Cake Walk

by Abby Knox

“Now. Now you hold on to me, sweetness.”

  Cara lets out a small squeak of surprise when I pierce through her folds with my tongue, claiming what’s mine, then sighs. “Oh my god, Michael. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.”

  She’s bucking against my face again, and I laugh wickedly, knowing that naughty little clit likes what I did to it the first time, and it wants more. Her hands get lost in my hair; the more I delve and explore her with my mouth, the more she tugs. I recall the memory from just this morning before I realized who she was. I’d wanted to die between these thighs, and I maintain this position. She could snap my neck, and I’d die happy.

  My good girl’s thighs begin to shake, and I know she’s ready. I help her carefully slide her legs down as I come to standing.

  “Now, you’re ready,” I whisper into her neck, encouraging her to grab onto my shoulders. I hike her soft thighs up high around my waist and rub the tip of my cock through her folds, coating myself in her juice.

  “I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart.”

  She arcs against me, and I slip the tip in, getting her used to me. Once she adjusts, and I’m ready to sink in deeper, another rude visitor from the outside world bangs on my door.

  I’m about to tell Mrs. Hurley to jump in a lake, but the voice that accompanies the knocking is not Mrs. Hurley.

  “Cara? Are you going to help me clean up?”

  Cara’s eyes fly open in fright, and she mouths silently. “Diana!”

  I smile and kiss her deeply, then murmur in her ear, “I told you once you come inside, you can’t leave.”

  “She might need my help,” she whispers.

  “Fuck that,” I say. “Let her clean it up herself.”

  Cara’s eyes flash at me, and she bites her lip wickedly. Then she calls through the door to her sister. “The bins are in the gar—ohmygod! Garage.”

  Me being the filthy old man that I am, I press in an inch deeper while she explains through the door where to stow decorations.

  Diana is annoyed. If only she knew what we’re up to on the other side of this door.

  “Excuse me? Are you coming out to help me or not?”

  I push in, and Cara bites her lip and whimpers, barely audibly. Her eyes squeeze shut, and I see a tear form in the corner of her eye. I kiss it away. “N-not!” she manages to shout.

  “Excellent,” I growl quietly as I pull out and slide back in, all the way to the hilt. Her thighs squeeze my waist, her feet are clenched together at the ankles at the small of my back, commanding me to drive in deeper.

  I hear Diana scoff and say, “Fine. Screw you then.” Her footsteps disappear, and I lunge forward, thrusting hard into my girl.

  “Happily,” I say. “Think I’ll do just that.”

  I can’t remember the last time I had skin-on-skin sex, and it’s fucking delicious.

  “So tight I can barely take it. So tight, so fucking tight.”

  For Cara’s part, her body crashes against me, looking for friction.

  I reach down between us and let her clit have it while I bang her against the door, again and again. With every thrust, she lets go a little more. Opens up for me a little more. Grips me a little tighter.

  Everything about what I’m feeling is too much. I know it’s wrong, and the wrongness makes me want Cara more.

  Her ass is as soft under that sundress as I imagined and even more so. She’s so soft and willing and sweet as lemon meringue; I fear I might fuck her through the door. But her body and her gaze tell me differently.

  The rolling of her hips matches the frenzy of my thrusts. She’s getting the hang of this shockingly fast. I palm her ass with one hand and anchor us both with the other arm against the door as I drive in, again and again, building a sensual rhythm.

  I mouth her breasts, one then the other, throughout my fervent thrusts.

  The release nearly knocks me off my feet, but she takes all of it, her pussy clamping down and taking in every inch of my cock and every drop of my cum.

  The broken part of my brain wishes she wasn’t on birth control. The dark monster inside me wishes she was in my cave, she was my virgin bride, and we were here together, with nothing else to do but make babies.

  My shoulders shudder with the last spurt into her welcoming heat.

