He goes on pounding me hard, letting go of the belt in favor of holding both my hips steady in his grip. “Just your Black Fox. Just yours, Little Lo.”
His strokes are selfish and deep now, slaking his desperate need with my body. I feel another orgasm building on the tail of the last, and it bursts through me as he groans deep and low and his rhythm stutters.
I lean over her, breathing hard, my hands braced against the table either side of her head. How beautifully disheveled she looks, her hair laid out in messy curls across the dark wood.
I’ve taken what doesn’t belong to me, and even in this guise I can’t summon a scrap of regret. The choking was a little rougher than I would like to treat my beautiful girl, but I can’t refuse her when she begs me so sweetly. I withdraw carefully and thread my belt back through my pants as she sits up. Her dress pools around her thighs, and I take her once again in my arms and kiss her.
“Is it true?” she whispers, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck, so innocent, so trusting.
“Is what true, mi ángel?”
“Am I in danger from someone?”
I take her face between my hands, squeezing my eyes closed. Lolita mistakes my shame for worry. She reaches up and draws my chin up so my eyes meet hers. “It’s all right. I already know who it is. My stepfather, Zacarias.”
I seize her arms. “He means you harm and he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. You must stay away from him.”
“I will try, but when we live in the same—”
“Promise me you will stay out of his sight. It’s more important than you can know. Promise me.”
Lolita licks her lips, and whispers, “Yes, daddy.”
Immediately, her cheeks color up, like she isn’t sure whether she should call me that. It sends angel song thrumming though my blood. My sweet little girl trusts me. Needs me. Only me.
“Yes. Good. Do as you’re told and stay out of his way. Let me handle the rest, mi niñita.”
“I like it when you call me that,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck.
The emphasis is on you. When you call me that. Not him. I kiss her one last time, a hard, bruising kiss. I mean her to feel me after I’m gone from her side. “Be safe, mi niñita,” I whisper, and then I’m slipping away into the shadows.
She calls after me, “When will I see you again?”
But I’m already out of sight.
I change in mine and Valeria’s room after making sure the coast is clear, and then slips back downstairs to the ball. I don’t pass Lolita in the corridors. I wonder if she’s come back down to watch the dancing or gone to her own room. I have to grip the bannister hard for a second to prevent myself from going to look for her. She’ll be covered with my scent. Filled with my seed. My mouth curls in a triumphant smile. He might have Lolita’s heart, but I have tasted her body.
And I’ll taste it again.
Valeria hasn’t even noticed that I’ve been gone when I return to her side. She’s flirting like crazy with the French ambassador, the man she was supposedly hoping would become her son-in-law. I wait silently a few feet away, pretending to watch the dancers but reliving the last half hour with my Little Lo. Her cries as I lapped at her clit. Her virgin pussy clamped tight around my cock. I’ve never known anything like it.
I have to have her again. As Zacarias, as the Black Fox, I don’t care. But soon. I lose myself in schemes, ways to trick my pretty little stepdaughter into taking my cock and coming hard on it again. I feel myself smiling a nasty smile as I imagine it.
Beware the wicked stepfather. That’s something the fairytales leave out.
Finally, after Valeria has danced twice with the ambassador and once with a lesser Spanish aristocrat, the ball ends and we make our way upstairs. Valeria’s drank too much champagne and wobbles on her high heels, but I’m thankful as it means she doesn’t notice my silence and admonish me for boring her. She takes off her dress and falls into bed in her makeup and jewelry. A few minutes later she’s snoring.
I go out onto the moonlit balcony and look at the clear, starry sky. So, this is my life now. The deepest unhappiness and the cruelest bliss. I should walk away, but I feel the it keenly as the silver light washes over me: I’m trapped by my need for her. Unto death.
Lolita and I are both silent over breakfast and the drive home. Lolita and I. Lolita and I. How I love the way that sounds. Valeria is quiet at first as well, nursing her hangover. Then the coffee kicks in and she rouses herself, and chatters ceaselessly about the ball. My sweet Lo has put on a pair of large, dark sunglasses and gazes out the passenger side window, sunk in thought. Every now and then she runs her thumbnail over her plump lower lip. Her swollen, thoroughly kissed lips that I can still feel moving against my own.