Not His to Touch: a Forbidden Virgin, Guardian & Ward Dark Romance

by Piper Trace

  “Sorry,” he whispered, and winced. “I’m not saying the right things.” He shifted his seat again, holding tightly to her hand. “I’ve never had a best friend.” His ash-colored eyes dropped to his hand in hers. “I like the thought of that, if that’s really okay with you.”

  She gave a short laugh. “That actually made my heart squeeze when you said that.”

  He closed his eyes in a slow blink as her sweet words washed through him, and then glanced shyly at her. “Are you trying to rip my heart out?”

  “Hey,” she whispered, knocking her arm into his. “I like it too. I’ve never had a best friend either.”

  He frowned and gave her a doubtful look.

  “I’ve never really connected with anyone. Not until you.” She shrugged. “I don’t care if you believe me, but best friends don’t lie.”

  A corner of his mouth pulled up. “Such attitude,” he said, teasing. He squeezed her hand.

  For a moment, he just sat there enjoying the thought of her being his friend, and basking in the warmth of their hands wrapped together. The grandfather clock ticked on. Steady, controlled, predictable. Just what Bishop needed.

  He was practically a hermit. They were both practically hermits, and he wondered if that was his influence on her. He tried to imagine her dating someone and just being his best friend. Just his reading partner in their silent book club.

  That would be ideal and appropriate. That’s what he should encourage as her guardian.

  He looked over at her. She was wearing cut-off jean shorts that didn’t even reach a quarter of the way down her thighs. Her legs were pulled up on the couch at different angles so her thighs were parted. The material of her shorts was loose, and gapped just enough to create a dark, tempting, shadowy tunnel up her inner thigh.

  He wanted to put his hand there. Run his fingers up under those shorts and push her panties aside. Find that addictive wet heat again. Make her sigh and whimper and beg him for it like she did last night.

  To make matters worse, she was wearing a thin, white tank top and no bra. Her darkened nipples were visible under the fabric, and they grew hard under his gaze. With effort, he raised his eyes to hers.

  Her pupils were wide and dark, and her pink lips parted. The heated flush on her gorgeous cheeks nearly made his breath catch.

  They weren’t friends.

  Or maybe they were friends, but they were friends with a serious, serious lust problem, and he was the only one old enough to know better.

  He was one bad thought away from shoving her back onto the couch cushions, stripping her naked, and claiming her virginity for his own with no finesse whatsoever.

  Just fucking taking her. Gorging himself on her breasts, her neck, her lips, everything and anything on her body that he could touch, lick, kiss or fuck. He wanted it.

  Mine, something feral hissed from inside him.

  He glanced down at those barely-disguised, stiff nipples again and then back up at her beautiful face, and all that alpha-male inside him could think was mine. She’s mine. So innocent, and I will be the one to have her, to take her, to keep her.

  Mine.

  He reached out slowly with both hands, and with trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the four small buttons on her tank top.

  He met her eyes, and her gaze was pure heat—lips parted, color high on her cheekbones. Her breath came in shallow pants.

  With both hands, he spread open the neck of her top and pulled the thin, stretchy fabric down until her full, perky breasts popped out the top, and the fabric formed a taut line under her tits.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “I can’t— Christ.”

  He pushed her onto her back and lowered his face to her chest, catching one nipple in his mouth and nibbling on it. He bit down until she gasped and then moved to the other one.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a bra?” he growled.

  She writhed under him and moaned. “I may never wear a bra again.” Her words came between pants.

  “I’m not safe for you. You can’t go around with no bra on around me.”

  He suckled each nipple before pinching them both between his thumbs and forefingers, making her suck in a breath and arch her back into the air.

  “You live in my house and you have no idea what you do to me.” His voice held the note of warning he intended. “I could fuck you any time I wanted to grab you and hold you down.” He didn’t recognize the animal he was turning into. “Don’t tempt me unless you’re prepared to make me come.”

  He’d intended only to make a point. To say those awful things and then stop. Leave the room. Scare her so she’d be more careful next time.

  Only, he couldn’t stop.

  He yanked her jean shorts and tiny panties down with one pull, and had to force himself with terrible mental threats not pull his cock out and ram it into her virgin pussy like he so badly wanted to.

  Instead, he spread her wide and went down on her again, figuring his mouth was far enough from his dick that if he licked her to orgasm, he might be able to calm down enough to control himself.

  He threw her legs over his shoulders and lost himself between her thighs. He wanted to please her better than any man ever could, and to do so, he’d have to learn her responses.

  He tried everything, carefully noting how her body reacted. He licked, nibbled, sucked and flicked until she grew too loud and he warned her to hush before Ann heard them.

  It was bad enough, what he was doing to his young ward, without Ann knowing it too.

  When he had her close to coming, he slicked a finger with her juices and penetrated her ass, without hesitating in his ministrations to her clit. She started to squeal and then clapped a hand over her mouth. He finished her with his tongue while fucking her ass with his finger, and she nearly screamed under her hand as she came.

  He sat back and wiped his mouth. “Wear a bra around me,” he practically growled.

