All body. No mind. No shame. Nothing but flesh and pulse and satisfaction.
It takes a while to come down, to re-emerge, not so much from my orgasm as from a chrysalis.
Sex with Karl won’t turn me into a new woman any more than leaving the Valley did. But given how much I’ve gotten from this single masturbation session, I suspect it’ll strip away another veil; another piece of my parents’ armor.
On the heels of that thought comes the realization that this carapace they’ve forced on me, my entire life was, indeed, for my own good, as they insisted. They force-fed me scripture not to hurt me or to quell my true self, but to protect me. From the world.
In the next breath, I’m half laughing, half crying, so full of tenderness for the people who raised me that nothing could hold it in.
Silly, silly parents. Don’t they realize there’s no saving me from myself?
8
How do you want it?
Karl
“Too old for this shit,” I mutter as I pull the back door closed and head to my truck for the quick drive home. I mean closing up after a long shift on my feet, but Jerusha comes to mind, too.
Not that she’s been far off at any point tonight.
My brain’s on a goddamn seesaw of memories versus good intentions.
Am I really the guy for the job? is the question I keep coming back to.
Compared to Dave fucking Green, the answer’s yeah. But there’s got to be someone her age who’ll treat her well and show her the ropes. Someone compatible in a way I could never be.
Then that kiss comes back and compatible’s blown out of the water. What I experienced with her in those few stolen minutes is—shit—I shiver at the memory. Not even the same realm as compatibility. Caitlin and I were compatible. And look where that ended up—arguments and anger and shitty divorce, with Harper in the middle.
When I touch Jerusha, it’s like fresh connections are made in my brain. Like dead neurons firing up, like… Shit. Like a new lease on life.
Who’ll be teaching who? I wonder, as I pull into the alley behind my house and park tight against the back fence. I glance up at her place—as I do every time I come home—and see a light on. I’ve never been upstairs, so I have no idea if that’s her room or someone else’s, but I’m dying to see her again. To test this newfound feeling.
Though I’m dead on my feet, I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text.
Waiting up?
Couldn’t sleep. :-) Too excited.
Dammit. I’m about to do something stupid.
Want company?
Only if it’s yours.
Squid okay, too?
Of course.
Be about five minutes—back door.
I ignore the voice telling me to slow this down, grab Squid from my place and give him a quick walk around the alley.
I take her steps two at a time, arrive at the back door as she opens it and scoop her in to my body. Squid slides by—probably to investigate the rest of the house. I honestly have no clue where he goes, because I notice what she’s wearing and go brain-dead. Nothing but a threadbare T-shirt that ends just past her ass with a faded cross over the heart. As if I needed convincing that I’m a lecherous old man.
“This T-shirt…” I pull at the hem.
“I know. It’s old and ugly.” She plucks it from my fingers. “Didn’t have time to change.”
“It’s… fucking divine.” I’m laughing as the words come out, punctuating my dive straight to hell, in the arms of this young woman.
“Come here.” I slide cold hands beneath the thin fabric, run them up, and stutter to a halt when there’s nothing there but smooth skin. My whispered “Fuck,” is reverent. It’s the way I felt as a kid the first time I opened one of my big sister’s Victoria’s Secret catalogues. My cock comes alive, angels sing, and I swear I’d die a happy man right now.
“Didn’t have time to put on underwear.”
Yes you did, I’d say, if I could talk, though it’s presumptuous and maybe a little too forward. Too forward? Christ, I’m a mess of contradictions.
All I manage is a long, low, Oh. It’s heartfelt, though. She has to know that I like it.
“Nobody’s ever…” She shivers, pressing her soft breasts to my chest. “Touched me there before.”
My cock’s pounding in my jeans. At this point, she’ll touch me and I’ll come. Which is what happens when teenagers first start messing around. It’s not what happens to forty-three-year-old men.
I plant my hands at her waist—over the cotton tee—and push her a foot away from me.
