"Don't." She pressed her palm to his chest, over his heart. "Don't be sorry."
She began to move again, slow, and she watched his face, watched the way his eyes lost focus again, the way his mouth opened on that other name. She didn't stop him. She let him have it, let him see what he needed to see, and she felt the power of it, the strange and terrible power of being the one who could give him this.
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"Yes," she said into the blotter. "Say it properly." "I'm wet for you." "You're wet for me." He drove in hard on the word and she gasped. "Because you're a whore now. My whore. Say it." "I'm your whore." "That's right." He took a handful of her hair and pulled her head up off the desk so her back arched and her breasts hung down and swung with every stroke. "My full-time whore. You don't scrub floors anymore. You spread your legs. That's the job. Say it."
Incestous relationship Age gap Filthy smuts
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