Little Brats: Eva: Forbidden Taboo Erotica (3 page)

“Come in,” she managed, taking a deep breath as the door opened.

“Eva! What were your panties doing in my room?” Daniel entered, panties in one hand, the book in the other. “Your mother could have seen them!”

His tone wasn’t harsh or rough, but there was concern in his voice. Then he stopped. Dead stopped. His eyes grew wide, mouth falling open as heat rose to his cheeks. Unlike her, he wore a clean pair of jeans and flannel shirt with socks and shoes as if he planned to run out of the house. Her heart fell at the wayward thought, and she knew she couldn’t risk it, true or not. She rolled over on her stomach, keeping her legs under her so her ass pushed up in the air as her t-shirt rose to her waist.

“You caught me. I touched myself as I watched you masturbate. Have you come to punish me, Papen’ka?” she asked, using the term for Papa in Russian. She waved her ass back and forth just slightly, like a naughty kitten. Little kisa.

“Eva…” He sighed, but that sigh turned into a growl as she watched him take in her nakedness.

She stayed in position, letting him weigh his options, make his next move. Her panties and the book fell from his hands onto the mattress as he stepped to the bed. Coming to sit beside her, in line with her bared ass, she smiled, wiggled. His labored breathing blew hot over her behind. She tensed, clenching her ass in front of him, provoking him—she hoped. She wanted his touch in any way she could get it. Having never been spanked as a child—that would have meant her mother was paying attention to her—she rested in the knowledge he would never really hurt her. Even though, on some level, her pussy tingled to feel his hand fall hard onto her flesh.

“No, my beautiful Eva. I didn’t come to punish you.” He whispered the words. He placed a light kiss on her behind. As her stomach clenched, he reached for her. Pulling her at the waist, he moved her back into his arms until he cradled her in his lap.

“Tell me what you saw in my room, moya prekrasnaya doch,” he encouraged, his voice tight, deep, filled with lust, maybe tinged with hope as he referred to her as
his beautiful daughter
in Russian.

“I watched you touch yourself as you said my name,” she openly confessed as heat rose to her face. She kept her eyes open wide, innocent, looking into his. “I heard you say you married my mother just to be near me. Is that true?”

“Yes. Yes, it is, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul,” he whispered, quoting the book he’d been listening to earlier in the bathroom.

“Lolita,” she murmured.

“Yes. You know it?”

“A stepfather, stepdaughter relationship, a controversial sexual affair written by a Russian author? Of course I know it.”

“My little nymphet,” he said with a light laugh, calling her a name coined in the book.

“Yes. Please,” she sighed, moving her lips closer to his face. “I will be that. Willingly.”

He kissed her lightly on the forehead, but she’d caught his glance down between her thighs, her mound revealed to him, her ass against his jean-covered thighs. She squirmed.

He swallowed hard and then confessed, “I bought this book of contemporary Russian poems for you. I thought you could read a few to me, like you once did at the open mic night you miss back home.”

“I knew it was for me, not her,” she cried, clapping her hands, unable to hide the thrill that went through her.

He handed her the book, pushing her from his lap. She wasn’t happy to go, but she took advantage of it, reclining on her back, letting her knees fall open. The heat of her flush increased as he sat there, his gaze transfixed between her legs. She felt her sex clench, aching, wanting him.

She didn’t move to cover herself. Instead, she opened the book and began to read the first poem, letting him look his fill. She over-enunciated words and held others longer than she needed to, a dramatic, tantalizing read. A groan escaped his lips as he nodded in agreement with the words of the poet. Eva peeked over the top edge of the book to see him licking his lips.

“I’ll read another poem if you remove your shirt,” she challenged him.

He shook his head as if coming back to reality, but his hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. She read slowly, reading a line in her head, and then reciting it as she watched his fingers undo one button after another. Her voice grew sultry by the time he’d pulled the material down his arms and dropped it to the floor.

