Her Dad's Friend (5 page)

I nibble and suck at his bottom lip, then bite him just a little. He lets out a lecherous grunt, and smiles hungrily around my wanting busy mouth as he grips the hem of my tank top, yanking it up and off of me.

He breaks away from our kiss to look me over. I’m not wearing a bra, which is unfortunate, because it would be one more thing to tease him with. That small disappointment is soon forgotten as his fingers tickle my stomach, bumping over my ribs up to my breasts. He kneads at them affectionately. Squeezing my nipple between his fingers, he sends a bolt of lightning through my bellybutton and deep into my groin. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this wet for anyone else before. This is just what Paul does to me.

As he sucks, pulling nearly the entirety of my small breast into his mouth, my eyes roll back in my head. I fist the sheets as his hands roam to the waistband of my shorts. He pulls them down to my ankles and with a flick of my foot, I kick them the rest of the way off. His exploration leads to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I spread my legs further apart, as far as they can go, opening myself up to give him plenty of access. He runs a wide, blunt-tipped finger over the wet fabric of my black lace panties.

As I relax into his capable hands, a surge of lubricant flows from me. He toys with the fabric edge around my legs before moving it to the side, exposing my pink, swollen folds.

He lets out an appreciative sound and says, “God, you have the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

I gasp as he pushes a finger into me and then another, slow at first, then feverishly, causing delicious, sucking noises. He hooks his middle finger at the perfect angle to massage my most tender spot.

This is a man who knows his way around a female body.

Arching my back, he pushes his fingers deeper inside of me. I crave release, but before I get there he slips his fingers out, taking hold of my panties, ripping them off. He drops to his knees, pulling me toward him so my ass is hanging off the bed. He pushes my legs up, so that my knees are resting on either side of my face. With a flat tongue, he massages the sides of my clit without touching the too-sensitive mound—a trick the other men in my life couldn’t seem to learn. He’s not in any hurry. He’s here to please me, unlike my last boyfriend who’d been afraid of my vagina, having no idea what to do with it. No matter what I taught him, he continued to be in and out, only caring about himself.

Paul’s tongue dips in and out of my opening. I raise my head to see what I can. All these years, picturing him between my legs and finally, he’s right there. It’s better than anything I imagined. The way he touches me, the feel of his skin against mine, it’s all so
real,
as if I’m experiencing everything for the first time.

He pulls back to catch his breath, a string of my wetness and his saliva linking us together. He licks his lips, breaking the connection. His respite lasts only a second before he’s diving back in for more, lapping at my labia like a starving man. I hold my breath when his tongue moves further down my crevice, to my asshole. At first I think it’s a mistake, and that he didn’t mean to do that, but his eyes are open and he knows exactly where his tongue is and what he’s doing.

I suck in a surprised breath. Wasn’t expecting that. Luckily I’m very thorough when I wash.

My first instinct is to stop him. I’ve never had a man’s face down
there
before, and though his tongue is lush and he’s driving me fucking crazy and I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire life, I don’t know how to handle this.

“Whoa, wait,” I say, and start to scoot away from him, except he holds me by the legs so I can’t move.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just never had anyone’s tongue,
there
before.”

“It doesn’t feel good?”

“It feels amazing, it’s just … different.”

A lop-sided grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. His face inches closer and closer to me, tongue slowly extending from his mouth until the tip just barely touches my asshole again, sending shockwaves through me.

“I could stop, if you want,” he says.

I open my mouth to speak, but then he does something with his tongue that melts my brain and makes me forget everything I was about to say.

“Relax,” he says. Our eyes meet. God, he’s gorgeous. He strokes the insides of my thighs and says, “Don’t think about what I’m doing. Don’t think about anything. Just feel it. And if it feels good, let it happen. Trust me.”

I do trust him.

Nodding, I lay my head back and release my muscles from their rigid hold on my limbs and just enjoy him, what he’s doing and Oh. My. God. It’s everything. I had no idea being with someone could feel like this—and we haven’t even had sex yet!

I’m going over the threshold, I realize, and beg him not to stop. He works enthusiastically at my clit with his mouth, and tongue, sucking it between his lips, while two fingers from one hand drills into my pussy and his thumb from his other hand massages the outer ring of my asshole. I’ve never had anyone touch me there before either and I have to admit it feels pretty damn amazing.

I can feel my orgasm coming from a far-away place, rushing toward me at a furious pace until, like an earthquake, it hits me with full force. Sparks of glittery light flash in front of vision, and I’m thoughtless and dumb, temporarily insane, humping Paul’s face as this sensation rocks me to the point of blacking out.

