Happily Ever After with My Dad’s Best Friend

by Wylder, Penny

  “You’re smiling. What are you thinking about?” The couch cushion dips as Beck sits down beside me, his knee grazing mine.

  “Honestly? I was thinking that having dinner with my boss is nicer than all of the dates I’ve ever been on.” It’s hard to think with him so close, and blurting out my real thoughts is easier than trying to come up with a believable lie. I consider asking if this is his version of a date, but I don’t want to make it awkward.

  Beck picks up his plate of sushi, turns so that he’s sitting sideways to face me, and begins eating. His teeth bite through the first piece, and he arches an eyebrow at me in silent question. I can’t tell him I’d rather watch him eat, so I pick up my own plate and start with something I don’t recognize. It’s good, but I think almost anything would be with Beck for company.

  “I know we talked about what it’s like being back, and I could tell by your voice that you were hiding how much you miss your studio.” He skips the small-talk, going straight for the heart of it all. “What was your favorite part about art school?”

  I add sugar to my tea and blow on the steam rising from the cup in misty curls. “Not interacting with anyone before at least ten.” Most nights had me up until midnight working on various projects. “If you were unlucky enough to land an earlier morning class, even the teachers were hugging coffee pots.

  “Actually, I think it was wearing overalls and a faded, thrift store flannel shirt for like four days in a row without anyone noticing until I took a trip to the laundromat, washed it, and cleaned off the paint.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds richer as I discuss my life as an artist.

  “That reminds me of my first days of building Huntsworth. I ate, slept, and breathed my work, and I loved it.” Beck’s wistful tone echoes mine.

  “Beck, it was so damned refreshing being around other artists all day. I mean, there were the usual squabbles over best lighting and who stole somebody’s brush or welding gear…” My eyes catch on Beck’s throat as he laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he throws his whole head back with the emotion. “But,” I continue, “we got each other. The peer groups we formed by discipline truly became family.”

  Warmth covers my hand, and it takes a minute before I realize Beck’s fingers are intertwined with my own. I squeeze them back, memorizing the strength in his grasp.

  His voice breaks as he speaks. “And now you’re far away from the first people who really understood you.”

  “I had you and Tasha first,” I blurt without thought. Glancing up, I want to see his reaction. There isn’t one on his face, but I can’t find it in me to be disappointed. His eyes are on our joined hands, and neither of us move to let go.

  Minutes pass before he speaks again. “What’s harder: being away from your chosen family or not having the freedom to do your art whenever you want?” The night breeze toys with his hair, sending wayward waves into his eyes. He hasn’t had it cut in a while. I brush them back with my free hand, relishing the sensation of those silken strands slipping between my fingers.

  I don’t want to talk about my art. It hurts too much. “I miss my studio. I miss the way the afternoon sun would reflect off a carefully placed mirror and fill the space with warmth.” Closing my eyes, I sink into the memories. “It smelled of chai spices from the tea I kept at the counter for guests. I miss rolling off my pull-out couch in the back room and getting to work without worrying about overstaying my welcome or disturbing anyone. There was this exhibit I did…” My hands release Beck’s and flutter around as I speak, so excited even now as I describe the photographs I took and how I recreated them as paintings and sculptures.

  “That sounds amazing. I wish Tasha and I had been able to come out. I remember when you sent us the postcard about the show. I think she has one in her scrapbook, and the one you addressed to me is in my desk at home.” Beck serves himself some of the fried rice and manages to make eating it look like an advertisement for the world’s most perfect food. I’m happy that I haven’t spilled sushi rice down my front.

  “I still have a few of the paintings that didn’t sell. I might try to get them into a boutique downtown to make some money. Maybe then Jean won’t keep reminding me what a failure I am.” The label sticks with me and will continue to until I can somehow make it as an artist again. If I can. “Even if I fail at doing anything with my art, I do love making it. I love creating.”

  His hands reach for me, clasp my shoulders, and squeeze until it is almost uncomfortable. “You are not a failure, Lia. You gave it your all, but the economy let you down.