“You read beautifully,” he told her. “No surprise, as you are beautiful, each and every curve of you. Dare I ask you to let me see more? I know it’s wrong. So very wrong. But I want you so very much…”

“It’s the only thing that’s right,” she whispered, voice shaky as she fought tears. “You’re the only person in the world who has ever loved me…”

“Oh, Eva, I do.” His hand, big, strong, touched her thigh. “So very much. The thought of you feeling unloved and unhappy, it breaks my heart. I bought you that book, hoping it might make you happy.”

“It does.” She smiled even as she set it aside. “But you know what would make me even happier?”

“What, my little kisa?” His hand moved higher, massaging. “Anything. Anything at all. Name it and it’s yours.”

“You.” She shifted her hips, almost imperceptibly, aching for him. “You, Daniel. I want you. I want you to make love to me. Love me. Kiss me, touch me—make me yours.”

“I’ve waited so long.” He met her eyes, his heart in them. “So very long…”

She gave him what he’d asked for—she pulled her t-shirt over her head. Her full breasts with tight, pebbled nipples hung heavy as she leaned back on her elbows. She saw the tent in his jeans and ached to touch him.

“Show me you love me as I love you, Papen’ka,” she urged, letting her knees fall completely open for him. “Kiss me, Papa. Taste your daughter. I’m already so wet for you.”

“You call me Papa?” His eyes lit up at her words. “Oh Eva, that makes me so hard for you. It’s so wrong…”

“No, it’s right,” she insisted again, putting her hand over his, massaging her own thigh.

“I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you.” He swallowed, his gaze on their hands, her thigh, the wet glisten of her pussy. “Just that sweet picture, you smiling at me, the one your mother sent asking if she could bring her pretty daughter with her because she so wanted to come to America. But you didn’t want to come, did you?”

“She had nothing else to do with me.” Eva made a face. “Her burden, she called me. She made me up, forced me to smile, and took that picture to send you. But don’t worry—it was the most attention she paid me all year.”

“I can’t bear it, to think of you unloved.” He frowned.

“Then love me, Papen’ka. Kiss me,” she begged in a low voice that burned her dry throat, reaching for him.

He leaned in, but instead of reaching to touch his lips to hers, he placed his mouth gently on her mound, kissing her there instead. Her hips jerked and her breath caught. Eva let out a low moan when he used his big, calloused hands like weights, pressing her legs further apart so he could kiss each swollen fold of her pussy. She cried out when his lips lightly brushed her clit, her pussy pulsing, stomach fluttering and clenching. He kissed her—just kisses, light and loving—again and again, leaving no inch of skin untouched between her thighs.

Once her hips began to pump, the ache inside her becoming a hot, maddening throb, he lightly traced over her labia with one calloused finger. She cried out, a strangled sound. Finally, the rough pad of his first finger came to rest on her clit. Moving in circles as the thumb of his other hand pulled back on the hood, he coaxed the sensitive nub out. Leaving her panting on the precipice of orgasm, his finger fell to her opening. A cry escaped her, a tiny squeak before she covered her mouth with her hand. She fell flat on her back. He circled around her opening too, toying with her until her lips pursed together, lest she wake the house—or the dead—with her mounting screams.

Her hips shook as he circled, moving his finger inch by miniscule inch inside of her. Her inner walls grasped at him, tried in vain to pull him deeper. Then, as he got closer and closer to that soft spot inside that she thought just might shatter her whole body, even the world around her, into a million pieces, he slowly removed his finger. Before she could protest, his tongue entered. Darting in and out, moving up to flick over her clit, his palms opened her wet folds, leaving her more exposed than she’d ever been.

“Papen’ka, pozhaluysta. Papa, please,” she repeated her plea in English. “I need more, Papen’ka. I need you inside of me.”

He moved off the bed then, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper of his jeans. Toeing off his shoes, pulling off his socks, he slid the denim from his body. His erection stood out, strong, virile. It bobbed as he moved toward the bed and she couldn’t help reaching her hand out for it. He moaned when she grasped it in her fist, moving her hand up and down his length, like she’d seen him do. She could see all of him now, every glorious inch of the man’s toned, taut body, and his cock was far from a disappointment up close.