  But instead of putting her clothes back on, she pulled her tank top off so that she was completely naked, and stood up.

  Bishop’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Buck naked, and in the broad daylight, this girl was magnificent. She didn’t look like she’d just turned eighteen. She had a body made for sex. Round hips, round ass, round tits.

  I’m her guardian. He reminded himself. Her father didn’t turn her over to me to fuck.

  She knelt down in front of him and reached for his waistband.

  “No,” he grunted, grabbing her hands. “Just go put a fucking bra on and don’t let me see you the rest of the day.”

  “I want your cum in my mouth,” she whispered, and he had to remind his heart to keep beating.

  He shook his head, but she gently persisted, freeing one hand and then peeling his hands off hers.

  She met his eyes and he felt powerless under her lust-filled gaze. “Tell me how you like to be sucked.” Her voice was a purr of temptation, and her words might as well have been hypnotizing him. He let her undress him from the waist down and position her small, naked body between his legs.

  Tentatively, she cupped his balls in one hand and wrapped the other around his steely shaft. She lowered her head to it.

  “Pen, we’re not supposed to—” He gave up with a choked breath and closed his eyes when she sank her hot, wet mouth onto his dick, and started licking it.

  “Christ, Penelope,” he breathed, letting his head drop onto the back of the couch.

  “Like this?” she asked, enveloping him and then moving up and down.

  He opened his eyes and took in the sight of the young girl he was supposed to be a father-figure to with his thick erection stuffed in her mouth. Her head bobbed up and down in his lap as she worked to pleasure him.

  God help me, he thought. This doesn’t look good. Any outsider could make the inference that he was forcing her to service him sexually in order to get access to her money that he controlled. And he didn’t need an outsider to tell him it was wrong. He should be mentoring her, not using her mouth
to come in.

  It was a good thought. The right thought. But it was too late. He was absolutely going to have her suck his dick until he came. He was past the point of no return.

  “Yes, honey. Like that,” he groaned, and wrapped a hand in the hair at the back of her head.

  As hot as he already was from licking her pussy, he was getting close to release quickly. He sat forward, and his eyes raked over her form between his legs. The heart shape of her ass was on full display as she knelt for him, her tits bouncing as she bobbed on his dick.

  “Can you take me deeper?” His voice was gravelly and harsh.

  She pulled off long enough to look at him with wide, willing eyes. “Show me how,” was all she said.

  And he did.

  With his hand fisted in her hair, he forced her further down before letting her up. She sputtered, but he did it again, adding his other hand and moving her head how he wanted, fucking her young mouth.

  When he came, he held her deep until she gagged, but by that point, he’s already emptied half his cum straight down her throat. He let her pull shallow, but kept moving her up and down on his pulsing dick until he was spent, and she’d swallowed all the hot liquid.

  He untangled his hands from her hair and she wiped her eyes and her mouth.

  “I’ve never given a blowjob to anyone else. Is it always that…rough?” she asked, looking up at him through her wet lashes.

  The question broke through his haze of lust.

  “God, no. It should never be.” He practically choked on his words.

  He scooped her up into his lap, horrified.

  “This is the problem,” he said into her hair, his voice tight. “No one should use you like this. Especially not me.”

  He held her with his face buried in her hair. “I can’t be around you. I can’t control myself.”

  “You keep saying that,” she said, her voice sounding annoyed now. “What does that mean?”

  He took a deep breath. “Get dressed and I’ll tell you. You deserve to know.”

  When they both were dressed and cleaned up, they sat facing each other on the couch, their legs pulled up in front of them. It felt like confession time, which it was, for him.

  *****

  Penelope

  The feeling of his big, warm hand covering hers made her feel blanketed in safety. She thought about how she felt when she’d snuggled into him in the back of the town car on the day of her father’s funeral. She studied his face, his beautiful face.

  His hair was glossy, and tousled about his head like a rock star’s, but she knew it was no act of vanity. His lucky, handsome style was achieved simply from neglecting visits to the barber and running his hands through it after a shower to style it.

  The bones of his face created a profile that was virile and eye-catching, and the muscles packed on his tall frame would attract any red-blooded female who had a taste for big guys who made them feel small. But his eyes were what hooked Pen in a way she’d never been snared. His haunted, dark eyes were like two deep wells of secrets and pain, and her own pain was drawn to his like she was a masochist needing a fix.

  She wanted to dive into the murky well in his head and compare scars. They could comfort each other, she was sure of it. Make each other forget. Maybe even heal each other.

  No, she couldn’t be his best friend. It would never be enough. She itched to crawl inside him, explore all his hidden depths, and she wanted him inside her too.

  He pulled his hand from hers and scooped her into his lap, knocking his book to the floor. He held her for a long time, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock, rhythmic like her heart, beating for Bishop. He buried his face in her hair.

  She asked the question that scared her most of all. “Is it me? Do you not want me?”

  He pushed her away far enough that he could look into her eyes, his burning with intensity. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever even think that.” He brushed her cheeks with his thumbs, the look on his face reflecting a man in love, if she could guess, but she must be wrong.

