by Piper Trace
He’d studied the subjects who came to Dr. Sullivan’s lab. Through his research on female sexual response, Bishop was intimately familiar with how women touched themselves to achieve orgasm. None the same way, but almost always their techniques were within the same basic repertoire of movements. He went through them now, gauging Penelope’s reactions, her soft intakes of breath. Her mewling cries of building pleasure.
She’d asked him to give her an orgasm to help her sleep, and she was right, he did technically know how to make a woman come, even if he’d never done it in practice, only in theory. But he’d studied it for years.
Pen had asked him to be her first. She wanted to give him her virginity. Such a special, special thing. As he touched her, and watched in wonder at the visceral excitement he was creating in her, he hoped in some small way that this was special too—the fact that he’d never stimulated a woman to climax before, not personally. Not in bed. Handing a female subject a vibrator and then being in the same room when it happened, while she was hooked up to monitors, didn’t count.
So, Pen would be the first woman he pleasured to orgasm.
Maybe that was a nice thing. He hoped it was, because he had nothing else to give her. Sexually, there was nothing special left for him, he thought bitterly.
She wriggled and whimpered, and his dick twitched, his balls tightening and aching as he watched her excitement grow. He was going to stimulate his ward until she came, and that was okay, because it was dark, and she was in need. In the light of morning they could pretend it hadn’t happened.
He was helping her, and that’s all he would do. He’d give her the relief she needed so she could sleep, but he wouldn’t use her body to come. He’d control himself. Then he could feel okay about it.
The noises Pen made under him could cause him to lose his mind. They were beautiful, perfect, and sinful. And the idea that he was creating those responses in her was nearly enough to make him come apart too.
He concentrated on the rhythm she seemed to respond to the most—up and down, steady pressure. “Okay, honey,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “Go ahead and come for me now.”
Her breaths shortened, building to a crescendo. He increased the pressure of his touch just a bit, and she arched her back high, her hard nipples coming close enough to his lips that he took one of them into his mouth and suckled her as she climaxed underneath him.
She writhed and shuddered, digging her hands into his hair and pulling him harder against her breast as she rode out her orgasm against his fingers.
*****
Penelope
Holy, holy wow. Bishop! Goddamn. Goddamn.
Pen’s thoughts were a jumble of nonsensical praises and cheers and curses. He’d finally broken down and had given her the orgasm she so desperately needed—hell yeah, he had—but as soon as the waves of ecstasy died away, she realized it hadn’t helped all that much. Her body was greedy for him. She actually felt more desperate to come than she had been before she’d snuck down the hallway to his room.
“Bishop,” she said, her voice small.
“How was that, little one?” he asked, leisurely nuzzling along her collar bone. “Did that help?”
She bit her lip. “I want more. I’m not satisfied. I actually feel hornier than I was before the orgasm.” She met his eyes, hoping to look apologetic. “Is that normal?”
His eyes widened, but she couldn’t read him. She wasn’t sure if he was surprised that she wasn’t satisfied, or freaking out because she was asking him for more.
“I’m not sure,” he said softly, his eyebrows knitting. “Maybe you’re multi-orgasmic and it takes more than one release for you to have a lengthy refraction period.”
Her own eyebrows drew together. “Has this happened before, with other women you’ve been with?”
He blinked a few times and looked down, pinning his eyes toward her abdomen. “I’ve seen it in the lab, but I’ve never actually done that before.” His voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear him.
When she processed his words, shock pierced through her. Surely he didn’t mean… “Never done what before?”
“Given a woman an orgasm. Not personally.”
She didn’t respond, but her heart pounded in her ears. He was twenty-six years old and drop-dead gorgeous. What the fuck did that mean? She was inexperienced, but she never dreamed he was.
“Bishop, are you—? Have you ever—?”
“I’m not a virgin.” He cut her off, his tone sharp.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Okay.” She touched his face, then cupped his cheek in her hand. What was going on in this man’s head? He closed his eyes and leaned into her palm, and she was shocked anew by how beautiful he was, and how vulnerable he looked.
“Should I go?” she whispered. “Maybe I can sleep.”
“I have an idea.” He lifted his head out of her hand and looked away. He couldn’t seem to meet her eyes, and his voice was gravelly and tight. “If you want to get off again.”
“God, yes,” she moaned. “Please.” She was begging like a whore, but she had trouble masturbating. She’d never been able to do it in a satisfying way, and she was so incredibly horny. Plus, this man made her feel fireworks she’d never imagined.
“It seems you prefer an up and down motion.” His tone was tight and controlled as he spread her vaginal lips with his thumb and forefinger. “And I can give you that same rhythm and friction with something other than my fingers.”
His voice was tremulous, but she couldn’t tell if it was emotion or lust affecting it. He flicked his dark gaze to hers for only a moment, his eyes as black and hungry as a wild animal’s, before he looked away again as if in shame.
He shifted to position his weight on top of her, the shaft of his swollen erection nestled between her slickened labia.
