Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) Becca Jameson (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📖

shooting open. When they land on me, she hesitates and then unfolds to crawl toward me. Again, like last night, she throws herself at me, her arms going around my body as she climbs onto my lap.

I wrap my arms around her small frame and hold her tight, rocking her gently while I run my palms up and down her back. “Shh, sweetie. You’re okay. I’m here.”

She snuggles in closer, as if that’s possible, her hair creating a curtain all around her body. She’s whimpering now, but no longer crying.

I try in vain to brush her hair back, but it keeps falling over her shoulders. It’s just so long. There’s no need to point out the obvious. She’s had another nightmare. Not that I blame her. She’s been through a lot. I can’t fathom what I might feel like if I overheard someone discussing the sale of my body.

I continue stroking her all over, trying to keep my hands above her waist. I’m not unaware of the fact that she doesn’t have on panties. After all, I didn’t give her any. Her bare bottom is on my thigh. Thank God I’m wearing flannel pants. If my leg were bare also, I probably wouldn’t be able to keep from touching her farther south.

After several minutes, she slowly tips her head back and blinks up at me. We’re bathed in the light from the hallway. Her tears have dried. Her blue eyes are wide. Without warning, she rises, kneels with her legs straddling one of my thighs, and cups my cheeks. She searches my face for several seconds until her gaze settles on my mouth.

And then she’s kissing me. Her palms are on my cheeks and she’s kissing me with desperation. Her lips part and her tongue enters my mouth. She inches closer, her knee lodged between my legs, her thigh against my erection.

My hands go to her hips and I grip her, fighting against the urge to get lost in her kiss. I can’t let my emotions take over. If I let her continue, she’ll end up with my cock thrust deep into her pussy.

I break the kiss and take control, lifting her off my thigh and flattening her on her back in the center of the bed. When she reaches for me, I clasp her wrists and draw her arms over her head.

She squirms, whimpering in protest. Her nightie is around her waist, leaving her pussy bare. “Please,” she pleads.

I’m leaning over her, my hands still holding her wrists against the pillow. “Britney, look at me.”

Her chest rises and falls, her body twisting back and forth, not because she wants to escape but because she wants to touch me. I recognize this desperation. I’ve seen it before. It makes my cock so hard that I have to grit my teeth to get control. Her head lolls back and forth, and she’s breathing heavily, the deep breaths of arousal.

“Britney,” I repeat, her name coming out as a command this time. I press against her wrists.

She finally meets my gaze, her lip quivering, her eyes glazed with lust. “Please… I need…”

“Okay, sweet girl. Take a breath.”

She draws in a deep breath and lets it out, but her heels are digging into the mattress and keep slipping, making her body jar. “Please, Davis. Please…”

The desperation in her voice is acute. Twenty-two years of pent-up need tumbling out in a rush of emotion.

I squeeze her wrists once more, holding her gaze. I need to be sure she’s listening. “I’m going to let go of your arms. You’re not to move them. Understand?”

She nods.

I release her, my eyes wide to ensure she’ll obey. “Good girl. Stop squirming. Don’t move.”

She slowly lets her feet relax, her body melting into the mattress a bit. She’s still breathing heavily, her lips parted.

I stroke her cheek. “I’m going to take care of you, sweet girl, but you have to stay still. That’s my rule. If you can’t remain still, I’ll stop.”

She nods. “I won’t move.” Her hands fist in the pillow as if to prove her point.

I lower my gaze to her chest and fight for my own control as I take in her small breasts. The material of her nightie is thin enough that I can see nearly everything. Her nipples are hard points. I circle the tips with my fingers, barely touching her, and then flick both of them at once.

She cries out, her chest arching.

I have to give her credit. She’s doing well. I know it’s hard for her to remain in this position while I explore. “May I lift your nightie, sweet girl? I want to see all of you.”

She nods. “Please…” The sound of her begging is music, but there’s something else I need from her. If I’m going to continue, I can’t let it go. It’s in my blood. It’s who I am.

I lift her nightie over her breasts and gaze at their perfection as her chest rises and falls until she’s squirming again. I stroke the undersides with my thumbs, knowing she will arch again at that simple touch.

When her body settles back down, I meet her gaze. “I have one more rule, and then I’m going to make you feel good, sweetie.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

“When we’re like this… When it’s sexual, I mean. In my bed or yours or wherever I’m intimate with your body, I need you to address me with respect.”

Her brows narrow in confusion.

“You’ll address me as Sir, sweetie. Hard rule.”

She holds my gaze for several seconds, her lips parted, her throat moving, and then she utters my two favorite words in the English language. “Yes, Sir.”

I smile. “Good girl. Now, if you can remain in this position, address me properly, and let me explore, I’ll give you what you need.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her words are stronger this time. Her cheeks are flushed, but she doesn’t balk at my demand.

There are lots of things I haven’t told her. So many things she needs to learn about me and my preferred