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

by Piper Trace

  “I’m glad you’re home, too.”

  “I did what you asked,” she said. “Are you pleased with me?”

  He stared at her mouth, his lips parted. He bent forward but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he put his nose in her hair and inhaled. His shoulders stiffened. He flicked her hair off her shoulder and smelled her neck too, cursing.

  She laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “Did he kiss you good night?” Bishop’s voice was hoarse.

  She nodded. “In fact, we made out a little in his car. Do I smell like him?”

  Bishop ground his teeth together. “You smell like you’ve been with another man.” His words sounded like a growl.

  She tilted her head, considering him. “You don’t like that?” She reached up and cupped a hand on his cheek.

  “No. You have to move onto a healthy relationship, but I hate the scent of another man on your…body.” He had to choke out the last word, his arm tightening around her waist, pulling her in against him.

  “So, make me yours again,” she whispered, her eyes searching his. “Make me smell like you so everyone knows who I belong to.”

  That’s what he wanted—to mark her as his. He kissed her hungrily.

  “God, you taste like whiskey,” she gasped. “Just like that first night.”

  Bishop moved his lips downward, licking her neck. “Did Bryce kiss you here?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Fuck,” Bishop snarled angrily against her skin, sucking and nipping at every inch of her exposed flesh, making her pant for air.

  He reached down and hitched her leg up around his side. Gripping her thigh, he began to slide his hand up the back of her leg. “Did he touch you here?” he asked, his tone sharp. “Did he put his hand up your skirt, Penelope?”

  “No.”

  He pulled back, his eyes boring into hers.

  “He didn’t,” she insisted.

  Bishop exhaled a sigh of relief so strong, it seemed to have been what was holding him together. Knowing it was only him—that Bryce hadn’t crossed that line—Bishop trailed his now-trembling fingers up Pen’s leg until he palmed her butt cheek.

  He squeezed, and she let her head drop back, a noise of pleasure escaping her lips. Drawing his hand up, he deftly unbuttoned her top and slid her bra strap off her shoulder until one breast was revealed. He cupped his palm to it. “Did he touch you here?” His voice was rough. He was so afraid to hear her answer.

  She shook her head, her lips swollen and wet. He closed his eyes in blissful relief, as if she’d given him the best news he’d heard in years. He caressed her, taking her hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, teasing it, pinching. She panted, moaning sounds of pleasure as he touched her.

  He slid his hand back to her ass, and she tightened her leg around him. He cupped his palm across one of the perfect globes of her bottom until his fingers found the crotch of her panties. Tucking three fingers underneath the lace, he asked with an unsteady voice, “Did he touch you here?”

  “God, no,” she breathed, and shifted her hips, wantonly moving her slick wetness against his fingers. “No one’s ever touched me there, except you.”

  His lips were on hers again. “That’s right.” His voice was gruff against her mouth. “Because you’re mine. That precious pussy is mine.”

  She pulled away, giving him a disconcerted look.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I-I didn’t mean to say that.”

  Her eyes, swirling with heat like melted chocolate, narrowed. “Didn’t you?”

  She backed away from him, her tiny body radiating with the power of a Titan. She retreated until the backs of her legs hit the cushion of the overstuffed chair in front of the room’s fireplace. He followed her, powerless against the young siren who’d disrupted his life so completely.

  Without taking her eyes from his, she shimmied out of the goddammed skimpy panties she’d teased him with all evening. She held them up on one finger, just some scarlet strings of fabric, and he was suddenly seized with rage that his little Pen had worn that tiny, lace strip of nothing while out with another man.

  She dropped the panties onto the floor and then took off the shirt and bra Bishop had already half-removed. He could hardly breathe as, finally, she reached behind and unzipped her skirt, pulling it off to reveal her neatly shaved mound.

  Seductively, she lowered herself into the chair and placed her hands on her knees, slowly spreading her legs. She was still wearing the knee-high, heeled boots she’d gone out in, and the visual was fucking sexy as hell.

