Oh, God. Why did her mother name her Salome? This is all Susan's fault. Everything is Susan's fault. He's just a victim. How could he be anything but? After he's tried so hard to be good, all these years, and then like a cosmic joke all of that is wiped away because his daughter is untucking his shirt, and speaking and nipping against his throat enough to make him exhale.
One hand lowering, Richard squeezes her knee, and the other slides from the back of her neck and traces the line of her spine. It lingers at the hem of her shirt, creeping just barely beneath the fabric and against that flesh, Jesus that flesh, so soft and new.
"You don't love me like this," he says while his hand slides up her shirt to rest flat against the small of her back. The one at her knee lifts to catch her wrists, the toothy grin spreading across his face impossible for him to fight off. "How much have you fooled around with boyfriends? Have you even had sex, young lady." He arches a brow, his expression smarmy, humorously lecherous while his fingers curl against the flesh of her back. "You should be fooling around with stupid boys in movie theaters and I should be buying shotguns to hunt them down."
His skull buzzes with sensory overload that echoes itself in his fingertips. The powder-soft scent of her hair, the warmth of her flesh, the sound of her voice and her breath. His tongue darts out to wet his lips while he struggles to formulate words. "If we go on, if we play like this, you and I, we will be having a serious discussion later. Is that clear?"
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One hand lowering, Richard squeezes her knee, and the other slides from the back of her neck and traces the line of her spine. It lingers at the hem of her shirt, creeping just barely beneath the fabric and against that flesh, Jesus that flesh, so soft and new.
"You don't love me like this," he says while his hand slides up her shirt to rest flat against the small of her back. The one at her knee lifts to catch her wrists, the toothy grin spreading across his face impossible for him to fight off. "How much have you fooled around with boyfriends? Have you even had sex, young lady." He arches a brow, his expression smarmy, humorously lecherous while his fingers curl against the flesh of her back. "You should be fooling around with stupid boys in movie theaters and I should be buying shotguns to hunt them down."
His skull buzzes with sensory overload that echoes itself in his fingertips. The powder-soft scent of her hair, the warmth of her flesh, the sound of her voice and her breath. His tongue darts out to wet his lips while he struggles to formulate words. "If we go on, if we play like this, you and I, we will be having a serious discussion later. Is that clear?"