“Let me taste you.” She rolled to her side, urging him to move closer, his hand moving in her hair as she licked her lips, glancing up at him for permission. But she didn’t need it. She clearly already had it as he moved his hips forward, nudging her lips open with the head of his cock.

“Ohhh Papa,” she whispered, running her tongue around the head, tasting him, peppery, tangy. She swallowed his length, hearing the growl in his voice as he thrust himself between her lips again and again. She was eager for him, hungry, even greedy, reaching around and grabbing his ass to pull him in deeper. It made her gag but she didn’t care. She wanted all of him, as much of him as she could possibly get.

“Ahhh Eva, easy!” He gasped, easing his cock from between her red, swollen lips. “Don’t make me come yet.”

“Oh, but I want your cum,” she protested, pouting as he climbed onto the bed with her.

“I’m going to give it to you,” he assured her in Russian, on all fours over her, pausing to run his hand over her face, forehead to cheek. He looked at her as if she were too good to be true, as if she were beautiful, as if she mattered. Never had she felt this kind of love from anyone. Never like this. “I’m going to fill your sweet little pussy so full of my cum, you’ll be able to taste it in your throat.”

Hearing him talk dirty in Russian did her in completely.

Eva moaned and kissed him, raking her teeth along his lower lip, sucking at his tongue like she had his cock. She couldn’t get enough of this man. A thick cloud of lust swirled around them, so thick it made her skin tingle and she felt lit from the inside out. He lowered his body onto hers, face buried in her neck, his hard chest pressed against her sensitive nipples, his hard cock pushed against her soft waist, and his legs pressed against hers, nudging hers open until she wrapped hers around him.

She used her heels and calves to pull him to her, clinging, fighting for breath as he nipped at her neck, scraping his teeth on the sensitive skin of her throat and soothing it with hot lashes of his tongue.

“Papa, please,” she begged him, her pussy throbbing with need. “I want you to fuck me. Will you fuck your baby girl? Your little kitten?”

She whispered these words to him in Russian, a rough, guttural language that made him thrust against her softness as if he could enter her through her navel.

“Take me!” she cried, reaching down to grasp him, aim him. She curved her body, hollowed her soft belly until his erection was nestled in her sweet, wet folds. They both gasped together at the sensation as he slipped slowly inside her, the engorged head of his cock settling snugly in her slick, warm hole.

“Oh fuck.” He tensed, biting his lip, eyes half closed as he looked at her. “You’re so tight. Oh fuck, Eva, you’re so fucking—”

“Tight?” She squeezed him with her muscles, making him groan and grit his teeth. “Tighter than her?”

“There’s no comparison.” He snorted a half-laugh. “Besides—it’s you I love, Eva. You. It’s always been you.”

He began to thrust. They soon found a rhythm, one unsettled with need. The fire in the moment left her breathless as her blood, pumping like molten lava through her veins, made her heart thump hard in her chest, a heavy beat, in time with his. She thrashed and writhed under him, wanting more, needing more, but he held back, making her wait.

His body, his core, was so strong, He resisted even the pull of her legs, not giving in to her desires as quickly as her body demanded. He told her he loved her. He told her he wanted her. Sometimes he kissed her ear when he whispered the words, sometimes he nipped, or licked. He told her in English—then he told her in Russian. He repeated his desire again and again in a deep, steady baritone that curled her toes and flooded her heart as his body gloriously invaded her.

“Please,” she begged, meeting each thrust with one of her own. “Fuck me harder, Papa! Fill my pussy! Fill me with your cum!”

He cried out at her words, shaking his dark head, as if he could deny her.

“Do it for me, Papa,” she whispered, taking every inch of him, her pussy clenching already, so close. So very close. “Give me everything I ever wanted.”

“Oh my sweet daughter,” he moaned, rolling his hips as he drove into her, deep and hard, thrusting down against the mattress as if he could press her right through it. “I’m going to come! Are you ready for Papa’s cum?”