling of opening a new place. Of hiring people and being able to give people well-paying jobs. Nothing is like the satisfaction of seeing someone enjoy something you’ve created. Again, I think it comes down to control—to making decisions about a place, from the location to the aesthetic. A restaurant is something I’ve thought about.”
“You’re good at it,” she says, and her praise means everything to me. “Your businesses. Most people can hardly get one off the ground, but you’ve managed three now.”
“It helps to have money. I have privilege, and I recognize that. I don’t take a salary at any of my places.”
She cocks her head. “Really?”
I shrug. “I don’t need the money.”
Her expression softens, and she wipes her mouth with her napkin. “See? Charles Ravage would exploit his workers and pay himself a large salary.” I look down at my plate as she continues. “Can I tell you something?” I look up at her, and she gives me a wry smile. “I think you’re more like my dad than Charles. You know that saying? Nature versus nurture? Sure, Charles is your birth father, and you spent the first fourteen years under his roof. And who’s to say how you would’ve turned out if your mom hadn’t left him, taking you with her. But you also spent the second half of your life with my dad—one of the most selfless people I know. I watched the transition. Watched as you went from a shy fourteen-year-old to someone who helped Scott at the bar every weekend. Someone who learned the power of hard work. And look at you now.”