I’m holding my breath the entire time, crying out. I have no idea how loud I’m being or if the neighbors can hear me, and frankly I don’t care because I’ve just been to another planet, another plane of existence.

When my orgasm finally starts to ebb, I’m left useless and shaking. I open my eyes and my vision is blurry. Paul has moved to my side, elbow crooked, resting his head in his palm and watching me with a teasing smile. “You okay?” he asks.

I can hardly get words out through my shattered breaths. “Holy shit.”

He laughs, and starts to say something else, but I’m peeling off his shirt and kissing him before he can speak. I can smell myself on his lips and it’s glorious and peachy-tasting, and I lick it up. Though I’d just had a life-altering orgasm and still have ringing in my ears from it, I’m ready for more. This thing, whatever it is that’s happening with me and Paul, it’s dangerous. It’s addictive.

I pull him to his feet, and his smile grows at my eagerness. I kneel before him and hook my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pull them down to his feet, releasing him. Jesus, he’s big. Bigger than I’d imagined. How the fuck is he still single? This isn’t the type of fish one throws back. This sucker is the one you get stuffed and mounted on the wall to show off and brag about to your friends.

I run my hands up his long, tattooed legs. Gripping his steel-hard cock with both hands, he rolls his head back and lets out an approving groan. I practically have to unhinge my jaw like a snake to fit him into my mouth. Pre-cum drips from the spongy tip and I lick up every salty drop, massaging the cashmere underbelly of his beautiful prick with my tongue.

He holds the sides of my head, fingers wrapped around my ears and pushes deeper into my throat. My eyes water and drool leaks from the corners of my mouth as I swallow him down. As long as I relax my throat he glides in easily and soon he’s fucking my face with vigor and I’m loving every inch of him.

Just when we find our rhythm, he pulls out, and I take a long breath. He takes me by the armpits and hauls me back onto the bed. He kicks off his shoes and socks and climbs onto me. Watching my face, he slides into me, cautious, as if he’s afraid of hurting me. I’m stretched to my limit, but it’s good. Really fucking good.

Slowly, he picks up the pace until he’s using my shoulders for leverage to slam into me. Our skin slaps together with each forward thrust.

I’ve never been noisy in bed. I’ve always been skeptical of those who are. I mean, it can’t be
that
good, right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong.

Having him inside of me, stretching me, pulsing and aching for me, I can’t help it. I open my mouth and I’m calling out, “Oh, yes, fuck me! Harder, yeah, right there.” I’m making ridiculous noises that, in any other context, would be comical.

The dirtier my words, the more it seems to feed his lust. He flips me over onto my stomach, hips up as if I were a doll that weighs nothing.

He spanks me hard on the ass. I lurch forward and cry out.

“So you want to fuck, huh?” he says, tangling his fingers in my hair.

So he did get the text after all. I was starting to wonder if it went through.

“Yes, please fuck me,” I beg.

He spanks me again and I yelp and smile into my pillow. He’s so possessive in the bedroom. So unlike his normal demeanor and I’m loving this side of him. I can definitely get used to this.

I let out a long, loud moan when he enters me from behind. It’s always been my favorite position. The most direct path inside with the least resistance. As he drives into me, the head of his dick presses against my cervix, causing tendrils of pain with pleasure. The blinds are open in my room. I usually close them right before bed. Anyone looking in will see my sex face, but none of that matters to me right now.

The heady scent of sex fills the room, pushing me to the brink. My second orgasm rips through me with hurricane force. As my muscles start to contract around his width, Paul lets out a primal roar and unleashes his warm seed inside of me. We stay that way, locked together for several minutes as we come down. We’re breathing heavily. He’s draped over my back, kissing my spine, and then we collapse. He cradles me in a spooning position. I’m glad he can’t see the ridiculous smile I feel stretching my face.

He strokes my hair with his fingers, untangling the sweaty strands. “That was amazing,” he says.

I turn over to face him. His eyes are hooded, face groggy. “It was more than amazing.”

A stream of cum rolls down my leg and it hits me suddenly that we forgot to use a condom. I mentally make a note to get to the pharmacy in the morning for a morning after pill.

As I kiss his forehead, cheeks, lips, and chin, his eyes meld shut. He pulls me closer to him, and before I know it, I fall asleep in his arms.

I
wake
up the next morning to the droning buzz of my alarm clock. The room is filled with light without the blinds drawn and I’m completely naked. I’m still in the same position I was last night when Paul and I fell asleep together. Trying not to wake him, I peel his arms off of me and slide out of bed.

