Desire Soaked in Taboo

~ Stellan's POV

I was fucking hard.

The rain hammered the roof of my Bentley, a relentless fucking drum that did nothing to drown out the pulse in my cock. I sat in the driver's seat, gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles ached.

I wanted to unzip my pants and pump my cock till I spluttered over the wheel.

But I couldn't! 

My erection strained against my pants like a goddamn traitor. This wasn't me. I had spent my years convinced I was wired differently–men, maybe, or nothing at all. I had never felt the urge to have sex, never even gotten hard before.

Sex was a transaction, a release, to me. Not this...this clawing, feral need that had me rock hard for her. 

Thea. My best friend's daughter. The girl I'd call "kid" when she was in pigtails, reading bedtime stories with her dad, and I would watch them at the door.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my dick to calm the hell down. Think of something else. Anything. The casket sinking into the mud. Richard's pale face in the hospital, his last words: 'Look after her, Stellan. She's yours now.'

Not yours in this sick kind of way, I was thinking. I was meant to be her new guardian, not this twisted hunger that burned the second I saw her across his grave.

Her puffy eyes and chapped lips somehow more beautiful than any polished doll. Her gaze had hit me like a shot of whiskey, burning straight to my core, and when she flinched under my stare, I'd wanted to pin her to the wet earth and make her scream.

I groaned, shifting in the seat, my cock throbbing harder.

Focus, you bastard.

The stock market. The merger I closed last week. I was Stellan Vaughn, New York's untouchable king, not some depraved fuck lusting after a grieving 23-year-old. Richard would rise from his grave and gut me.

The passenger door yanked open, and my eyes snapped to her. Thea. Soaked to the bone, her black dress clinging to every curve like a second skin.

I thought she had an umbrella?

Her hair was a wet, tangled mess, dripping onto her shoulders, and her makeup–fuck, that smudged mascara and streaked eyeliner made her look like she'd been ravished already.

But the only one who wants to ravish her right now was this depraved man, who was me.

My cock twitched, a fresh wave of heat pooling in my groin. She slid into the seat, the leather creaking under, and the scent of rain and something sweet, her skin, maybe, hit me like a drug.

She looked at me, those wide, haunted eyes locking onto mine, and then, Jesus fucking Christ, she bit her lip.

Her teeth sank into that plump, chapped flesh, and I didn't know if it was deliberate or just her nervous habit, but it sent a jolt straight to my dick.

Damnit, Thea. You are driving me insane.

I wanted to bite that lip myself, suck it until she whimpered, until she begged me to call her a good girl again like I did when she was eight and I was just "Uncle Stellan." The memory made me sick, but it didn't stop the fantasy of her on her knees.

Those lips wrapped around me, her tears mixing with–

I tore my gaze away, my throat tight, and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, a low growl that matched the one in my chest.

"Buckle up." I said, my voice a gravelly rasp, barely controlled.

I kept my eyes on the windshield, the rain blurring the cemetery into a gray haze, anything to avoid looking at her thighs, where her dress was pulled up, exposing her pale, wet skin that begged to be touched.

"I'm fine," she muttered, her voice shaky but defiant, like she was daring me to argue. I didn't.

Fuck, I didn't even ask her how she was, so why speak?

I couldn't trust myself to speak without betraying the chaos in my head. My cock was still hard, a pulsing reminder of my depravity, and every breath she took seemed to tighten the coil in my gut.

I shifted gears, my hand brushing the console, inches from her knee. I didn't touch her–God, I wouldn't– but I swear something shifted in the air.

The car sped through the city, the rain a steady drumbeat, but the silence inside was louder. I could feel her staring, her eyes burning into the side of my face, and I wanted to tell her to stop.

To look out the fucking window, but I didn't trust my voice. 

Not when I could still see her in my mind, that lip-biting mascara-streaked face, her dress clinging to her tits, the outline of her nipples faintly visible through the wet fabric.

Fuck.

I gripped the wheel harder, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" She asked, her voice soft but sharp, slicing through the tension in the car. "You are supposed to...I don't know, say something about him. About Dad."

I frowned. Her words were a knife, twisting in my gut. Richard. My brother in all but blood, the man who trusted me to protect his daughter, not to fantasize about bending her over the hood of my car.

"What do you want me to say, Thea?" My voice came out colder than I meant, something to finally cover the heat coursing through me. "He's gone. Words can't change that."

She sucked in a breath, and I hated myself for the way it made my cock throb. I don't have any flowery words to give her, because the world wasn't made from flowers.

I stole a glance, which was a damn mistake. Her chest heaved, her dress pulling tighter, and her eyes were glassy, not just from the rain but from something raw.

I thought it was because she was about to cry.

But no, this was something that mirrored the broken thing inside me. Maybe I was mistaken. She shifted, her thigh brushing the console, and my hand twitched on the gearshift, itching to slide higher, to feel her skin.

To see if she was dripping wet as I imagined.

"You're not my father," she said, snapping me back to reality, her voice barely a whisper. "You don't get to act like him."

I scoffed.

"I'm not trying to." My words were clipped, my control slipping. I wanted to tell her I was worse, far worse, because no father would look at his daughter and want to fuck her until she forgot her name.

But I didn't. I just drove. My pulse hammering in my throat.

The silence stretched, heavy with her scent, her presence, the way her breath hitched every time I shifted gears. I am never washing the interior of my car.

My cock wouldn't quit, and neither would the images in my head, her on my lap, her dress hiked up, my hands bruising her thighs as I made her moan.

I was disgusting, a monster, but the need was stronger than my shame.

The car slowed as we pulled into the private garage of my Manhattan penthouse. The engine cut off. Thea's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the penthouse.

"Why are we here?" she demanded, her voice trembling with something, maybe anger, fear, or maybe the same fucked up want I was drowning in.

As if that would ever happen.

I turned to her, my gaze locking onto hers, and for a moment, I let her see it, the hunger and everything I couldn't bury.

"From now on, you're staying here," I said, my voice low and final. "Until you're married."