  “Promise me you won’t give up your art dreams,” he demands.

  His eyes are fierce in the moonlight, and I’m staring up at him, wondering what all is going through his head. His lips are parted, reminding me of how they felt on mine. It would be too easy for me to pull him down on top of me on this couch and resume yesterday’s kiss. My whole body shivers with the thought.

  “You must be cold. Here, take this.” Beck shrugs out of his jacket and wraps it around me. I can’t believe the smell. It’s him, but intensified from hours of wear. The silken fabric whispers along my neck and arms, encasing me in his scent and body heat.

  Years ago, I had danced around in his hallway during a sleepover while wearing a discarded jacket. It had not been so warm though. “I used to dream about this, Beck.” I whisper the words into the heavy air between us. “In my dreams, it was always you who would take me out on a date like this one and kiss me good night. More,” I add when he stares at my lips.

  “More?” His question is muffled by my mouth as we come together in a kiss. It’s more than I ever imagined. His tongue darts along my lower lip, tracing a line before I open for him.

  There’s laughter in our kiss, pent up passions that need to escape like the flames on the braziers around our rooftop oasis. Hands slide around my waist, pulling me to him, and I lean back at the same time, bringing Beck down onto me.

  His weight is a solid blanket as he covers me. I arch up into him, into his kiss, and I know I’m not the only one breathing hard when we momentarily part. Beck mouths my neck, heat and sharp pain dissolving at the wet press of his tongue on the love bite. “God, Lia!” He sucks at a spot near my shoulder, his hands in my hair.

  I don’t know where I want to touch him most. There’s so much of him, all muscled and tense as he rocks on top of me. I scratch my nails down his back, and he hisses, thrusting down so that I can feel his arousal pushing into me. He’s wild, groaning into my ear as I dig my nails into his shoulders.

  “Need to—” Beck punctuates his words with open-mouthed, dragging kisses beneath my chin. He pushes himself up, the motion bringing his cock and my pussy even closer, and when he covers my body with his again, his hands slide beneath my shirt. “I need to get my hands and mouth on those gorgeous tits of yours.”

  I can barely whisper out my approval before he’s cupping my breasts, fingers already tugging at the lace cups of my bra. It’s my turn to moan as he squeezes a nipple, the hardened peak aching for more.

  I beg, offering myself up to him. Releasing my grip on his back, I reach for my buttons, wanting to get my shirt off. Skin to skin won’t be close enough.

  He stops me, one hand grabbing at my wrists. “Let me.” It’s as much a plea as a request, and I acquiesce. Beck rips my blouse down the front, buttons popping off around us. “I’ll buy you a new one.” I can’t be mad, not when I see the pure hunger on his face. He looks ready to devour me.

  His fingers pull down the lace again, freeing my nipples so that both are displayed for him. It’s exhilarating to be out here like this—even more so for it to be Beck stripping me.

  “You are so gorgeous. I need to taste you, Lia.” His mouth closes over one tip, and I swear I can feel it between my legs. The rapid flick of his tongue is almost too much, and I can’t stop myself from burying my fingers in his thick hair in an attempt to move his head to the other side.

  He doesn’t budge. Each suckle is deliberate
, and when I find the strength to lift my head to look at him, he smiles around my nipple before letting it pop free. Wet from his saliva, the night air cools it, making goosebumps pebble the flesh even tighter.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs. He licks a lazy line down my breast, nuzzles at the space between them, before taking my other nipple into his mouth. Covering the other with his hand, he doesn’t let it go soft from lack of attention. Tweaking and tugging, I can’t hold still beneath his ministrations. Even the squeezing of his palms seems deliberate in the attempt to make me crazy with want. He’s succeeding.

  When his fingers inch down to begin pulling at my skirt, I know where this is going to end up. I can feel how wet I am each time I lift my hips up in offering, in the dampness of my panties when he thrusts against me with only a little fabric separating us.

  I shouldn’t want this. I promised not to do this. I promised not to fuck Beck.

  It’s not fucking though. Not what we’re doing. This is so much more.