  “I’m not sure if you can see the details at this distance,” her voice was the most provocative of purrs, “but I’m so turned on that my thighs are wet.”

  With the confidence of a seductress twice her age, Penelope slid one hand up her thigh and dipped a finger into bared folds. Bishop’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when she brought that finger to her mouth and licked it. “If you don’t believe how wet I am, come see for yourself.”

  Without even a conscious thought of doing it, Bishop was in front of Pen and sinking to his knees, a worshipper overcome at the foot of a goddess. He placed his hands on her inner thighs and pushed her legs further apart. Her sex glistened, and just as she’d promised, her creamy thighs were coated in her juices.

  He knelt up straighter, his eyes level with hers. Though he didn’t want to ask the question, he had to know. “This excitement,” he croaked, “was any of this from making out with him?”

  Her eyes, showing nothing but fierce devotion, bored into his. “Bishop, this is all for you. Only for you.”

  His whole body seemed to go limp with relief, except for his cock, which still throbbed, aching for release, as it seemed to do whenever he was around Penelope.

  He was drawn back down like a magnet to her pretty little pussy. Wet for him. Only for him, she’d said. God, that’s what he wanted. The alpha in him roared like it always did when she was around, mine. Mine! It was a futile cry. He’d sworn to think of what was best for his ward’s future first, and put his own selfish desires aside, even if it killed him.

  But right now, his ward was in need of something he could provide for her, even if it was so very wrong. He brought his face to the fragrant, hot treasure at the apex of her thighs. How could he offer this to another man? How was this not his for the taking?

  Anger coursed through him as strong as his lust. The best he could do was provide for her in this way better than any man ever could. At least in this way, he could leave his mark on her. Seizing the backs of her legs, he pulled them upwards, hooking them over the arms of the chair and causing her to tip back into the cushions.

  Bishop buried his face and pleasured her with his mouth until Pen had come twice on his tongue as she gasped his name in carnal praise. She’d had her hands knotted in his tousled hair, and after her first orgasm, she’d tightened her grip and held his wet face in her lap, begging, “Once more, once more.”

  Of course he’d obliged. He lived to please his little one.

  When he was finished, and satisfied that he’d claimed her as thoroughly as if she was actually his, he stood, looking down at her.

  He drank her in, splayed out and panting, her hair everywhere. He’d screwed up again—let his baser side conquer his better judgment—but this time, he felt justified. She’d made out with that boy. Bryce had his tongue in her mouth earlier that night, his lips on hers. Bishop couldn’t let that stand. He’d had to remind her whose tongue commanded her, brought her to climax again and again. It was selfish, but at least he’d sleep tonight knowing he’d made his point.

  Of course, he knew he wasn’t justified. As her guardian, he should never be licking his young ward’s naked cunt, further mixing the signals and possibly undoing all the progress she’d made tonight by going out on an actual date with a proper boy her age. A guy who didn’t come with the impossible baggage Bishop came with, but that alpha in Bishop couldn’t help the pride he felt in knowing
he was the only man who knew exactly how to touch his little Penelope so that she became boneless in satisfaction each and every time.

  She looked up at him through half-lidded, sleepy eyes, her sprawled body wanton in its naked, flushed womanhood. “Let me suck you,” she whispered, nearly breaking him.

  Those words, spoken by his Pen when she looked more than ever like the formidable seductress she was, nearly brought him to his knees again, but with all the strength he could muster, he raised a shaking hand to wipe her juices from his mouth. God, he loved the taste of her.

  “I’m glad to hear you had a good time on your date tonight,” he said, his voice far more even than he actually felt.

  She instantly sat up, alarm erasing the bliss from her face. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

  “I’m sorry, Pen. I have to.” He backed away, grabbing his nearly empty glass of whiskey, the only hope he had to calm his nerves. His eyes landed on the door. “Goodnight, Penelope.”

