I goggled at her, eyes practically crossing. I mean, what the fuck, hadn’t I just bared my soul? Hadn’t I just done all that? What the hell, did she want me to walk on coals with bare feet before she’d believe? And reading my mind, Rachel sighed then.
“The thing is, Donovan,” she said quietly. “You make it sound like I’m so lucky to have you. That you were looking for something else entirely, that you actually want sleek, slinky girls with no faces, and it’s only by some random stroke of luck that I landed you. That your ‘regular self’ still prefers strange pussy, still prefers going on-line to meet your desires.”
I cut her off then.
“I haven’t been on-line since I met you,” I bit out harshly. “That profile might be deactivated for all I know.”
“I know,” the brunette nodded softly. “Me too. I haven’t been on Discreet Encounters since I met you either. But this is just weird, don’t you get it? You’ve been a tomcat for thirty years, and what’s the likelihood that I’ve really changed you, so to say? How could two weeks with me suddenly reform Donovan Jones, renowned asshole and international playboy?”
That stopped me short. The little girl was smart, much more than I gave her credit for, and her insights only made my chest swell with pride. Because Rachel was no pushover. Even if she was eighteen, the brunette wasn’t some airhead who’d believe anything and everything she was told. My baby has a brain on those shoulders, and it’s a big brain too, one that’s intelligent, with a nuanced understanding of tricky situations. So inhaling deeply, I turned her chin towards mine, looking into the big browns, seizing them with my deep blue.
“Honey, I can’t prove it, you’re right,” I ground out insistently. Shit, so much rode on this, I had to persuade the female to give me another chance, to at least keep the door open and not slam it shut. “I can’t prove anything, not right now, right here,” I acknowledged. “But with time, you’ll see. I’m a changed man, and baby, you did that to me. Everything about you has changed me,” I said, my voice almost breaking with need. “And I want it this way. I want to be a better man, a new man, just for you. The old Donovan was an asshole sure, and the new Donovan will probably still be an asshole. But honey, I’m your asshole. I’m yours, if you want it,” I said again, chest tight, eyes intense. “Just let me try, baby, let me try.”
The female cocked her head at me, that sweet pout so close and yet so far. Oh god, what if Rachel said no? What if Rachel was one and done already, and I was too late?
But instead, she nodded somberly, just a small gesture with her chin.
“Okay,” the brunette said softly, the sweet breeze of her breath like the most fragrant perfume. “Okay, we’ll try. Together.”
And with that, I swept her into my arms, her curvy form pressed close to my broad chest. Because that was all I needed to hear. Despite my garbled explanation that didn’t come out too good, despite the fact that I’d been condescending even as I desperately wanted to win her over, it had worked. The brunette was giving me another chance to catch the brass ring. And as an alpha who capitalizes on every opportunity? I was gonna make the woman mine … for keeps.
EPILOGUE
Rachel
“Oh,” I moaned lustily, creaming around his fingers. “Oh, oh.”
Because Donovan and I were re-living our first encounter. Oh yeah, we were in a public place, the opera this time, and Donovan was touching me from behind, slowly stroking my wet folds before worming his fingers into my vaginal passage.
“Unnh!” I shrieked. “Unnh!”
“Shhh,” he rasped behind me. “We don’t want to ruin the performance for our fellow concertgoers.”
And fortunately, the soprano’s voice rose right then to cover my ecstatic shrieks, the cries that I couldn’t help but let out. I almost keeled over, but the ledge saved me, hands gripping with white knuckles, shivering with ecstasy.
Because oh yeah, the Billionaires Club keeps a box at the opera, one for members to use whenever they want. And right now, Donovan and I were dressed in formalwear, my alpha impossibly handsome in a tux, that huge form dark and imposing, the perfectly-cut material emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs.
And I was clad in an evening gown to match, a perfectly normal, sexy red column with a sweetheart neckline and a slit up one leg. But oh yeah, that slit. What the rest of the audience couldn’t see was how Donovan worked that thigh high slit because what seemed reasonable when I was standing up gave my lover perfect access to my pussy in the confines of the box. Oh yeah, he had that slit pulled open all the way to my waist, the folds of the fabric obscenely draped around my hips as those fingers pushed hotly into my vaginal canal.
“Unnh god!” I moaned again, head dropping just as the music crescendoed, boobs almost popping out my cleavage. Oh fuck, it felt so good and I didn’t even care if I gave the audience an eyeful of breastflesh now, I was beyond the point of no return, absolutely soaring in heaven. “Ohhh!”
But Donovan chuckled nastily.
“Naw baby girl, I’ve only got three fingers in, and we agreed fisting this time, remember? So open wider sweetheart, Daddy’s still got two digits to go.”
And my entire body shivered with his words, cream running from my hole, literally gushing around his hand. Because this is the new “us.” Donovan wants danger in his life, I get it, and somehow, some way, I am the embodiment of that danger. The difference is that the alpha’s got a partner now, and the danger runs ten times deeper, ten times more hazardous. Because no, Donovan still never uses protection, he’s still creaming into me again and again, giving me multiple doses of that semen. But it’s different this time, because I’m on board and aware.
