Little Brats: Olivia: Forbidden Taboo Erotica Read Online Free Page B

voice was low, hoarse, but his hands didn’t stop moving, working the top buttons of the men’s shirt she wore. “But I can’t help it…”
    “Wait…” She turned in his arms, pressing the journal to her chest, covering her fast-beating heart. Her robe was fully open now. She wore only his shirt underneath. “I have to tell you something.”
    His chocolate-brown eyes gazed into hers, quizzical. She didn’t want to tell him, but he had to know. This betrayal, this thing they were about to do, was far less a crime than he seemed to believe.
    “My mother.” It was the first she’d thought of her since seeing her in the library. “She… Randall, she’s cheating on you.”
    His expression didn’t change. Not hint of surprise or shock.
    “I saw her with my own eyes. Tonight. She was with… two men.” She swallowed, worrying her lip again, watching his face for a reaction. Would he demand to know who? Would he go into a rage?
    “I know.” Randall shrugged one shoulder, shaking his dark, curly head. His glasses made his brown eyes appear even bigger behind them. “She thinks she’s fooling me, of course. But I was that young writer once, hoping to land a book deal, hoping to become the next bestseller. I remember it well.”
    Olivia nodded. So her guess about how they’d met had been spot on. “Well, she is a beautiful woman.”
    “She’s hideous.” Randall’s eyes hardened. “I’ve never known a woman uglier than your mother. My only regret is that I let my own greed and ambition blind me to it.”
    “ My mother Are we talking about the same person?” Olivia blinked at him in surprise. “Catherine Comstock is… like… perfect! I mean… have you looked at her?”
    “Have you?” He slipped a hand through her hair, down now, long and flowing auburn over her back. “Sometimes I think fate threw me together with her just so I could discover what I really love. I hated myself when I was writing bestsellers and hobnobbing with your mother’s friends.”
    “But—”
    “I love writing, but I sold my soul when I started writing that thriller crap.” He made a face. “I sold my soul to her. But you, my sweet Olivia. You’re my redemption.”
    “Me?”
    “Yes, you.” His hands moved to her lower back, pulling her even closer, the journal between them. He looked at it, then at her. “What more do you need to convince you?”
    “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
    That’s when he kissed her. His mouth captured hers, soft at first, a sweet reassurance, but it soon grew urgent. Her hands gripped the journal until she was white-knuckled, feeling his fingers moving through her hair, over her back, her hips, sliding down her ass. They kneaded her flesh, mouths slanted and exploring, lost in the moment.
    She was breathless, panting, when they parted, staring up at him in wonder. She’d been with a couple guys before—there were men who found her curves appealing, in spite of her mother’s objections—but she’d never been kissed like that.
    “You still hungry?” he asked, glancing at the desk where their food was getting cold.
    “No,” she breathed. Not for food, anyway. She glanced down at the book, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Read to me.”
    He looked at his journal in her hands and smiled. “You want me to read you a bedtime story?”
    “Yes, Daddy.”
    He took the book from her, moving to sit on the leather sofa behind them. She watched him open the journal, flipping through the pages, listening to her heart beat, fast as a bird’s under her heavy breasts. Her thighs tightened over the pulsing there and she tried not to sway as a wave of lightheadedness hit her.
    “Come sit by me.” He patted the sofa beside him and she went, curling up and putting her cheek against his chest. His arm went around her and he held the book with one hand.
    “She tempts me. Like ripe fruit, hanging low. So luscious. I want to devour her. Sometimes I think she knows how much I