  Reaching for him, I pull Beck’s mouth back up to mine, and somewhere in my kiss is my apology to Tasha. I need Beck too badly to stop this.

  His fingers move up my thigh, rubbing small circles on each inch as he exposes it. “I’ve wanted you, too, Lia.” Beck admits his desire for me as his fingers reach my panties, and we’re both holding our breath from the words and the line we’re about to cross.

  We stare at each other, and I nod in encouragement. Hotter than my own flesh, his fingertip parts my folds, entering me with a finger before either of us can change our minds. The pressure, the delicious stretch as a second one joins… I clench down around his fingers, grinning as he moans.

  “You’re so wet.” Beck seems surprised. He withdraws his hand, holding it up between our faces. I watch him as his tongue licks his fingers clean. “So sweet.”

  That short moment with his fingers inside me is enough to have me bereft at the loss. “So empty. Fill me. Please,” I beg.

  My words spur him to action, and his pants and our underwear are on the floor beside us before I have a chance to miss his body weight on top of me. He’s even larger than I imagined, and I reach for his cock.

  He shakes his head, jaw tense. “Not now. It’s been so long since anyone else has touched me, and when I come, it will be inside you, not on your thighs and in your hand.” Beck grasps my leg that is between him and the back of the couch, lifting it so that it is bent up. Despite the dim glow of the heaters’ flames, I know Beck can see all of me clearly. The knowledge sets off butterflies in my stomach; I feel more exposed than I have with any other partner. I’ve never been this turned on.

  Beck’s cock nudges me, and I lift my other leg up around his hip, raising my pelvis to his with the motion. We join together effortlessly. He pants against my neck, clinging to my hips with bruising fingers. I’m going to bear his marks for at least a few days.

  I feel stretched, full, and it’s so much better than my daydreams. Then, he moves. The withdraw is torture, but the glide as he reseats himself in me is better than anything I’ve ever felt. The slam of his hips on mine, the force of his thrusts, all the muscles moving beneath my hands… He’s Adonis.

  Sweat glistens on his shoulders, making my grip slip. I pull on him, hands going lower to feel the flexing muscles of his back as he thrusts into me.

  We kiss, noses bumping and teeth catching on lips, and we’re both smiling when I open my eyes. Looking at him is torture. He’s so handsome.

  Beck snaps his hips, and the motion hits something… I jerk in his arms, gasping at the electric pleasure.

  “Oh? You liked that?” He does it again, holding himself up over me, thrusting so fast I can hardly move. Pressure is building, and I know somewhere in the back of my head that no one has ever done this for me. It’s always taken a mouth on my clit or at least fingers to get me off.

  Beck’s mouth moves to my ear, and he tugs my earlobe before whispering. “I’m going to make you come, Lia. I can feel your pussy throbbing around me.” I can feel it too. He’s hitting all the right spots on each thrust, and I can’t focus on where it feels the best. He’s somehow getting pressure on my clit even as his cock reaches my g-spot and something else that I’ve never felt before.

  “So beautiful, Lia.” He kisses my forehead, and there’s a tenderness in the act that is at odds with the near manic thrusts.

  Panting and moaning, I lose myself to the pleasure of it all. Moving together, faltering as sweat makes hands slip, and finding our rhythm again. “Beck!” I cry out his name as the spiraling pressure tightens in my stomach.

  Tingles spread out, and I can’t get close enough to him as the knot goes deeper. It’s too much and not enough. I want… Another thrust, another conquering stretch as my body welcomes Beck in as deep as we can join, and I’m certain I’m screaming before I even register the orgasm.

  Shaking, powerful, the pleasure crests, and I’m so tight around him that I can feel Beck’s cock swelling even more. When he grunts something that could be my name, I swear I could come again from the sound. Then I feel it: the pulsing heat of him coming inside me.

  I’m still trembling in aftershocks of my climax as he withdraws, and we both sigh at the sudden rush of cool air. He’s lying on top of me, and both of us are struggling to breathe in the aftermath of such pleasure.