“Do you have to go?” he mumbles to my back as I put on my robe.

I look over my shoulder at him. He has one eye open and his hair’s a mess. Utterly adorable. “Yeah, I have exams.”

He grumbles and sits up, looking around my room as if he just realized where he was for the first time. “Where’s all your stuff?” he asks.

“What do you mean? What stuff?”

He closes one eye and takes inventory of my belongings. “You have a full-sized bed, a table, and a lamp. Where’s your dresser and all your clothes? There’re no pictures on the walls, or things to decorate and make the space your own. You’re like a tidy homeless person.”

I smile, but he’s right. It’s been so long without acknowledging the things I like that I’ve managed to lose interest in and even forget everything other than school and Paul. “My clothes are in my closet.”

“In that shoe box?” he asks, frowning at my closet that’s just big enough to squeeze a body in. If it were anyone other than Paul I might’ve taken offence.

I shrug. “I don’t need much.”

Truth is, I can’t afford much, and I refuse to have my parents help me—not that they actually would. Even after loans, grants, and scholarships, being a student pays hardly anything at all. My part time job at the coffee shop around the corner from the campus pays just enough to cover utilities and food. I have to keep telling myself that someday, when I have my degree and the job of my dreams, all the struggle will be worth it.

“Hmm,” is all he says.

“I need to go get my shower,” I say, heading for the bathroom.

* * *

I
’ve just started washing
my hair when the sliding door to the shower opens. Paul steps in behind me, lacing his fingers with mine, and starts to work the shampoo into my scalp. When he’s done he takes my loofa and douses it in my green tea body wash, lathering it up before starting at my shoulders.

“I love the smell of this soap. It smells like you,” he says.

He takes his time, making sure every inch of my skin is clean. His warm body presses against me, his firm cock sliding between my soap-slick ass cheeks. I’m under the showerhead now, bubbles going down the drain as I rinse off. He gently bites my shoulder and reaches around, ring and middle fingers on either side of my clit, rubbing in soft, slow circles.

My moans echo in the tiled bathroom. I lift my foot onto the lip of the tub to open myself up and give him better access. The head of his cock pushes at my asshole. I push back against it, but it won’t budge without lube, which probably wouldn’t feel good anyway, so it’s better to leave it alone. Instead, he uses his free hand to guide himself to my fleshy opening. I’m still a bit sore from our encounter the night before, but as soon as he’s inside of me, all pain is forgotten and only desire is left behind as he works me over.

My palms flat against the wall, I let the water roll down my back and enjoy the sensation of being stretched. His grunting becomes animalistic as he starts to thrust harder. He puts his hand on my back, bending me over. That amazing pain is back as his rigid prick bottoms out. I’m crying out for more, screaming for him to “fuck me hard!”

“God, you’re so tight,” he says, tearing into me, almost as if he too were in pain.

He slides in and out of me before turning me around and lifting me off the ground. My arms are around his neck, legs around his waist. He pushes my back against the wall, holds my ass in his hands and somehow manages to hold me up and fuck me like that without any help from me. After ten minutes, the water is losing its heat but his pace hasn’t. He has the stamina of someone half his age, and the strength too.

Like a puppet with wires, he positions my body whichever way he desires and I’m perfectly happy to let him do so. With one of my legs on the floor, he lifts the other, holding it in the crook of his arm and enters me at a side angle. It’s a direct hit to my g-spot. He nails it every time, tapping my button like it’s an O key stuck on a keyboard. Three more pumps and it’s game-over.

My screams rise to an almost deafening pitch as my orgasm takes hold, making me faint and light-headed.

The moisture in the air hurts my lungs as I try to catch my breath. He’s still inside of me when he turns off the water. He kisses me more, staying inside of me. When he finally pulls out, a torrent of our mixed fluids spill out of me and splash against the bottom of the porcelain tub.

I’ll definitely hit up the pharmacy after school. At least I think I will. I’m taking the bus home and I’m not sure it goes in that direction. If not, I can always get Emily to take me tomorrow.

My muscles and body are still wrecked when he takes my face in his hands and kisses me deeply. “You’re going to be late for school.”

“I know,” I say and kiss him again. I don’t want this to end. I’m tempted to just not go to school, but my GPA depends on the results of these exams. “It was so worth it.”

I clean myself up, dress, brush on a coat of mascara, and say goodbye to Paul before leaving the apartment. In the halls, several of my neighbors, all female, are outside talking to each other. I’m not all that close with any of them even though we go to the same school. I’ve never taken much time to say much other than “hi” and pet the one woman’s parrot. I’ve always wanted to live in a neighborhood where everyone knew each other and had the others’ backs, but I never got the vibe from these people that something like that would be an option, other than the neighbor whose cat I’m watching. From the day I moved in I had the feeling that they had a clique and I wasn’t invited in. It’s like high school all over again. Somethings never change, I guess.