  I’m a monster for waiting until I took her virginity to tell her the truth about me. But I have to say it. She looks up at me with a fresh flush of red blazing across her face, a glint in her eye, and wantonly mussed hair.

  Here goes nothing.

  Chapter Eight

  Cara

  * * *

  “That’s it?”

  I look up at him as we sit on the end of Michael’s bed, with me curled up in his lap. He was so sweet with me afterward, helping me put my dress back on and smoothing out my hair, and not even laughing at me when I didn’t know what to say after sex.

  “Thank you,” I’d said. He’d only smiled and kissed me on the neck. That was the third or fourth time he’d done that since he pulled me into his house. But he was not precisely kissing my neck. Kissing and inhaling and making strange, caveman noises, like he wanted to burrow inside me via my collarbone. Like I possess something in that spot that promises to blot out the world.

  And now, sitting in his lap, I’m listening to him tell me what he needs from me, now that I’ve allowed him to draw me into his world. “That’s it? That’s all you need me to do?”

  “Uh. Yeah, that’s it,” he says, lifting one shoulder.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I blow out a breath of relief. “I thought it was going to be hardcore. I don’t care what anybody is into, but as a sexual novice, I’m relieved,” I say.

  Michael blinks at me like I’ve just given him the crown jewels. “You would be surprised at how many women have never talked to me again after learning about my kink.”

  I run a hand over his face and neck and down his chest. “I don’t think it’s that weird to ask for husband/wife roleplay.”

  “It’s a little too weird for a lot of people.”

  Inside, I’m jumping up and down. Playing house with this man? I’ve been doing that in my head since I was twelve. Not a problem for me at all.

  “It feels like the thing that you’ve always wanted manifesting in this kink, and now it’s hardwired.”

  “You’re a wise old soul,” he says.

  I slide off his lap and say, “Nah. I minored in psych. Let’s eat some cake.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cara

  * * *

  “You don’t have to do all this,” Michael says when I hand him a plate that I whipped up from the meager contents of his fridge. A low-fat cheese and egg white omelet, fruit, and of course, a slice of cake.

  I laugh. “You said you wanted to role play. Let’s do it.”

  He acquiesces and digs in, emitting adorable yum-yum noises over my cooking. Not going to lie; this roleplay is convincing on his part.

  “And besides, you need to eat something healthy before you go into a diabetic coma. You can’t have cake for breakfast at your age, Mr. Brennan.”

  He laughs ruefully at the reminder.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean….”

  “It’s fine. You’re right. I asked for wife roleplay, and this is pretty method,” he says with a smile and a wink.

  I drink my glass of juice. “A wife needs to take care of her man.”

  “I agree.”

  “It’s easy with you. I always liked your eyes. I thought they were kind. And you’re funny, the way you bust my dad’s chops.”

  “We could maybe not talk about your dad,” he says.

  “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  I must look more remorseful than intended because Michael reaches across the table and pulls me into his lap for a kiss.

  “I should not have asked you to refrain from talking about your family. Sooner or later, this subject is going to come up.”

  My heart races for a brief moment, won
dering if he means this for real, as in, we’ll have to figure out how to tell my parents about our relationship.

  “I mean, talking about our age differences and the whole aspect of me being your dad’s best friend can only make the roleplay hotter, right?”

  I swallow, my hopes dashed, and nod bravely. “Absolutely.”

  “Hey,” he says, touching my chin. “Just tell me if this is too much for you.”

  I should tell him that, of course, it’s too much for me. Because the truth is, I love him. I love this man with all my heart. He can pretend to be a monster, but I just saw what he did for the preschool kids and me. My heart is full of love for him, and if this is a temporary thing, the heartbreak will crush me.

  “I want to be whatever you need me to be,” I say. “So, my sweet husband, tell me. What would you have been doing this beautiful Saturday morning if Mrs. Hurley hadn’t come knocking on your door?”

