Page 12 of His Summer Intern

His mouth finds mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. Just bares his teeth against it. Says, “What are you doing, girl?”

“Getting personal,” I whisper.

Cautious hope transforms his harshly masculine face. “Yeah?”

“Just a little. For now.”

“I’ll take it.”

I order my stomach to stop jumping. “I make everyone tense and nervous, too.”

“No.” He frowns, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe that.”

“My mother used to…” I stop for a breath, the truth exerting me. I’ve told so few people my secrets and none of them have ever believed me. It’s a blind leap across a canyon. “Have you heard of a medical condition where a mother makes her child sick on purpose? For sympathy?”

His shoulder muscles tense under my hands. “Yes.”

“M-my mother had that condition, though she was never officially diagnosed. She used to tell people I was, um…severely mentally ill. Teachers, friends. My father.” I squeeze my eyes closed and wait. Wait for him to get weird, like everyone else does when presented with someone who might just need a little medication to feel okay. To deal with the world. During my life, my mother has put me in a lot of situations where I’ve met people with mental illness and the judgment they face is almost as much of an obstacle as the actual illness. “I’m not ill in that way,” I say, for clarity’s sake. “There have been times I thought I needed help, but that was because she’s very good at making people, even me, believe her. She’s a manipulator.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, stroking the sides of my face. “God, princess, I’m so sorry she lied like that about you.”

I roll our foreheads together. “You’re not the only one who has nightmares.”

He makes an anguished sound, kisses my mouth hard. “No. I won’t let you have them.”

That makes me giggle. “Are you going to climb inside my head and stop them?”

“Yeah.” He lowers me down onto my back, settling his weight on top of me. “I’m going to put so many good thoughts in your head, the bad ones have to find a new home. And if that doesn’t work…” Sitting back on his heels, he reaches up beneath my dress and drags the thong down my thighs, over my knees and past my ankles. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll just exhaust the hell out of you. Make you too tired to dream.” He kisses each of my knees. “Give me the green light, girl, and I’ll start tiring you out right now.”



“Green light,” she whimpers, parting her thighs slightly for me. “It’s yours.”

I watch in slow motion as the dress slithers to her waist and a ray of sunlight bathes her beautiful, glistening pussy. With a reverent hand, I reach out and run a knuckle through her slit, bringing her wetness to my mouth and sucking it off. “Christ, it’s such a delicate little thing,” I manage, ferocious hunger hitting me like a ton of bricks. “Fuck me. I’m going to hell for taking your virginity doggy style. Pounding it so damn hard.”

“But…” She flushes. “I-I liked it, remember?”

“Yeah.” Lust grips me by the balls. “Doubt I’ll ever be able to go easy on that pussy. But this time you’re going to be ready for me.”

She nods eagerly, like a good princess, and lets me part her thighs. “Okay.”

I’m panting for a lick by the time her legs are fully pried open. Her aroma reaches me and I drag her closer by the thighs, the move involuntary, but Jesus…that scent. I’m no poet but she smells like sugar dusted rose petals—with thorns. Like a miracle of innocence and forgiveness with that intoxicating hint of darkness woven in. And my mouth gravitates toward her hungrily, bathing the whole of her sex with my tongue. One thorough lick encompasses the entire tiny thing and she gasps, grows more damp right before my very eyes.

My thumbs massage circles into her inner thighs, the tip of my tongue riding up and back through her folds, teasing her entrance, stopping just short of licking her clit. And fuck, it’s so adorable, watching her squirm, trying to move her hips and guide me toward that pulsing nub. As if I don’t know right where it is. As if my eyes aren’t fixated on it like a slavering wolf. I wait until her honey is dripping off my chin and then I rake my stiff tongue over that bud and she sucks in a tremulous breath, her hips bucking wildly. “Caleb, Caleb, please. Again.”

When she says my name and writhes her cunt against my mouth, I’m done teasing both of us. I worry her clit with my lips, I kiss it gently, then harder and harder until I’m bearing down on it, moving my lips in the semblance of Frenching. Her legs are restless, heels digging into the blanket, her fingers searching for purchase on my head—and I decide in that moment that I’ll grow my hair. I’ll grow it down to my goddamn shoulders, just so she’ll have something to hold on to when I’m eating her out.