  He turns his cheek, tickling my face with his hair, and rests his head on my chest. “Wow.” I feel the breath more than hear the word, but I echo it. “This is probably the wrong time to remember we didn’t use a condom.”

  “On the pill,” I answer. I’m glad for it now, for the warmth of his come inside me. Proof that we made love.

  “That’s…Good,” he says at last. His voice is sleepy, satiated. “I’ll be thinking about this the whole time I’m away.”

  The weeks apart will give me a chance to talk to Tasha. Plus, it will allow me to find out what I feel for Beck when I’m not half-crazed with lust. I consider all the conversations we can have, what this could be like between us. “Maybe I can send you some photos so you don’t forget me.” I’m teasing, but the way he reacts makes me consider actually doing it.

  Beck laughs and kisses me once more. “You’re going to sext your boss?”

  I ogle him, letting my gaze drag up and down Beck’s body as much as it can in our position. “If your boss looked like mine, you’d sext him.”

  “I think I’ll stick to my secretary.”

  4

  Lia

  It has been five weeks since we fucked on the rooftop couch. Five weeks since Beck dropped me off at my house while I wore his button-down to hide the fact he ruined my blouse. Five long weeks of using his shirt as a pillow and trying not to miss him. Try is the operative word.

  I knew his being gone for more than a month was going to feel like forever. What I had not anticipated was that the company doesn’t need me. Huntsworth Industries is not used to Beck having a secretary, so my tasks were minimal in his absence. I spent my first week alone, spinning around in my office chair as I waited for the phone to ring. Boredom had me venturing out on my breaks to meet other staff members and try to make friends.

  When the second week arrived, I brought in a sketch pad and my design tools. The third, I spent on the phone making my own plans for having an art show. So, yes, I did rely on the fact that I’m the personal assistant to the CEO of Huntsworth Industries in order to the secure a meeting with the gallery owner, but it was my art that actually clinched the deal. It is still an amazing sensation to have someone want to not only look at my art but be interested in hosting a show for me. These last two weeks, I’ve been daydreaming about my show and working on advertising it.

  In my copious amount of free time at the office, I’ve been helping out the other executive level assistant. She is a widower in her early fifties, and is very sweet, but sort of clueless, when it comes to anything but the basics of technology. While it wasn’t like the horror stories I’ve heard from my former classmates teaching th
eir parents how to use a computer, Donna was unlikely to learn easier ways to do her work without me prodding her along. She has a daughter a few years older than me who went through that technophobic phase with her a while ago, saving me the trouble. I showed Donna how to make doubled-sided copies without reloading the paper each time, that she could use a list-serve for her frequently emailed groups, as well as how to set up her online calendar to sync with the one used by the company in our email program.

  Grateful for the help, Donna has been misguidedly trying to set me up with her son. He’s a year younger than me, just graduated from college, and is working as a substitute teacher here in town. If not for Beck, I might have accepted just for a bit of fun. The pictures she keeps showing me have gone from being sort of cute to annoying after a few weeks, though. My lack of a concrete reason beyond not having time to date is not enough for Donna, and she’s been pushing the issue. She really is like having a well-meaning but nosy mom at work. I traded in my lunch times with Donna for working out in the gym to avoid that messiness. Besides, I want to keep in shape with all the amazing food the cafeteria provides for employees.

  I noticed on my first paycheck that money for my meals wasn’t being deducted. Thinking it an obvious mistake, I called down to the kitchen and was told that while employees do have to pay for snacks and any extras, the basic meals are considered a part of the full-time benefits package. The tamale pie was going to go straight to my hips if I continued having it every Tuesday. I’ve resisted the cafeteria dessert bar with more toppings than a candy aisle, but it calls my name each time I walk by. My sweet tooth gets stronger each day and my resolve that much weaker.

  The fish fry on the menu for today is not my favorite, but the grilled salmon I know is Beck’s. Chef had already checked twice if Beck was in yet and if he should send up food. Beck’s itinerary had him returning yesterday and in the office today, but storms delayed his plane.