“First lesson…” I decide, on the fly, “…is dirty talk.” It’ll keep me from making a fool of myself.
Her brows go up, her lips slowly follow. “There’s a syllabus?”
Air huffs painfully from my lungs in an approximation of a laugh. “Making it up as I go.” I nod, firm in my decision. “But dirty talk’s a good first step.”
“I’m all ears.” Her grin’s enormous, so typical of this woman. Joyous and honest and real. It slays me.
“If we’re going to do this right.” And we are. “We have to take it slow, make it good for you. The way it should be.” No more frantic dry humping against restaurant doors. And if I come in my pants, so be it.
“Want a drink?”
“Water would be good.”
I follow her progress to the cupboard, my eyes glued to her face until I remember that I’m allowed to stare at those plump, strong thighs. Just looking satisfies a thirst I’ve denied myself these past few months.
“Know how you said you’ve wanted to…” She reaches high, revealing just the hint of those two half-moon curves and I can’t speak past the sudden dryness in my throat.
When she looks at me there’s expectation, but not an ounce of awareness of what’s happening inside me. This woman has no idea what she does to me. None.
“Crushing on you hard, Jerusha.”
Though her features don’t move, they change—become brighter, maybe. “Yeah?”
I nod, slow and in control. “You got any idea how gorgeous that ass is?”
Her jaw drops. “Is it?”
“I could tell, you know, that I’d like your body.” I step closer. “I just didn’t know how much.”
“Oh.” Her eyes slide down my front, to the floor, then back up. Acquiring somewhere along the way, a dirty little glint. “I think about you without clothes on all the time.”
Good thing she hasn’t filled those glasses yet, because if I were drinking right now, I’d spew all over the place. From under the rickety wood table, Squid woofs, as if even he’s startled.
“Shit, Jerusha, you’re…” Perfect. “Amazing.”
With a smile, she fills the glasses at the sink. “Living room?”
“Sure.”
She leads the way and I look my fill, enjoying the sight of her the way I would her smell or taste, or the tight feel of her around me. There’s promise in those curves. Heat and power and give.
I want to devour her.
Instead, I sit on the soft, second-hand couch beside her and slug back a full glass of water.
“Dirty talk,” she says, as if I need a reminder. I can picture her in class, up front, reminding her teachers of where they left off. I’ll bet she’s this excited to learn and I’ll bet her professors eat it up.
“Just talk.”
“Okay.” I swear if I gave her a sheet of paper, she’d take notes. “Talk. Yes.” She’s nodding fast, so studious.
I angle my body toward hers, leaving a frustrating amount of space between us. “First time I saw you, you know what you had on?”
She blinks, as if this isn’t what she’d expected. And, frankly, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m not some porno-talking sexpert. I’m just a dude who says shit when he gets riled up. I’m riled up now, so close I can almost smell her. Almost. So close my cock aches, heavy and warm and too constricted in my nice work jeans. So close that
if she made a move, I’m not sure I could deny her, despite my best intentions.
“Skirt? T-shirt?”
“One of those long, flowy ones that reaches down to your ankles.” I slide an arm over the back of the sofa. “Baggy, paint-stained T-shirt. Hair tied up high on your head with a paintbrush poking out.”
“Sometimes a brush is all I’ve got.”
“I know. ’Cause you’re so busy.”
“Exactly.” There’s a hint of surprise in that one word, like she didn’t think anyone noticed.
“I notice.” I let my eyes slide down to her sweet neck, over the ripped collar of her shirt, to where her breasts rise and fall faster than usual. “I notice your nipples are hard right now. Could mean you’re cold.” My gaze returns to her face. “But I think it means you like this—your body likes this. Me being close, recognizing it. Recognizing you.”
Her little tongue slips out to slick over her bottom lip and my mouth drops open. I’m panting and I’ve done nothing to her. With her. Shit, I’ve done nothing to myself. But, fuck, I want to reach down and press my palm to my cock.