And our adventure at the opera is just another example of our joint quest for danger. Because yeah, fingerfucking in public is too tame now, Donovan made me promise to let him fist me, to stuff his entire hand into my pussy in plain sight of other audience members.
“I don’t get it,” I’d gasped, brown eyes wide as I stared at him. We’d been discussing it on the couch in the Avalon, Donovan having moved me out of my old, worn-down shack within twenty-four hours.
“Don’t get what?” he drawled lazily, one big finger trailing against my nether lips, making me shiver involuntarily. “You think this pussy can’t stretch?”
I shook my head disbelievingly.
“I mean it can Daddy, it can, but your entire hand? All five fingers, plus your palm? And your hand’s big too,” I whispered pointedly, looking down at where his fingers grazed my twat.
Donovan chuckled deep in his chest, male form hard and tense, immense ridge already evident within his trousers, tenting them like a flagstaff. Oh god, I wanted to suck, but even more, I wanted to feel. But Donovan wanted me a certain way, and I was gonna get it.
“Trust me baby, you can do it,” he rasped throatily, gazing at my bare pussy hungrily. “And Daddy will help you through the exercise, Daddy will absolutely get you so hot that you thank me afterwards, this little pussy will drip buckets of lust.”
And now here, at the opera, my lover was true to his words. Because as I parted my thighs wider, he slipped another finger into my pussy, four now in total, prying me open, and making me feel oh-so-full.
“Oh god Daddy,” I moaned, throwing my head back, reaching forward to stroke the ridge of that fat cock through his pants. “Oh god.”
Donovan’s eyes were such an intense blue that I could see them even in the dark of the theater. But he pushed my hand away because this time was all about me, and my lover was gonna bring me to a shattering finish, audience and music be damned.
“Almost there,” he rumbled soothingly, that blazing blue gaze never leaving my secret flesh. “Almost there.”
And with one more twist of his wrist, a clever jerk and then a deep slide, it happened. Donovan slipped all five fingers in, the stretch incredible, my pussy so fucked. I looked down with shock, almost unable to breathe. It was so obscene, so unbelievably disgusting, and yet so good. Bec
ause only Donovan’s wrist protruded from my vaginal hole, creamy thighs spread wide. There was so much pussy juice, so much female nectar that his arm was absolutely drenched, rivulets dripping off onto the floor.
“Oh fuck yeah,” he groaned, moving his fingers experimentally in me. “Oh fuck yeah.”
I mewled helplessly then, throwing my head back. Oh god, was this really happening? This was danger personified, shit, I didn’t know how we could get more risky than this. Because if someone noticed, how could he pull his fingers out in time? The alpha was stuck so far in my body that it would take at least twenty minutes just to exit the way he’d come, finger by finger, slowly pulling out of my puss.
But for now, I just wanted to feel.
“Yeah Daddy,” I panted. “Ohhh, god, yesss.”
And with that, the billionaire began to fuck me. Right there, at the opera, my dress pulled open and legs spread obscenely wide, he began running his entire fist in and out of my pussy, only his wrist showing as he rampaged my hot folds. Oh god, I was so fucked inside, slutty cunt gushing heavily, gripping him, stretched to the max.
“Oh god,” I moaned again. “Oh god god god.”
And with that, my snatch burst. Literally juices flew out three feet in the air, spattering his tux, getting on my beautiful red dress, staining the ornate furniture. There was so much that it literally bubbled up around his wrist as my folds clenched and spasmed, squeezing his hand like a python, pulsing with ecstasy.
“Ahhh!” I cried out, throwing my head back, one big boobie popping out from my dress now, my lust impossible to contain. “Ahh!”
But Donovan was quick. In a flash, the big man reached around my torso and covered the pendulous flesh with his hand.
“Oh yeah, baby girl,” he ground out, squeezing hard before flicking a nip. “Oh yeah, Daddy’s got you.”
And that’s the story of my life now. Daddy’s got me, and I’ve got him. We’re together through the good times and bad, riding storms in one boat, oars paddling in sync. Sure, we began in the most illicit of ways, as an anonymous finger fuck after meeting on-line, but it’s become something real now. Because we live together, Donovan moved us both into the condo in the sky, and it’s good. Better than good. We make love all the time yeah, but we also cook, shower, and talk non-stop, blabbing about big and small.
So no, I didn’t expect this. I was Rachel Smith, virgin librarian, a shy, plump brunette with a sweet smile and a longing to explore and see the world. And he was Donovan Jones, billionaire alpha with a penchant for the dirty, using females like disposable goods. But we’ve both changed. Now that we have each other, the past is the past, it formed us, but it’s not us anymore. Because we’re living our present now, and with bright eyes, I have high hopes for the future.
Because Donovan has a desire for danger, yes. Was I afraid I couldn’t satisfy him, that I was too boring? Was I afraid I couldn’t meet his expectations? Absolutely. After all, virgin Rachel wasn’t so long ago, only a matter of weeks in fact. But slowly, as we’ve grown closer, our relationship has deepened and matured, and I’ve become more confident, more sure of myself. My body and mind are the ultimate drugs for my man, and yes, I’ve realized I can fulfill the alpha’s desire for danger. I can go to the Billionaires Club and play any game with him, I can take him to the opera and let him fist me in public, pushing that huge hand right up into my sweet, pulsing twat.
