My Best Friend ‘s Dad
Summer Holiday Erotic Romance
GIRLS PLAYING WITH FIRE
MARISSA BLUSH
© Copyright Marissa Blush October 2019
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - From Connecticut…
Chapter 2 - …to the Bahamas
Chapter 3 – The Water Fight
Chapter 4 – That Moment
Chapter 5 – The Goodbye Party
Chapter 6 – Seducing Mr. Sinclair
Chapter 7 – Sex on the Beach
To be continued…
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Author notes
Chapter 1 - From Connecticut…
Diane and I set down our carry-ons, and we did a little jig right there on the driveway. The only sound was the SUV engine purring but, in our heads, played the same music we’d been listening to the whole weekend. We drove my parents crazy with the loud dance music while we practiced our moves for the two-week vacation in the Bahamas.
We ignored the thudding steps of Diane’s fourteen-year-old brother who ran toward us.
“Shotgun,” Danny yelled.
He skidded to a halt near the car and opened the passenger door with a look that dared us to challenge him. We burst out laughing and each took one of his hands dragging him in our dance.
“Dad, I called shotgun. You heard,” he whined, struggling to get free.
“I heard, Danny,” Mr. Sinclair said, with a twinkle of laughter in his smooth, masculine voice.
I froze for a moment, caught unprepared by his approach, and Danny managed to yank his hand from mine.
Ever since this vacation was planned, I tried to prepare myself for this. For seeing him again. For being around him for two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred thirty-six hours. Twenty thousand one hundred sixty minutes.
Minute one.
Here we go.
His hair was longer, with a few more flecks of gray at the temples. He had a short beard, with a lot more white than in his hair. I couldn’t see his eyes, but the first impression was that he was exhausted.
I took a quick snapshot of him, storing away the details for later study. He was wearing a pair of dark trousers, more casual than his business suits, but a far cry from his running gear. A lightweight jacket, in a boring shade of petrol-gray, over a comfortably loose t-shirt.
Diane ran into his arms, giving me time to get it together. I took a quick stock of my state. Knees, weak. Mouth, dry. Hands, sweating. I swallowed hard and wiped my hands on my skirt. I had to hope that my voice wasn’t going to give me away.
“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair.”
That wasn’t so bad. I sounded pretty much like a normal person, not like someone who was actively memorizing every detail of his appearance.
Only now I realized how much I had missed him. Since the divorce, Diane lived with her mother, and although she and I spent just as much time together, I hadn’t seen her father as much as before. To be precise, the last time I had seen Mr. Sinclair was twenty-seven days ago, when he had picked up Diane from school.
Well, the last time I had seen the real person had been twenty-seven days ago. His doppelganger showed up in my bed almost every night, giving me what Mr. Sinclair never would.
I’d been wondering whether meeting him for real again would prove that I had outgrown my crush. Maybe Mr. Sinclair wouldn’t stack up well against the Paul from my dreams. Well, fuck! Blistering desire coursed through my veins. It coiled and knotted inside my stomach. I had my answer. As the 8-ball would say Outlook not so good.
He looked at me with an earnest smile that made me feel ashamed about all the dirty fantasies I had about him.
“Morning, Sarah. You girls ready?” he asked, looking from me to his daughter.
Ready for what, Mr. Sinclair?
Yeah, I was ready. Ready like a champagne bottle. Ready to pop.
“All packed,” I said and tapped a foot on the side of my suitcase.
He ruffled Diane’s hair and came over to me. He picked up her carry-on and we reached for mine at the same time. I instantly dropped the handle when his hand brushed my skin.
“I got them,” he said, taking both suitcases to the trunk of the car.
I darted a glance toward Danny and Diane, worried they might pick up on my weird behavior. Danny had climbed inside and closed the door, and his sister was staring at her image in the dark tinted window trying to fix what her father had done to her hair. Lucky escape.
The snap of the trunk being closed startled me out of my daze.
“Are you ok with the backseat?” Mr. Sinclair asked quietly enough that only Diane and I could hear him. “Danny called it, but he’ll have to be a gentleman about it if you want to stay in the front.”
Spend the ninety-minute drive to the airport sitting next to the man I fantasized about on a regular basis? Could there be a crueler torture?
“No, it’s fine,” I said.
“Yeah, dad,” Diane said, and looped her arm around my waist. “We want to stay in the backseat to make out.”
She pulled me close and planted a big sloppy kiss on my lips. I played along out of habit. We usually saved this for double dates, if our boyfriends didn’t pay us enough attention. The show of our pretend make-out sessions turned on the guys and guaranteed high-quality sex.
We didn’t go into full make-out mode this time. We broke apart and snickered. The look on his face was totally adorable. It said so this is what I have to deal with for two weeks.
“Sorry, Mr. Sinclair,” I said with my eyes to the ground. “We’ll behave.”
“We promise,” Diane said adopting a similarly contrite posture.
His wry smile made it clear he didn’t believe us, but he got that we were just joking. I sometimes worried how much he seemed to understand us. What if he understood the one secret I had never dared to share with anyone?