“Oh god…like this,” he practically moaned and began rocking his hips so his erection slid up and down through her vaginal lips, rubbing the full length of his cock against her clit with every thrust. It seemed like sex, but he wasn’t actually entering her. He was using her wet pussy almost like a hand wrapped around him, to get off, and she was using his hard shaft to stimulate her clit enough to climax again.
“Ohhh yes,” she moaned. “I like that. I can almost imagine you’re inside me.”
She watched in wonder as he thrust. Felt his weight holding her down as he fucked against her. It was everything sex was without breaking her hymen, and she greedily tried to memorize how a man felt on top of her, how Bishop felt on her.
He closed his eyes and the look on his face was pure ecstasy. Did she look that pleased or that carnal when she came? Yet he wasn’t even orgasming. He was simply enjoying her body, and god, she wanted him to enjoy it every day. She wanted him to meet her eyes across a room and give her that look. The look that would send her scurrying immediately to his room, to wait for him naked so that she might please him. She wanted him to give her that look whenever he wanted to be inside her.
“Does that feel good for you, honey?” His voice was tight.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Do I feel good to you?”
“Christ. Too good,” he bit out roughly. “Trying to control myself. Are you close?”
She nodded and closed her eyes. “Harder,” she urged. “Faster.”
He sat back on his heels and pulled her pelvis roughly onto his lap. Bracing his hands on either side of her hips, he leaned forward just enough to rock against her as if he was fucking her deep and hard.
He wrapped his big hands around her ass and squeezed, using his strength to move her hips against him quickly, up and down. His thick biceps bulged with the effort, and his solid chest muscles rippled. Lit by the moonlight, he looked as if he was ravishing her.
“Is this what you want from me, little one?” he grunted. “You want my cock in you?”
“Yes,” she gasped.
“You want me to take you hard? Treat you like you’re mine to fuck?”
“Oh
god,” she squeaked. “That’s what I want.”
He stopped rutting against her and scooted back, pulling her hips high with his powerful arms as if she were a doll, and buried his face in her hot, wet core.
There was no process, no technique. He just plunged his face between her legs and sucked on her clit, laving his tongue against her like a man possessed, while she mewled and struggled and cried out.
“Come on my face,” he commanded, when he pulled back for a breath. “I want to taste your orgasm. I want you to think of my tongue whenever you feel pleasure.”
He dove in again, stroking his tongue against her, hard, until she bucked in his hands. She tangled her fingers into his tousled hair and ground herself against his mouth like a wanton slut. Like the whore she was for him.
She made noises she’d never made before as her body wrung out every wave of its relief, and this time, when she finally came down from the sexual high he’d given her, she felt utter bliss. A calmness between her legs. A feeling of fullness and satisfaction at her core. Finally.
What she wasn’t prepared for was that Bishop wasn’t done.
She’d only ever seen him under a straightjacket of strict and utter control, so when she’d ridden out the last of her orgasmic waves on her guardian’s tongue, she hadn’t expected to see that look in his eyes. The look that said they weren’t done until he was done.
Still on top of her, he dropped her hips and braced himself over her with one hand, while he grabbed his cock with the other. He must have been slick from her juices, so his fist stroked easily up and down the purple shaft of his erection while his eyes, glassy and crazed with need, seemed to dart all over her, looking for a satisfying place to come that somehow wouldn’t threaten the virginity he seemed so doggedly against taking.
He moved up her body, his muscles rock-hard with tension, as if he was holding out from releasing with every ounce of strength he had.
“What do you need?” she asked, her voice high and thin. “Anything, Bishop. Anything you want from me,” she offered, meaning it.
He shifted quickly up the full length of her body, his biceps straining as his hand gripped his erection with what looked like the strength of steel.
“Penelope,” he gasped. “Can I—? Would you—?”
He didn’t even wait for her answer before he pushed the broad head of his cock against her mouth. She opened for him, but she wasn’t ready for what he wanted. He let go of his shaft, tucking his arm instead behind her head, yanking her onto him, shoving his erection so deep she gagged, but he was already coming.
His cum shot so far back in her mouth that she didn’t even have to swallow. His hot seed pulsed down her throat as she sputtered and tried to keep up. Still, he rocked his hips as he came, as if he wanted to go even deeper. A groan escaped his lips, a deep, guttural sound of release that seemed years in the making, before he let up, pulling back quickly so she could breathe.
“Sorry,” he said tightly. “God, I’m so sorry.” He’d given her throat reprieve before he was completely finished, and he apologized as he splashed the last waves of his orgasm on her lips and cheeks while she caught her breath.
She touched her tongue to the hot liquid on her lips, secretly loving that the first cum she’d ever tasted, ever swallowed—if what Bishop had just made her do could even be considered swallowing—was her guardian’s.
When his shudders subsided, he stilled for a moment, then jumped up to go into the private bathroom attached to his room. The light came on and she heard water running before he came out, carrying a washcloth.
He washed the evidence of his act off her face with such gentleness that she wondered how fragile he thought she was. Then he went back into the bathroom and she heard water running again. When he returned, he held up another washcloth. “A fresh one,” he said softly. “We don’t want to get semen near your vagina.” Gently, he spread her legs and wiped the apex of her thighs reverently.