  She braced herself back on her hands, her naked breasts heaving in her anger. “Stop fucking apologizing for making me feel good. You might not think it’s right, but it’s exactly what I want.”

  Bishop strode toward the door, his escape from her temptation.

  But she wasn’t done. She called after him again. “Stop fucking making what I want sound so goddamn traumatizing to you!”

  He halted, his shoulders stiff, fury nearly blinding him. Did she think this was easy for him? This sacrifice he was making for her?

  He didn’t turn around. “Then stop fucking wanting it,” he nearly roared.

  She made a sound like a sob behind him, and his heart felt like it might shatter.

  “I’m so tired of this hot and cold with you, Bishop. You’re always high and mighty about ‘not taking advantage of your young ward.’” Her words dripped heavily with sarcasm. “And then all you do is string me along. You’re all ‘yes’ then ‘go away’ then ‘yes’ then ‘Oh god I’m so sorry.’”

  Bishop turned to her slowly, his voice deadly serious. “Stop raising your voice, Penelope. I’d rather Ann not hear this conversation.”

  Pen was on her feet, yanking her clothes back into place. “Oh, of course not.” Her voice shook. “God forbid anyone discover your dirty little secret. You’ll fuck around with your ‘innocent ward’ every time you get horny, but then you deny me like I’m your shameful addiction you’re trying to hide from the world.” She gave up on hooking her bra and held her shirt to her chest as she stomped over to him.

  He looked beaten. “You’re completely right,” he said, his tone flat and defeated.

  *****

  Penelope

  Pen opened her mouth but Bishop held up his hands, silencing her.

  “You’re right, Pen, about all of it. I’m a hypocrite and I’m being grossly unfair to you.” He moved to grasp her shoulders but then looked at his hands as if disbelieving what he’d been about to do. Making them into fists instead, he dropped them to his sides.

  He looked down at the floor, quiet for a moment, and then stuffed his hands into his pockets as his shoulders slumped. “It’s just that—no, that’s not fair. It’s not you. It’s my responsibility, but…”

  She waited for him to elaborate, and finally prompted him. “But what?”

  He scrubbed his forehead and then his face with a hand before answering, his tone taking on the hushed notes of a confession. “I’ve never been this weak around anyone before.”

  Her anger snuffed out. Though she knew every word of what she’d thrown at him in anger was valid, seeing this man crumple behind her accusations was hard for her to bear. After all, she’d been working tirelessly to seduce him.

  “Just stop.” She held up a hand, her tone leaking the emotional exhaustion she felt about the subject. “Please, just stop acting like you’re the mature adult and I’m a defenseless child you’re exploiting. I’m not. That warped idea of yours is a huge part of our problems.”

  He raised his chin just enough to meet her eyes through his lashes. The unfathomable depth in his beautiful, pain-filled eyes nearly made her weep. How was it that sometimes she did feel like a child around him, wanting him to nurture her and care for her, and sometimes she felt like he was just a damaged little boy who needed her strength to overcome the things inside that were destroying him?

  She wanted to wrap her arms around that young boy, hold him, and tell him he was okay. She wished she could somehow make Bishop believe he was a good man.

  But he wouldn’t let her.

  Her eyes searched his face, its perfection marred only by the impression he was far older than his age. She loved his face. She could get lost just staring at his soft bottom lip, full in the middle and tapered back at the corners into masculine, carved cheeks that didn’t smile often, but lit up her world when they did.

  The thought of tracing along his bottom lip with her tongue until she plunged into one of those deep corners and teased out one of those rare smiles nearly made her whimper. Blinking, she had to force herself to look away, cursing the unfairness of the situation.

  Frustration swamped her. Why couldn’t she have this man? Why wouldn’t he allow it?

  “Look,” she said softly. “I have no idea how you feel, given your past, and obviously you had some kind of relationship with my father that I’ll never understand.” She clutched her shirt tighter, some of her empathy drying up at mention of her dad. “You think you owe Dad some sort of responsibility toward me. I get that. But none of that stuff is my fault, and I can’t fix it.”