Chapter 2 - …to the Bahamas
The car ride to the airport was a bit of a challenge. I had to constantly stomp on my urge to look at Mr. Sinclair. If Diane noticed, even if she didn’t realize the full depth of my obsession, she’d make fun of me and the holiday mood would crash and burn.
The real trouble started on the plane. I chose the seat farthest from him, but Danny and Diane got bored, quarreled and made up several times during the flight. The result was that they changed places a lot. I tried to stay out of it, and even get some sleep, but they woke me up and talked me into switching seats. And not just me.
“Everything ok?” Mr. Sinclair asked after a few minutes.
“What? Yes. W-why?” I stuttered.
“You seem tense.”
No kidding!
He was sitting comfortably in his seat, with his thighs parted in that self-confident pose guys displayed without noticing. I kept my knees together like a prim kindergarten teacher, but even so, his leg was touching mine. The heat of his body seeped into me. So, yes, I was tense.
“I’m ok,” I lied. “I didn’t sleep well.”
He patted his shoulder. “If you need it, this is yours.”
What are you doing to me?
I smiled and my eyes lingered on his chest. How would it feel to rest my head there? Would I be able to sleep?
The scent of his new perfume was revving up my imagination. As much as I loved the mix of warm spices, vanilla and sandalwood of his usual perfume, the new one was driving me crazy. It had started off citrusy, in the car. He had probably just sprayed it on before we left. By the time we got to the airport, I caught the edge of something like pepper and rosemary. Now I was getting musk and incense. I wished I could smush my face into the hollow of his neck, to breathe i
t in right off his skin.
Fortunately, Danny got bored and we played musical chairs again. For the last hour of the trip, I ended up at the window, with Diane sitting between me and her father, and I regained a measure of control over my hormones.
#
In the car that took us from the airport to the resort, I dozed off and dreamt of Mr. Sinclair, as I often did with my eyes open. This was a damn good one. It was so vivid, I felt I could touch him. He was wearing the same clothes as he did on the plane. The scent of wood musk, incense and something else that made me think of trees wrapped around my brain.
“You smell so good,” I mumbled.
“Thank you.”
When he spoke, I felt myself vibrate. I purred delighted with the sensation. This was the best dream ever.
“You smell nice, too,” he said, and the smile in his voice jolted me out of my dream.
Fuck! I wasn’t dreaming. I was in the backseat of a car, with my head on his shoulder. And my hand on his knee? I jerked my hand away and he chuckled.
“You can go back to sleep,” he said. “We have a good half an hour until we get there.”
I nodded to show I understood but I couldn’t risk speaking. He was too close. He paid attention to me. He would hear the squeak in my voice, and understand. Oh, how I wanted to lean on him again. To trace the strong muscle of his thigh, up, all the way to… I swallowed hard.
No, I should not risk another not-dream happening. Who knew what else I could whisper in my sleep or where my hand would end up?
#
I all but jumped out of the car when we got there. Feigning excitement for the place that was going to be home for the next two weeks.
The bungalow was absolutely charming. It was about a quarter of the size of our homes in Connecticut, but we all loved it.
Diane, Danny and I zipped around through the whole place like happy bumblebees. The front door led into a spacious open space living room and kitchen. Through the large windows we could see the ocean. I ran to the back door, and discovered a large covered porch, with a deck that ended where the sand began.
The view was glorious. I stared at the pinkest fine sand and brightest blue water I had ever seen. I felt like kicking off my shoes and running into the ocean.
I rushed back into the house, eager to change into my swimming suit and dive in the waves. On the other side of the living room, there was a small hallway, with two bedrooms on either side and at the end, a large bathroom, with a massive bathtub.
The one-bathroom situation might be a problem, but not enough to ruin my excitement.
Diane and I commandeered the larger bedroom immediately. We jumped in the huge king-size bed, and we were giggling when Mr. Sinclair came in our room with the suitcases. He left them in front of the wardrobe and looked at us.
“Girls, let’s talk about the rules.”
He sat down on the bed, next to Diane, but his gaze bounced between her and me. We sat up straight and looked at him. We knew this was coming, and we were ready to negotiate.
“If you want to go out at night, you have to stay together. The curfew is 2am. If you are late, the curfew will move to 1am. If you’re late again, it will move to midnight. And if you’re late again, you lose the privilege to go out on your own. Is this clear?”
The terms were far more lenient than either of us expected. Our plan was to get him to allow us to go out without him and stay out at least until midnight.
We spoke at the same time.
“Yes, Dad”
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair.”
He nodded, pleased with our acceptance, and went on.
“I will not place a cap on the number of nights you go out, but I would appreciate if you spent a few with Danny and me.”
“No problem,” I said immediately.
Diane shot me a glance, then shrugged. We weren’t party animals, and most likely we wouldn’t feel like going out every night anyway.
“You’re both of legal age to drink alcohol, but you have to promise me that you won’t have more than two drinks when I’m not with you.”
We nodded again, less enthusiastically this time. Two drinks wasn’t great, but his tone made it clear that it wasn’t negotiable.