“First time I saw you, I felt so goddamn guilty.”
“Why?”
“Got hard. Watching you work. I had to help you move, just to be… What’s the word?”
“Forgiven? Absolved?”
“Yeah. I wanted absolution.”
“Granted.” Her smirk is filthy.
“Thanks.” I let the fingers of my left hand play with a stray curl. It’s frizzed out and wild—as off-the-wall different as she is. “You were all sweaty by the end. Both were. It made your shirt stick to your waist, your…breasts.”
She bites her lip and shifts, like my words are doing things to her.
“You like me telling you this?”
“Yes. Yes and also…”
I go tight. If she doesn’t like it, I’ll stop.
“And also, it makes me all…antsy.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Oh…” Her throat moves like she’s thinking about it or going through options. “I get achy when you’re around. Like…I need something.”
“What?” My body cants forward.
“I get nervous and very excited.” Another dry-sounding swallow. Her eyes flick over mine, then down and back up, over and over. “Are you hard…now?”
9
Just like Heaven
Jerusha
He was right, of course. Just talking is getting me riled up. Beyond riled. I may have orgasmed fast earlier, but it’s nothing compared to how it would be right now—with his presence and his words.
“So hard it hurts.” He’s playing with my hair, twisting it and letting it go, petting it with little tugs in between. “Wait. Go back. You said you needed something. What’s that?”
He’s so close, so big, somehow taller than I realized. And wider. Intimidating…and yet… “I don’t know.”
I chicken out.
“I feel like I need…your body. Is that weird?”
“No. Not at all. What else?”
“I get wet. Which, I looked up, because I didn’t know…I didn’t realize it was normal, this feeling? On the internet, I saw that the wetness is on purpose, to make it easier to…” I gulp back the rest, suddenly shy, not at the words so much as the reality it presents. Here, in this moment, I’m wet and he’s hard and it could happen. He could slide himself inside me. I could take it. The urge to spread my legs and show him is immense. “I feel empty,” I whisper instead.
He growls, drops his head on the back of the sofa, closes his eyes. “I want to slide inside you, Jerusha.” I don’t expect him to respond like that, but he does, as if he can’t talk and watch me at the same time. A thrill runs through me at the idea that I might hold power over this big, strong man.
“I want to run my cock up and down your sweet cunt. Sink in deep.” His words steal my breath and my moment of dominance.
A gentle pull at my hair. I drop my head so I’m facing him head-on. All I can do is breathe, hyper-aware of his closeness, his distance, the tightness in my breasts…my lack of underwear. I shift my legs, press them together so he won’t smell me.
“Thought you looked young that first day, which made me feel…” He lifts his hand and pats the air. “Wrong. But I guess I’ve adjusted to that. You’re young, but you’re…not.”
I can’t help a little smirk. “I’m glad.”
“Fuck. Me, too.” Still holding my curl, he strokes the backs of his fingers from my temple down. I twist to meet him with my mouth and let my lips open, let him press one thick knuckle to the inner edge. I don’t stop my tongue from touching, tasting, feeling the hard ridges of rough skin and calluses. His gasp urges me on, further down, to the tip of that finger, which I lick and bite.
I’m a shaky, breathless mess of nerves, but his expression gives me courage. He looks utterly lost, like I’ve stolen his brain and replaced it with pure lust and, since that’s exactly what I feel, I go on, kissing, biting, learning, and then it’s nothing but his mouth and mine, teeth clashing before some inner rhythm takes over and we’re dancing. Together. Heads tilting, tongues twisting, lips ebbing and flowing with our conjoined inner pulse.
I’m panting into his mouth and he’s making these low, happy noises that are closer to animal than human. As close as communication can get.
I love it. I knew I would, given the chance, but I love it more than I’d imagined. More than food. Well… I giggle into his mouth and he drinks it up. As much as food. And making art. As much as the smell of fall and floating in water.
What I like about this sensory experience is that it’s shared.