  The man in front of her nodded, as if he knew all of this already. He dropped his eyes and hugged his arms around his torso, somewhat mirroring her pose. But while Pen’s stance was borne of defensiveness and frustration, Bishop seemed to be closing in on himself, as if he was carrying an unbearable weight on his shoulders.

  She hesitated, wondering if what she was about to say was too harsh. Then she thought of all the times Bishop had controlled their encounters—cut her off when he deemed it over—and she decided, fuck it. What did she have to lose?

  “Bishop, you think I have daddy issues, and that you’re too fucked up to be with me, or whatever the reason is today, but I’m really clear about what I want, and you are at the top of that list, but you refuse to get the counseling that might somehow give us a chance.”

  “Counseling won’t change the fact that you deserve a better partner than me, Pen. We’ve already decided on this. You agreed to go out and give life beyond me and this house a chance.”

  “You’re right.” She nodded. “I did. And there are no restrictions on that, right?”

  “There can’t be.” His face looked bitter, but he recovered quickly. “I want you to find happiness and move on to the life you were meant to have.”

  She chose not to argue that last point. “Well, like I said, you’re first on my list, but sex is second, and it’s becoming increasingly more important.”

  Bishop’s head jerked as if her words had struck him.

  She shrugged. “I’m young. I’m a fucking virgin, and I’m getting tired of waiting. I want to experiment. I’m dying to feel what it’s like to have a man on top of me.”

  He blinked and his lips parted, but no sound came out, so she went on.

  “Look, I read a lot of sexy books. Between that and the vibrator, and living with you...” She trailed off, letting the unspoken things speak for themselves. “You’ve shown me how fantastic sex is—everything except penetration, anyway. But now I want to feel a man inside me. I want the real thing.”

  “When you find the right guy—”

  “Stop, just stop.” Now she was pissed. “How is it that you can somehow justify all the things you’ve done to me, but you can’t justify having sex with me?” She leaned closer to him. “I don’t get it. Is penetrating your ward the ultimate taboo? Is that the hang up? Does any of this sound totally fucked up to you?”

  “No, no.” His eyes and tone were practically begging
her to understand. “None of this is okay, honey. None of it. Luckily, I’ve just been able to stop at that point. Because, yes, that is the ultimate taboo. Taking your virginity?” His face twisted and blanched, and he glanced at the heavens as if looking for help. “Christ, Penelope, that’s not for me. Can you understand that?”

  He held his hands palm up, as if beseeching her to agree with him, but she’d never agree to that. She maintained steady eye contact. Didn’t even blink. “I want to be fucked.”

  He dropped his hands and drew himself up to his full height. Anger returned to steel his jaw. “You should want to be made love to, Penelope.” He seemed to force the words out through clenched teeth.

  “Well I want both,” she shot back. “I’m selfish like that.”

  His face darkened at her flippant response, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as if he was grinding his back teeth to dust. Finally, apparently giving up on arguing with her, he turned and stalked to the door.

  She wasn’t ready for the conversation to end. Not able to control her mouth in the state she was in, she called after him, “Your brain’s harder than your dick, Bishop. At least sometimes I can get through to your dick.”

  He slammed the library door behind him and Penelope aimed two, stiff middle fingers in that direction, letting out a scream of frustration.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Penelope

  FOR THE NEXT two weeks Penelope ignored Bishop the best she could. Occasionally she hung out with Bryce, but she spent most of her time going to class and studying. Nights, though, were the worst, because even though she and Bishop were back to barely speaking to each other, it seemed neither of them could give up their nightly reading sessions in the library.

  Not able to stand the silence the way Bishop could, Pen entered the library before him one evening and tucked the tiny lace panties she’d worn on her first date with Bryce into Bishop’s book. The panties that Bishop, not Bryce had taken off her that evening at the end of her date.