Trained By My Girlfriend's Dad: A M/M Straight To Gay First Time Romance

by Charlotte Storm

  The nightstand drawer slides open, and the unmistakable sound of the lube bottle opening reaches my ears. It gets easier after he applies a generous amount, the cool gel making me tighten for only a moment.

  “I’m ready,” I say when my dick, ass, and everything else aches with the need to have him inside me. “Please, sir. Please fuck my ass. I need to feel you.”

  I grab a handful of his hair, because I know he likes it, and because it’s enough of a misbehavior that he’ll want to punish me for it.

  My eyes lock on his when I beg, “Take me hard. Use me. Fill me.”

  Darryl growls when he rips his fingers from my ass. With his strong, massive hands, he flips me over. I barely hit my belly, bounce once on the bed, when his hands find my ass and spread my cheeks apart. He presses me flat against the bed, knowing this is the angle that’ll make me come fast and hard. The way I need him to take me.

  He fucks up into me, and I come undone. The burn of him stretching my hole quickly subsides into sheer pleasure. The head of his cock strokes past my prostate with a rhythm that makes my dick swell, my balls tighten.

  “Sir, please,” I beg. Try to beg. Words seem like such an insignificant thing compared to the sensation of my impending release.

  He lays his body on top of mine, grabs a fistful of my hair, and pulls until I can see him from the corner of my eye.

  “You gonna come?” he asks, his hips never breaking tempo.

  “Yes, sir. Please! I can’t hold off.”

  “You know the rules,” he says into my ear, his hot breath caressing down my neck. “You know what I make you do when you come too soon.”

  “I do. Fuck, please. I’ll do anything.” It’s true. I will. The building, blinding need to come is that intense.

  “Then make it good. Give me all of it.”

  With his permission, I go off. Explode. Detonate. Shatter. All of those words seem accurate.

  My dick pulses against the bed. My balls empty themselves of everything I’ve saved up all day. I scream. Try to scream. My orgasm is too intense for noise.

  Before I’m done, Darryl pulls himself off me. Out of me. I don’t have time to miss his absence before he hauls me to my feet, bends me over the bed, and shoves my face into the wet spot I just left.

  I lap at my release as Darryl fills me once more. I grunt with every thrust. My body vibrates with the impact. Our skin slaps together as Darryl plows into my ass with the kind of force I never knew I craved until him.

  “That’s it. Eat every single drop.”

  I do as I’m told, wait for the inevitable heat deep inside. The heat of my dom’s release. My ass, the receptacle for his pleasure.

  “Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Here it comes. You ready to take it?”

  “Yes, sir. Yes! Please, fill me,” I beg, one of my new favorite things. “Mark me. Claim me.”

  He does. When he does, he roars his release, as if I needed the warning. The jerking of his cock deep inside my ass, the liquid heat that fills me, tells me everything I need to know.

  Darryl doesn’t move, doesn’t pull out, for long moments afterward. He stays, pressed inside me, as he strokes my back, runs his palms along my hip, down my damaged leg.

  “Are you okay?” he finally asks, and I know what he means.

  “Better than okay,” I answer. “I needed that.”

  After leaning against me to plant a kiss on my shoulder, he pulls out. His hot, thick release slides down my inner thigh. I try to stand, but he doesn’t let me.

  With one hand on my back to hold me in position, he runs his other up my inner thigh, across my balls, up my crack. His fingers find my sore, swollen hole, and rub in lazy circles.

  “Damn, I love wrecking this ass,” he says, sticking a finger inside. He pulls at my inner walls, encourages more of him to leak out.

  I don’t have a chance to tell him I love when he wrecks it, too. Moving his hand to the back of my neck, Darryl forces me to stand, guides me to face him, then proceeds to kiss the hell out of me.

  My dick stirs, ready for more. I palm his, knowing it’ll be at least several more minutes before he’s ready again, but knowing he enjoys the stimulation nonetheless.

  Maneuvering me with nothing but his body and will, Darryl takes us both to the bed, crawls with me until we reach the headboard, props pillows underneath me to make me comfortable.

  I love the little ways he shows he cares, even when we’re in a scenario.

  When he presses his weight into me, kisses me like I’m the thing he craves most, I fall a little bit harder in love with him. The next time he enters me, it’s slow, gentle. His lips never leave mine. His hands never stop worshipping me. His body cradles me, tells me in its own way that he’ll always keep me safe.

  When we climax, it’s together. The way we’ll live the rest of our lives.

  Together.

  Have a book hangover?

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  Author Letter

  Dear Reader,

  Oh, man. Does it seem cheesey to start a letter to you that way? Yeah? Well, guess I’m a bit of a cheese. And this is my first ever letter of this type.

  Guess you could say it’s my first time. ;-)

  I learned about the concept of author letters at the 20BooksTo50K© Vegas conference this past November (It’s the year 2018, in case you’re reading this centuries from now). For those of you who don’t know, the 20Books community is made up of Indie authors—like myself—in order to support Indie authors.

  It was a bitchin’ conference, and it was in Vegas, so yeah. Let’s just say my husband might’ve won a bit of money playing poker.

  Anyhow, that’s where I first learned about author letters. My way of reaching out to you, like, as a real person. A way for us to connect.

  You don’t know me yet, but you will. The thing about me is that I love to connect. It’s my jam. Fills me up. Is part of my life’s purpose.

  You get the point.

  As an author, and as a reader, it’s super difficult to find places to connect to one another. You are somewhere on this planet (presumably). I am also somewhere on this planet (Yay, Earth!). But that doesn’t mean we’ll ever bump into each other at our local coffee shop.

  Yes, I fit the stereotype of an author who drinks coffee. Yes, I’m also blasphemous because I drink decaf coffee.

  Wait . . . where are you going? Come back. We can still get along regardless of our drink preferences. I’m good with differences. Really good. Makes life interesting.

  What I’m trying to say is, this super rad tool called an author letter is our kismet. Our chance meeting. Our opportunity to get to know one another. And it doesn’t have to be a one-way street. I mean, it can be, if you want it to.

  Listen, I spend WAY too much time on social media. Like, way. If you wanna drop a line, tell me something about yourself, introduce who you are, what you love about reading, I’m ready to meet you.

  To break the ice, I’ll get this thing started.

  I love dragons, singing, and crystals. I’m a woman with a dragon tattoo. Sang in front of more than 40,000 people for my college graduation. And love to collect minerals and crystals. I’m par
tial to smokey and rutilated quartz.

  Your turn, if you want it. Otherwise, I’ll see you at the end of my next book!

  Don’t forget to stay wet!