  “Then what? Because I’m too young? Because you’re my guardian? After all we’ve done at this point, surely you’re over that.”

  “That’s part of it.”

  She scoffed, brushing one of his hands away. “Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical at this point, Professor?” She laughed, a hollow sound. “Vaginal penetration with your penis hasn’t been committed, so you’re still morally off the hook?”

  His face looked truly pained then and she regretted the question.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice full of remorse. “Forget I said that.”

  “No,” his jaw was set resolutely. “You deserve to know, but…”

  “But what?” She couldn’t handle dramatic pauses at that moment, when he might finally be opening up to her. “But what, Bishop?” she asked softly, cupping the hand he still touched her face with. “Tell me.”

  “I’m being the selfish one. I’m afraid to lose you. I’m afraid you’ll hate me. You should hate me.”

  “I couldn’t hate you.” Her words were barely audible.

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the pain she saw there nearly broke her. He took a deep breath. “The first time I had sex—” He shifted and started again. “The girl I lost my virginity to…” He swallowed and dropped his eyes. “I raped her.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bishop

  FROM THE LOOK on her face, these were not the words Penelope was expecting. Why would anyone expect such disgusting words? Such horror. The hate Bishop felt for himself every day boiled over.

  He wished he hadn’t told her, but she needed to know. Deserved to know what was so wrong with him that he couldn’t be with her. He wasn’t worthy of the affection of any woman. Any touch. Any happiness. Not since he was seventeen-years-old and had participated in the torture of a girl not much older than Penelope.

  “That’s not—” Pen said and stopped, snapping her mouth shut. She frowned and her warm eyes filled with emotion. “I don’t believe it.”

  He looked away, too ashamed to meet her gaze when he destroyed her belief in him. “It’s true.” His words were the rasp of a man without hope.

  “You wouldn’t do that,” she whispered.

  He spat out a derisive sound. “How can you say that? Since I’ve known you, I’ve done only unkind and perverted things to you. I obviously am exactly who I seem to be.”

  She took his chin in her fingers and made him face her again. He kept his eyes dropped anyway. “You’ve been more kind to me than my own father. More kind to me than I deserved.”

  He tried to shake his head, but she held tight to his jaw.

  “Bishop, I’ve been a serious pain in the ass.” She ducked her head until she caught his eyes and smiled.

  He returned her smile weakly and squeezed his arms around her. “You’re only a pain in the ass because you’re so damned stubborn about getting anything you set your mind to.”

  She shrugged one shoulder as if she didn’t disagree. “But seriously, Bishop. You let me come and live here when I needed to be home. You cared enough to set boundaries for me. You don’t know how big of a deal that was to me. You make me get therapy. You check on my studies. You ask me about what I’m reading. You bought me a freaking car!” She threw up a hand, as if that said it all.

  He let his eyes fall again and she cupped his cheek until he lifted his gaze. “And those so-called perverted things? There haven’t been nearly enough of them for my taste, Professor.” Her smile turned wicked, and Bishop’s traitorous cock stirred in his lap.

  “Okay,” he said, but his tone very much conveyed his true message, which was, “That’s it. Things just crossed the line again.” He slid her back onto the couch beside him and turned to put his feet on the ground. “I can’t have you so close when I tell you this story.”

  She sighed and crossed her legs on the cushions, facing him. “Tell me what you think you di
d.”

  He slumped forward, his head down and elbows on his knees. He hadn’t told anyone this story since he’d relayed it to the authorities nearly ten years ago. But it deserved to be told. He owed it to his victim to keep the wound fresh.

  If he let the incident fade and smooth out over with time, his need to be punished might gradually lessen too, and that wouldn’t do. He had to keep picking off that scab. Keep feeling that pain so he would suffer for his act every day. It was the least he could do since the authorities had declined to punish him, despite his vehement insistence on it.

  Penelope, being the bulldog that she was, wasn’t about to let him retreat. “Tell me,” she demanded.

  He raised his head and looked over at her for an instant, feeling miserable, but the unjudging expression she showed him—the pure openness of her mocha eyes—made him, for a moment, consider if everything could be okay. But how could it ever be?

  It had taken a long time, but he’d learned how to live after the events of his seventeenth year. As long as he stayed busy and focused, and had no personal relationships of his own, then he could function without dwelling on the incident. Without wondering what that horrible event said about him.

  Now, after he’d done what he’d done to Penelope, now that he was responsible for her, now that they had a friendship of sorts and she was still living in his house, how could he live with himself once she knew? How could he ever look at her again?

  “Bishop.” She touched his arm.

  He took a deep breath. “I guess the story has to start with my father. I know you don’t think much of your dad, but my father was a truly evil man. Only I didn’t know this until I was seventeen.”

  For the sake of the girl—his victim—he thought, tasting bile, he had to tell the story completely. Tell it raw. Not dress it up or minimize it. His victim deserved a true accounting of the incident, and Penelope deserved to hear every awful detail so she’d understand why he couldn’t be with her. So she’d stop caring about him in a way he didn’t deserve.