His Pretty Little Burden (Kids of The District, #4)

by Nicci Harris

I want to dive headfirst into this blissful moment that is him and me, but lurking under the surface is utter fear and the lingering sense of my impending rejection. Grab opportunity by the balls.

"As far as I'm concerned, I'm your everything. Your teacher. Your lover. The only person responsible for you. For your health. For your happiness. For your orgasms. Do I make myself clear?"

in? "I won't be yours, but you are mine. That is already settled. You will handle this better if you forget about your father all together. The man is not worth your consideration."

"One lesson you need to learn, sweet girl, is that there is pleasure in acceptance and submission. You came to me. You trust me. So let me decide what is best for you."

"Now, you need something in your mouth to stop those lovely lips from asking questions you don't need to worry about anymore. Lay with your head towards the foot of the bed and suck my cock."

"You are overthinking. Anxious about things that you don't need to be—not anymore. I need to redirect your troublesome thoughts. Suck my cock until you don't feel the need to ask so many questions. Until you stop worrying. Until you understand that I am here to take care of you. I will do the worrying for you. Let me protect you... even from yourself."

"You belong to me. I take great care of my belongings. I know you're stressed about the baby, sweet girl. I am very proud of how seriously you are taking this responsibility. There will be things in your life that only you can control. For everything else, trust in me. I will make sure you never go without. You never just survive."

"It does," he groans, in a way that seems to stifle a powerful, primal urge, "hurt to be anywhere near you, sweet girl, and not be inside you." I smile a little. "But you operate best under a level of duress, right, Sir?" "What a promising addition your mere presence will be to my peak condition." A full-blown charismatic smile sweeps across his breathtaking face, and I think my heart just ballooned to the point it will need a new body to reside in. I wonder if he'll share his. "Well, I am glad to be of assistance to you."

I try desperately not to let that bliss, contentment, and safety flood me. A little is okay. A whole ocean of it, though, will probably result in my head submerged and my reality saturated in everything Clay Butcher. I failed. I am already drowning in him.

I know nothing about relationships. Of love. From a mother or father or lover or friend. I am a blank canvas without appropriate conventions and healthy dynamics to measure my experiences by... but I know whatever is going on between us isn't what everyone else has. It is more. It is everything. He is everything.

He is walking, talking sin. He is patronising and controlling and has emotional amour so comfortable around him it has formed another layer of skin. Condescending. Dangerous. Secretive. Lethal, most definitely. He has blatantly told me he isn't mine but promises me a future w...

"I will be making sure you are spoilt rotten." A little chuckle slips from my lips. He is so fucking bossy even when he's not here.

This girl makes me want to fuck her perfect pussy until it's swollen and plump from the friction of being mine. Makes me need my cum inside her, dripping down her thigh. Need my teeth marks on her mouth. There should be no mistaking who she belongs to.

"Good girl. Only breathe my breath, sweet girl. Nothing enters this body tonight unless it comes from me."

I don't know how she takes me so deep with this small pelvis and that tight hole, but she does. And I know—relish—that each night when I fuck her, I can guarantee she'll be walking slower, sultry, still feeling my deep, thorough thrusts throughout the succeeding day.

"Yes. You're doing so good, sweet girl. You're taking this really well."

My sweet girl. My vulnerable ...

I breathe hard, laboured, into our kiss, and she relinquishes all control to me, inhaling my air, sheathing my cock, accepting my kisses, gripping my shoulders like my presence tet...

She clutches the tight contracting muscles either side of my neck as I roll and angle but still give her that precious intimacy she so desires—no, deserves—even if it is hard for me ...

These lips... These fucking pretty lips... I eat at her mouth, the sweetest mouth, with the sweetest questions.

She is utterly soul commanding. I won't let her go. I'll keep her even if she hates me after what I do. After the lies. I'll keep her anyway.

I can't let her go. And I can’t stop kissing her, slow and soft. Her lips are like—fuck me. They are like peace and comfort. Fucking comfort.

Fuck! I have never wanted to tear the entire fucking world apart with my bare hands, bring the houses and mountains and forests down. Reap all the peace and fucking happiness from others merely to offer them all to her on a shiny platter. She can have it all. Every damn thing.

"I wish he was yours," she says, and my heart aches inside my chest. Aches for her. And I bite back a wince. "He is." Fuck. I don't know what that fucking means, but I said it, and I meant it. He is mine. She is mine.

"You have been through a lot. Too much. And you have done it all by yourself. You didn't let life break you, but you also won't allow it to embrace you. You're scared. I need you to trust me, little deer. I will do the worrying for you. Let them all go now. All the questions and concerns about that night. Let them all go."

"This is the last thing, Fawn. I swear it! The last thing. I will drag God himself to Hell before I let you hurt again."

“Fawn. Why you? Because when I’m with you, my sweet girl, I’m lost. And I quite enjoy that.”

“When I say you belong to me and that I will take care of you, this is what I mean. You are not a stray. You are owned. I warned you once to tell me to stop. I warned you what it meant to belong to me... True, I didn’t plan on keeping you then. I do now. There will be times when you hate me. For what I have to do. I am sure of it. That will change nothing between us. I want you to know that if you try to leave, I will hunt you down. I want you to find comfort in the fact that you have no choice. You are mine. Because ever since I laid eyes on you, sweet girl, that is the only place they have wanted to be.”

“You will hunt me down, Sir? Why would I want to leave?” “I am a sinful man.” “A dangerous man,”

“I wish I was a dangerous person.” A grin coasts across his lips. “My affections for you make you the most dangerous girl in the country,”

When he breaks the sultry dance of our lips, he leans his forehead into my hair, and it’s so vulnerable that for a moment, I want to scream, ‘I love you!’ For an endless moment, I want to whisper, ‘I understand I belong to you. You won’t be discarding me. You won’t let me go. You’ll hunt me down. I agree. I agree to it, Sir. I’m yours.'"

She sucked the sin out of me and then asked, “Will you ever belong to me?” Fucksake. That, and her “I love you, Clay,” have me twitching and animalistic. Possessive. Volatile, and not me at all.

After everything she has been through, I want to throw her over my shoulder, draw my Glock, and put bullets through anyone who tries to influence her. I want her deaf to outside voices, blind to every manipulative face. I want her ears honed to my timbre, her smile provoked by my mere presence, because she knows I’m the beginning, middle, and fucking end for her and I’m all that matters. I want complete control.

"I imagine that kind of person would need someone to be ordinary with, sweet girl. I imagine a man who is always striving might only survive by having the comfortable presence of someone who grounds him." "You hate being comfortable, Sir." His hands slide up my legs, resting on the outer swell of my bare thighs. "I'm beginning to love it, little deer."

And there it is. This moment. Him. It wasn't an 'I love you' or 'you're my world' or even 'I like you a lot.' It was one word with limited sentiment twisted through the tone. But from his mouth, it was fucking Shakespearian.

“Tell me to go slow, beg me to be gentle with your pretty pussy, or I’ll take you the way I want, and it won’t be either of those things.”

Claimed. Marked. Owned. His forever—he’s going to keep me.

"She has been through hell. So, believe me when I say, fear her when she looks in the fire and smiles." -E.Corona.

"You're not my pretty little burden, Fawn." He lifts my chin. "You're my pretty little queen."