“I’m on the pill,” she said, as he took care of her. When he looked up at her with brows drawn, she added, “It helps with my periods. I haven’t had a need for birth control yet.”
He closed his eyes and nodded, then picked up the cloth and his boxers before returning to the bathroom. More running water, some rustling, then Bishop came back to the bed. Her stomach fluttered with the hope that he’d crawl in next to her and hold her, now that they’d done what they’d done.
Her heart sank when, instead, he covered her with the duvet and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
He hung his head, the moonlight highlighting the dips and cords of his muscled back and shoulders. Tentatively, she reached out and let her fingers graze against his cool skin.
“I’m so sorry, Penelope,” he whispered, and his voice sounded broken. He shoved his hands through his hair and then held his head. He looked exhausted. “I should never have done that. I’m not fit to be around you.”
She pinned her eyebrows together, her lip curling. What the fuck was he talking about?
“Bishop,” she tried, her tone meant to be calming. “I know my dad meant a lot to you, and you take this whole guardian thing seriously, but I am an adult. I can make my own choices.”
He shook his head, his back expanding as he sucked in a deep breath. “And the way I treated you at the end, shoving myself into your mouth like that. Like you’re a toy for me to abuse at will. Like you’re just a hole for me to get off in.”
“No.” She sat up, alarmed. “That’s not how it was at all. I offered you anything. I wanted you to get off however you liked. You had my permission.” She tried to stroke his back but he flinched. She plowed ahead anyway, making him accept her touch. “I didn’t feel like a toy.”
“We can’t ever do this again. I was weak. I’m sorry, honey.” His voice was pure misery.
“Bishop, what’s wrong?”
“You need to go back to your room now.” His tone was sharper.
“Bishop, please. I’m worried about you.”
“Penelope,” he growled. “Go away.”
She took her hand off his back, her heart thudding and her stomach in knots. “You don’t have to be an asshole,” she hissed, crawling out the other side of the bed and grabbing the robe she’d dropped in his chair when she’d first snuck into his room. “I mean, not any more of an asshole than you usually are, anyway,” she mumbled as she tied the sash around her waist.
“Please, Pen. Just go.”
He sounded bone-tired, and so full of pain that she paused for a moment, wondering if there was something she should do, wondering if she should feel guilty about stealing into his room and seducing him. But she didn’t. His issues obviously went deeper than she knew, but she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. She’d enjoyed it, and he’d gotten off too. She couldn’t imagine how she’d done him a great wrong. “Fine,” she bit out.
But he caught her arm as she turned to go and pulled her into his lap. He wrapped her in his arms and held her tight. She wriggled her arms free enough to hug him back, and laid her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered his now familiar refrain. “Just let me kiss you one more time before you go. I want to think of you soft and satisfied, not angry.”
She lifted her head and met his eyes. She couldn’t begin to understand the chaos swirling in his dark pupils. What had this man been through? She wanted to bring him calm. Soothe him.
She held his chin and touched her lips to his. Kissing him softly, she tried to give him love through her mouth like a rescuer breathes air into a dying victim. She did all she could and then she left, leaving him to his nightmares, whatever they were.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bishop
THE NEXT MORNING, Bishop sat on the couch in the library with a book in his lap, staring out the window. The door opened, and from the pace of her steps, he knew it was Penelope. He smelled her before she sat down next to him, that same perfume he’d smelled that first night, vanilla, wood, and something exotic. H
e never had figured out what that last note was.
She pulled her legs up onto the couch and faced him. He didn’t look at her. For a while they were both silent. He was miserable, and his muscles felt dead, his brain slow. He thought he could probably stay in that spot forever. Just stare out the window without closing his eyes or opening his mouth, until he blinked out of consciousness and rotted away.
It might be easier than having this conversation.
She finally broke the silence. “Bishop, talk to me.”
He didn’t respond.
“Something’s clearly very wrong. Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
He smiled ruefully. “No one can help.”
“Bishop, I’m your best friend. If anyone can help, I can. It’s what best friends do.”
He looked over at her then, surprised. “My best friend?”
She nodded. “I know I am because you don’t have any other friends. That makes me your best friend by default, like it or not.”
She grinned, and it was not what he deserved at that moment, but it made him smile.
He reached over and took her hand, tangling his fingers in hers and squeezing.
“You’re my best friend,” she added. “And unlike you, I actually have other choices.”
He laughed, which felt like a fucking miracle.
“Sorry if I pushed you too far.”
His smile faded and he dropped his eyes from hers.
“I guess I’m still young enough to be selfish. I’m greedy for you.” She turned his hand over and stroked two fingers across his palm. He let his hand relax under her touch.
“I—you’re—” He shook his head and tried again. “All of those months ago when I found out about you, I couldn’t imagine you in my life. Now I can’t imagine life without you.”
She shot him a look of disbelief. “Why would you say that to me? Are you trying to rip my heart out?”