Burning Hot (a collection of short stories)
I want to add more, I want to cover every inch until she can’t sit without remembering whose hands were there.
She moans again, low, needy, and my breath catches.
It’s not the polite little sound women make when they’re trying to be sexy.
It’s raw.
Animal.
The kind of sound that says she’s already dripping, already aching, already past shame.
Dad drops to his knees behind her.
I watch carefully as he drags his tongue up the length of her slit in one long, filthy stroke.
Belle’s back arches, and her breasts, still trapped in that thin white tank, drag across the wood with every shudder.