And this is our life. This is our life, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. By no means is it perfect, we’re not Ken and Barbie by a long shot, living a bland, plastic life with a house in the burbs. But Donovan is my man, and the love that soars between us, that binds us tight, is one hundred percent real. So what else can a girl ask for? After all, this was an anonymous encounter that became something much, much more … and it’s mine for keeps.
THE END
Falling for My Son’s Best Friend
~An Erotic Romance~
© 2017
By Cassandra Dee
© 2017 Cassandra Dee
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all products of the author's imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over.
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DEDICATION
To all the ladies who have a thing for young studs. Cheers!
CHAPTER ONE
Marie
“Seriously Marie, lighten up,” scolded my friend Angie. “Guys are going to think you have the shakes, you’re so wound up.”
I bit my lip as the elevator zoomed to the top of the tower.
“I don’t know Ang,” I said nervously, heart fluttering. “It’s been a long time since I was out.”
“That’s it exactly,” huffed my friend. “It’s been a long time since Marie Sands was out, way too long in fact. What, were you going to join a nunnery next? Seriously Marie, you’re divorced, not dead.”
And I bit my lip again because Ang had a point. I’ve been divorced for five years now and haven’t found it in me to date yet. I guess I got burned hard when Rob, my high school sweetheart, left me for a woman ten years younger, a bouncy bright blonde that made me feel old and washed out in comparison. But Ang had all the answers.
“Stop tugging at your skirt, girl,” she scolded. “You look fine, if I had a body like yours, trust me, I’d be showing a lot more skin.”
And I laughed then because the outfit I was wearing was totally out of character. Angie had coaxed me into a wine-colored cocktail dress with a shockingly daring décolletage and a skirt up to there, skimming the tops of my thighs, showing off creamy flesh. And to top it all off, I had on four inch heels, elongating my legs and making me feel positively willowy.
Well, as willowy as a curvy girl can be because I’m round all around. It was part of what stung so bad about the break up. Rob had told me he wanted petite, tiny and neat, and I was none of that. I was juicy, with boobs out to there and a behind out to here. I can’t help it, I’ve been this way since I was fifteen and started developing, and it was a slap in the face when my ex said I wasn’t “desirable,” that I wasn’t “sexy,” and he wasn’t attracted to me anymore.
But all that was in the past. Even though it felt like it happened yesterday sometimes, making me gasp with pain, five years was five years, and I made myself take a deep breath and summon my courage.
“Come on girl,” chirped Angie as the door slid open. “Let’s meet some men and have a good time!” she yelped, sashaying into the cocktail lounge like she owned it. Tentatively, I stepped forward, a little disoriented by the dark interior, lit only with flashing strobe lights and some dim wall sconces. Figures milled about in shadow, drinks in hand, the men in suits and the women in tiny cocktail dresses, everyone elegant and suave, like they belonged here. I gulped, feeling like the odd man out. I hadn’t been social in years. Because sure, I have my women’s book club, I play tennis, swim, I even crochet sometimes with the local ladies, but dating? No, my heart had been torn to shreds five years ago and it’d taken that long to recover. If I was even recovered. So yeah, I hadn’t dated in ages, since I was eighteen in fact, and the rules had definitely changed.
“Excuse me,” harrumphed one elderly gentleman, bumping into us. “Pardon me, lovely ladies.”
“No worries,” chirped Ang, a smile lighting up her striking features. “Nice to meet you, I’m Angela.”
I was furtively making eyes at her, signaling “No, no!” Because the gentleman, while nice looking, was far too old. He had to be at least seventy, with
snow white hair and deep grooves around the corners of his mouth, jaw slack with age. But Angie completely ignored me, instead allowing the man to take her hand and press a kiss to the back, like she was a princess.
“You two are so beautiful,” he purred. “What brings you here tonight?” he asked.
And Angela, ever the big blabbermouth, immediately spilled the beans.
“My friend Marie here hasn’t been on a date since her divorce,” she said promptly. “You got any friends for her?”
I turned beet red at that, ears going hot, cheeks flaming pink. Oh god hopefully they couldn’t see, hopefully it was so dark in here that no one could tell that I was currently the color of a tomato, flashing hot and then ice cold within seconds, a cold sweat breaking on my brow.
“No, Ang, that’s not it,” I protested. “I’m just, you know, getting to know myself,” I said helplessly, smiling at the old man. “Stepping back into the world after a couple years of self-imposed exile.”
But the gentleman was kind, if a little old-fashioned.
“A woman as beautiful as you isn’t going to have any trouble,” he said with a bow, even waving his hand as a flourish. “You’re a breath of fresh air, a breeze amid these shadows, and men will be throwing flowers at your feet, dying to escort a femme fatale.”
I had to giggle at the flowery phrases, exchanging a glance with my friend. Was this guy Sir Lancelot, courting a lovely lady in waiting? Maybe I hadn’t dated in a long time, but still, I knew cheesy when I saw it. And thankfully, Ang agreed.
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