  He gives a slight shrug and says, “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s not as if the days of the week matter anymore when you don’t go into the office on Monday through Friday. Come to think of it, Saturdays didn’t mean all that much when I worked sixty-hour weeks, either. Not since childhood has Saturday been anything but a concept.”

  I know this wealthy, powerful, and sexy man does not want my pity. But I can’t help but feel bad at how he’s spent his whole life working so hard with no warm home life to look forward to on weekends.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted your Saturday, regardless, with my tacky cakewalk. I didn’t know it wasn’t allowed.”

  Michael scoffs. “You know what bothers me even more? Snobs. If I didn’t think Mrs. Hurley would cause trouble for your family, I would have let it slide. Sweetheart, whatever you need from now on, you come to me. I want your weekends free from now on.”

  Is this the honest Michael or play-husband Michael? I try to hide the shaking of my breath. “Surely you have exciting guy things to do on weekends, now that you’re retired.”

  “Cara, I don’t camp or hunt or fish or whatever it is that dudes do on their days off. Of course, that didn’t stop me from wanting to build a cabin in the woods.”

  I lean back in surprise. “A cabin? I didn’t know you wanted a cabin.”

  “Of course you did. You’re my wife; you know everything.”

  I chuckle at how cute he’s being.

  “And if I were there right now, I would still be sleeping.”

  “Or making love to your wife. Unless this is a hunting cabin, then I can’t go there.”

  He shakes his head. “No, just a cabin to get away from people.”

  I laugh. “That sounds more like the Michael I know. Michael on the outside. Michael on the inside is a lovely, squishy fellow. Otherwise, Corrina and Bill would never have been friends with you.”

  “They are the best people,” he says. “I never would have sold my condo in the city and moved to the ’burbs if it weren’t for them. I wasn’t all that sure about it at first, but I somehow convinced myself that the clubhouse membership and the space were worth it. Build a big house, and a wife will come along, and soon after that, kids.”

  I swallow. “Here I am!” I chirp, only half-joking. Oh god, what am I doing to myself?

  “So tell me. How does my wife spend her time when not letting this old man sully her virtue?”

  I heave a long sigh and look up at the plaster medallion in the ceiling. “With my pre-K kids, and figuring out how to make the most of the meager resources. With the PTA focused solely on the needs of traditional K-8, the principal, Mrs. Walker, needs volunteers to be in charge of organizing all pre-K fundraising for the time being. And with me being the most junior member of the faculty at the age of 23, how could I say no? Besides, I adore all the kids at this school, and I would do anything to help them.”

  He listens and then clears his throat. “Those kids’ teachers aren’t going to need to worry about money ever again.”

  I cock my head. “That’s very sweet of you, husband, but you can’t singlehandedly fund an entire wing of the school.”

  “Watch me.”

  I don’t know how to react to this. “This is a very different Michael than the one who shows himself to the world.”

  “And you’re very different from the girl who used to squeak and run away like a bunny whenever I would talk to her.

  If we’re going to do this thing, I can’t have you shying away, Cara. Can you handle coming to me at any time, anywhere, when I need you? No questions asked?”

  I chuckle, “Well, I do have a job.”

  “You don’t need it.”

  I rear back. Is this real, or is this the roleplay? “Sir. I didn’t go to four years of college just to not teach. I love those kids.”

  “Fine,” he sighs. “But when you come home to me, I want you wearing skirts and dresses so I can fuck you whenever I need you, as soon as you walk in the door.”

  My body shivers in response to the memory of what we just did. He wrecked me so hard I can still almost feel him inside me. “Yes, Mr. Brennan.”

  “And I want you in my bed at night because that’s where wives belong. Where I can reach for you and fuck you slowly in the middle of the night.”

  His dirty words knock the wind out of me. I take hold of his face and kiss him with everything I’m feeling. Hoping he’ll understand how I feel, hoping the connection will give me back my words, my breath, and my senses.

  I pull away from the kiss and begin to trace kisses down his neck and across his chest. I slide off his lap and get on the floor in front of him.