When they see me they bend their heads, whispering and laughing. “That must’ve been some party last night,” one of them says to me.

Great, they heard me. I knew I was being loud, but I’d hoped I wasn’t being
that
loud. Gossip spreads around this complex like wildfire and before long, everyone will know. Oh, well. It wasn’t as if I’d dragged some one-night stand to my apartment (like I almost did) and had my way with him. I had an amazing night with the man I care about and I’m not going to pretend as if I hadn’t. And I’m definitely not going to apologize for it.

I know I’m blushing without having seen my face. Nosey broads.

Instead of staying embarrassed and letting these girls get under my skin, I say, “You have no idea,” and exaggerate bowed-legs as I walk down the stairs.

* * *

“
S
omeone’s looking happy
,” Emily says as we leave class. I’d arrived five minutes late and got nasty glares from Mr. Oliver, but nothing could kill my mood.

“That’s because someone got laid,” I say.

Emily slaps my arm, eyes wide. “Tell me everything. Spare no details.”

Normally I get annoyed by the bump and grind in the hallways as students scurry to their next classes, but nothing can bother me today.

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“I know, so tell me everything.”

We head toward economics, the other class we share. In fact, it was how we met in the first place. We sit down in our seats next to each other and I tell her everything.

* * *

I
meet
my dad for lunch. He takes me out once a month. It was my mom’s idea. She thinks it will bring my dad and I closer together. She’s tirelessly optimistic. All my dad ever talks about is how hard he had to work to get the things he has, and how he’s doing me a favor by never lending me money—which I never ask for. If I did, he’d hold it over my head like a wrecking ball.

We sit down at a diner and look over the menu. He talks mostly about work. I pretend to listen to him for the most part and just try to enjoy the free meal.

I’m only half listening when I hear the tail end of what he just said. “And Paul stayed out all night. I wonder what he’s up to.”

My French fry gets caught in my throat and I have to pound my chest with my fist to swallow it down.

“He probably hung out with other friends.” I shrug, as if I couldn’t care less. “So what do you and mom have going on for your anniversary. That’s coming up soon, right?” I say, trying to get off the subject of Paul.

“We have the same friends. He would’ve told me. When I called around looking for him last night, no one had seen him.”

“Someone’s a little clingy,” I tease.

Please stop talking about Paul.

“He’s staying at my house. The least he can do is call me and tell me he’s not coming home so I can set the alarm. Besides, he’s only here for a day or two, and we have plans.”

That’s it? All the time I have left with him is a day or two? Of course, my dad will most likely hog every minute of it.

Dad waves a waitress over to refill his drink. When I was a kid I always hated it when he did that. The waitresses were busy and would get to us eventually, but my dad never has the patience to wait. I still hate it even as an adult, but I’m more concerned about what’s happening with Paul to care.

I don’t want Paul to leave and I can tell my dad—in his own, pig-headed way—doesn’t want him to leave either, but he would never come right out and say it. He’s too proud for that. But he’s also a different person when Paul’s around. Lively, younger, he smiles more, glares less. If it were up to my parents they’d have him move in.

“I don’t know why he has to leave at all,” my dad says.

“I’m sure he needs to get back to his job and his life.”

“I don’t see why. It’s not as if he has to work.”

“Why not?”

“He sold that construction company of his for several million and made a killing on investments. He wouldn’t have to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to, but the guy likes to get his hands dirty.”

I nearly choke on the hamburger I just took a bite of. Paul’s worth several million? How did I not know that?

Then it hits me. Dude, I just slept with a millionaire. Seems like I should be more excited about that part; it’s just one more thing to brag to my friends about at gatherings. While everyone else is telling their wild tales, I’m always the one who shrugs and says, “not much,” when they ask what I’ve been up to.

Also, what girl doesn’t want a guy with some ambition—as well as one who doesn’t live with his parents and “forgets” to bring his wallet on dates? Yet, I’m mostly just excited about the man I slept with. Not his money.

I shake my head and take a deep breath to clear my mind. Suddenly the food in my stomach feels like a ball of lead. “If you’re so upset about it, convince him to stay,” I tell my dad.

“Believe me, I’m trying, but I couldn’t convince him to stay the first time and I doubt I can this time. What he needs is to fall in love and settle down with someone. Plant some roots.”

I couldn’t agree more.