Mr. Sinclair was the most understanding of our parents, but we had learned to recognize from his voice when there was no room for negotiation. With my parents, or even with Diane’s mother, negotiation was almost always necessary because they were way stricter. But when Mr. Sinclair used this tone, trying to negotiate with him made things difficult. A trace of steel would appear in his voice and a shadow in his eyes. We rarely got to hear the no-negotiation tone, but when we did, it was always something important.
“Promise,” we both said.
“I will trust you to keep your word, but if you come home drunk, you’re not allowed to go out on your own.”
#
We spent the first day exploring the resort, picking up a beach cabana to rent, and doing nice family fun things together. But on the very next night, we explored the limits of our freedom.
The bartender carded us, and may have been a little too generous with the amount of alcohol in our cocktails, but we only had two drinks each.
The guys at the party were ripped and tanned and most of them were interested in us. Our game plan was to shop around the first day, see if there was anyone worthy of a hot holiday sexcapade, but not to go any further than a bit of dry-humping on the dancefloor.
A few minutes before 2am, we opened the front door to our bungalow. I hadn’t doubted for a moment that Mr. Sinclair was waiting up for us.
The only light in the living room was the flickering of the TV set.
“Hi, dad,” Diane said, and flopped on the couch next to him.
He reached to turn on the floor lamp beyond the couch and put his arm around her shoulders. Diane snuggled into him.
“What were you watching?” she asked.
I turned my head to the TV. He must have muted it when he heard the door. When he reached for the remote, my eyes were attracted to the movement. My gaze remained to glued to his hand. He pressed a button and I heard the familiar sound of a football match. I ignored it, in favor of the spectacle of the most attractive masculine hand in the world. I opened my mouth slightly and touched my upper lip with the tip of my tongue. How would it feel to have one of those fingers in my mouth? Or two? Would he like it? If I sucked, if I twirled my tongue…
“Everything all right, Sarah?”
My teeth snapped together when I closed my mouth.
“Mhm,” I mewled.
The embarrassing sound made me blush. Fantasizing about sucking the man’s fingers hadn’t been enough to make it clear that I should get out of there.
“Sleepy,” I said, and shuffled out of the room.
“Good night, Sarah.”
The sound of his voice made my pussy throb so hard, I nearly stumbled. What would I give to hear him call my name when he made me come? What would it be like to feel that he saw me as a woman? As an object of desire?
My pussy tingled and I had a hard time walking. I leaned on the wall all along the hallway.
Those two drinks had been stronger than the beer we drank back home. It looked like I’d have to cut it down to one drink. And that one should be a beer. Bartenders around here seemed to exaggerate the amount of liquor in cocktails.
Chapter 3 – The Water Fight
The next day, Diane and I woke up late. In the kitchen, we found a note from Mr. Sinclair saying that he and Danny were going to the beach.
It was almost noon when we got out of the house. The sun was too bright, even with the dark sunglasses and massive hat. I stared down at my feet as we walked on the hot sand.
“There they are,” Diane said.
I let her take the lead, without looking. I didn’t feel strong enough to see Mr. Sinclair shirtless. He usually wore a t-shirt on the beach, but with my luck, this would
be the one day he had taken it off.
We sighed when we stepped in the shade of the cabana.
“Should we have a dip?” I said.
Diane moaned and plunked on one of the beds. I was in no mood to do anything other than lie down and sleep. I took out a bottle of water from the fridge and pressed it against my forehead before taking the other bed.
“My head hurts,” Diane said.
My head also pounded. She had probably spoken normally, but it pierced my poor battered brain.
“Don’t shout,” I whispered, and pulled the hat further down on my face.
Even in the shadow of the cabana, the light bothered me. I scrunched my eyes, determined to fall asleep. A second later, Diane shrieked. I threw away my glasses and hat, and jumped to my feet. The sun was blinding, and my eyes teared up, but I forced myself to keep them open. Diane was already running, while her brother and her father followed her with water guns.
There were drops next to her bed, where the “attack” had started. I retrieved my glasses and was about to sit down again, when I heard Diane calling me.
“Sarah, help me!”
She was running back toward the cabana, followed by Danny and Mr. Sinclair. I scanned my surroundings for anything I could use to help her. I grabbed my water bottle, unscrewed the lid and headed their way.
Danny’s gun seemed to have run out of water, and he was hanging on to Diane’s hand, to slow her down while their father went on squirting water in her face. Poor Diane’s mascara was running down her cheeks.
I sprayed Danny’s back and he let go of his sister. The outraged look on his face made me laugh, and I ran closer, pouring half the bottle over his head.
“Daaaaad,” he screamed, trying to bat away my hand.
I kept squirting bursts of water at random and he was waving his arms around, trying to block them.
My laughter turned into a guttural shriek when I felt a cold jet of water on my back. I stupidly turned into it, and the next jet pasted my dress to my abdomen and my tits. Instinctively, I pressed down hard on the bottle and most of the water left in it burst in Mr. Sinclair’s face.
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