  But before my knees hit the floor, Michael catches me.

  “No. Stand up, Cara.”

  “But I want to make my husband feel good after being so good to me this morning.”

  Michael sweeps me entirely off my feet, and before I understand what’s happening, we’re marching to the bedroom, him carrying me in his arms like it’s our honeymoon. If only.

  His voice is ragged again. “You want that? You better believe you’re not going to be on your knees when you get it.”

  His roughness, assertiveness catches me off guard but also sends my sex twitching with the need for him all over again. “But I thought that’s how….”

  He tosses me on the bed, crawls over me, and crashes his mouth against mine.

  I let out a quiet yip of surprise. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

  I pull him back to me and answer, “Nuh-uh,” without breaking the kiss.

  “Here,” he says. “Here is where my wife gives me my post-breakfast blowjob.”

  He stands to rid himself of his pajama bottoms—finally. I can’t wait to wash them along with all of the laundry I can find. For the roleplay, of course.

  This whole scenario is fucking with me in so many different ways, and I don’t understand why I want to do this man’s dirty laundry. My sisters would be shocked. Diana and Cecily, the most feminist of our family, especially would bite my head off.

  “Be patient with me,” I say, watching this long, thick man spread-eagle on the bed, completely naked, his thick, pink member rising to attention in slow, languorous pulses. He pats the bed next to him. “Lie down however you’re comfortable, and I’ll talk you through it.”

  With one hand caressing my bare bottom under my sundress, Michael is so kind and tender with me while I suck him off.

  I always had a feeling I would end up in tears if I ever gave someone a blowjob. I just never imagined it would be tears full of every emotion one can name.

  Chapter Ten

  Michael

  * * *

  I let it go too far.

  Don’t get me wrong; playing house with Cara is better than I could have imagined as far as my fantasy fulfillment goes.

  Best of all, neither of us answers to anyone, living for the next day and a half in complete pretend domestic bliss.

  I don’t ask Cara to do anything, but she cooks my meals, washes and folds my laundry, cleans the entire house, and massages my fee
t while we watch Netflix and chill. To the casual observer, it would seem I have this woman under my thumb. In reality, she takes all the initiative. The more I protest, the more she insists.

  She says she loves the roleplay as much as I do. As evidenced by her unquenchable fire in the bedroom, I believe her.

  We fuck in every room of the house, like newlyweds. Or as I imagine, newlyweds should.

  We feed each other lemon blueberry cake in the kitchen with every meal, but only after I eat all my vegetables.

  I have to mark on a calendar how much water I drink because she wants to make sure I’m hydrated. I’m sloshing around so much that I don’t even have room for whiskey on Saturday and Sunday night. And I don’t want it, anyway. I want every single second with this woman burned into my brain, clear as the blue of her eyes.

  Sunday night comes too soon.

  In the shower before bed, her face looks sad, and this is the point at which I think I’ve taken it too far.

  “Talk to me, sweetheart. You look like something is on your mind.”

  Cara smiles up at me wanly while soaping up a sponge and running it over my chest.

  “I don’t want to go to work tomorrow,” she says.

  “So don’t go. Simple,” I say.

  “I mean, I do. I love my job. I just don’t want the fantasy to end. There’s a lot we haven’t discussed—as husband and wife—that we should discuss.”

  Something in her eyes tells me there’s more to this than playing pretend. I’ve let it go too far, and she’s going to get hurt. Let me be perfectly honest—I’m not going to hurt her. This whole thing that I’m into purely for sex has turned into something else. I don’t want her to leave. Ever.

  “You can say anything to me, lovely.”

  “I know this is a game to you, but I have news. I didn’t take my birth control pill today.”

  At this moment, I make the wrong choice. I think I’m doing the right thing by listening, but instead, she takes it as shocked silence. Inside, I’m cautiously pleased. I want nothing else but to have this woman, pregnant, in my bed—every night.