And I like who I’m sharing it with.
I’m not sure who pulls away first or if we’re so in tune that we do it together. There’s enough space for breathing, then smelling, then eye contact, which sizzles so deep in my chest it hurts.
I blink back to the dim room, a light smell of dog, my too-soft sofa.
A car drives by outside, the sound of water under their tires.
I almost can’t believe the world’s moved on while we kissed. It doesn’t seem possible.
“You okay?” Karl watches me, reaches up, pushes a stray curl from my face. Which is good, since I’m not sure I can move my arms yet.
“Amazing.”
His smile’s sweet and young, making me wish I’d known him as a child. But then the lines around his eyes come into focus, and the sprinkle of grey in his hair, the intensity in his almost-black eyes… No. No, I like this version—weathered and wise and fully aware of who he is. I want to be that self-aware.
“That was…” I let out a long, slow exhale and roll my eyes up to the black ceiling fan that reminds me of him. “Better than I’d imagined.”
He chuckles and yawns at the same time.
“Oh, gosh, you must be exhausted. I kept you up so late!”
“You kept me up late? Next you’ll be saying that you corrupted me.”
“Obviously I debauched you, Karl. Led you unto evil.”
His smile slowly fades, leaving an expression I can’t define in its place. “Nothing evil about you, Jerusha. Far from it.”
I swallow something back. It’s not regret; I’ll never feel that around this man. But fear, maybe? Of losing this before it’s begun? What is this anyway? A man doing a woman a favor? Whatever. I shove the feelings down, do my best to ignore them, because fear of living’s the opposite of what I do now.
Fear is what my parents have, and the rest of my family. Fear of doing something wrong and missing out on the afterlife. Fear of sinning, making mistakes—being human.
I’m not afraid of that. At all. The only thing that scares me is missing opportunities. I promised myself I’d live life to its fullest—here and now, instead of when I die.
I’m truthful in my heart and in my words, and I’m always generous, because what is life for if not sharing? And when have I shared anything so deeply as tonight?
I’m
about to lean forward, full of the need to share more with him—my thoughts or another kiss, I don’t know—when he lets out a jaw-cracking yawn.
“Definitely past my bedtime.” He stands and stretches, with a third yawn.
I let him pull me to my feet and flat against his chest, wondering if being close to him will always make my pulse race.
I hope so.
“You’re magic, Jerusha Graff.”
“That mean you’ll do it again? Lessons, I mean?”
Grimacing, he opens his mouth as if to say something and stops. “Let’s play it by ear.” He gives a tight smile. “Tomorrow, you’ll probably meet some young guy who pushes all the right buttons. Won’t need me,” he says, with grim certainty.
“Oh. Sure.”
I accompany him to the back door, painfully aware of my near-nudity and the wetness coating my thighs. Squid races out, but Karl stalls. He bends toward me, setting my heart to flapping in my chest like a bird. When he kisses my cheek instead of my lips, the feeling turns sour.
“Sleep tight, Jerusha.”
“Okay, Karl. You, too.”
He throws me a smile and takes off, leaving me wondering what I did wrong.
I stew on that for a while and then pick up my phone.
10
Come as you are
Karl
I close her back gate and run my hands over my face, breathing too hard for the short distance I just walked. This isn’t the way this is supposed to go.
Dammit. I don’t do this shit. I don’t lose control over a kiss. A smile.
This was about her, not me.
Then why the fuck am I sporting a rock-hard boner outside a girl’s house at whatever o’clock in the morning instead of getting much-needed sleep?
’Cause I’m a moron.
And this has got to stop.
Whistling for Squid, I head to my place, unlock the gate, and go inside, all business.
I manage to keep up the charade through my shower, but my phone buzzes as I slide naked into bed, still hard as nails, and I snatch it up, finally admitting that I’ve got to face the truth: this isn’t just a fucked-up favor to help a cute neighbor out.
Daddy Crush Page 6
