by Alexis Angel
Are we just a man and woman who are friends? Relatives? Lovers?
God, I can’t believe I had his cock in my hands. Through his jeans, but still.
Why can’t I just close my eyes and enjoy the moment? Why am I trapped in his stare, looking up at him and only vaguely aware of the world around me?
“I’m so much older than you, Lance,” I whisper. “And I’m really sorry about the other day. We can’t let something so crazy ever happen again.”
It’s true! Can you believe the scandal involved with something like that?
He brings his face closer to me. “Don’t be fucking sorry,” he hisses. “I can’t get it out of my head.”
What? He can’t get me out of his head?
“That’s sweet,” I say to him, my panties melting as I think back to being on his lap, legs wrapped around him, looking at his cock. I can tell I’m more than wet at this point. If Lance wanted to take me, I don’t think I would stop him.
No, I most definitely wouldn’t stop him. I’d spread my legs and let him pull my thong down. Then I’d wrap my legs around him as he put that giant cock inside of me. His eyes would go wide at what I’d do and say. I’d be the last thing from boring to him.
“What are you thinking?” Lance asks me, a smirk playing across his face.
“It’s a secret,” I say with a coy smile.
“I think I can guess,” he tells me. I squirm my body against him a bit more. His cock is hard and it’s rubbing against my inner thigh. It feels so good.
“What, then?” I ask, hoping beyond all hope that he’s in my head. “Don’t keep a lady waiting.”
“You’re no lady,” he says with a grin and as I give him a mock pout, I see that he truly is in my head. Because he leans over and brings his mouth to mine.
And we kiss.
Lance
Holy fucking shit. What the fuck is going on?
I can’t believe this. My tongue is literally opening up Jocelyn’s lips. Far from being the invader, her tongue lashes out and it’s wrestling mine in my mouth now. I feel her tongue massage mine. I reciprocate.
This is so much fucking hotter somehow than the other day. This feels more intimate. More real.
This feels more like love than lust.
I don’t even realize but my hands are pulling her closer. They’re squeezing her ass. Running up and down her back.
She’s grinding her crotch over my cock.
And yet, we still continue to kiss.
I’m not gonna lie. It was fucking awkward after the other day. After Rosa inadvertently interrupted us on the sofa.
I mean, give me a fucking break. She only had my cock in her hands, jerking it off. There was only one way that situation was going to go. With me exploding with thick, white ropes of gooey cum all over her.
We both knew that’s where it was headed. I saw it in her eyes. They were filled with desire. Her entire face was contorted with lust that afternoon. She just didn’t give a fuck how old she was, how fucking young I was, who we were, or where we were at. She just wanted my cock. And I wanted her entire fucking body.
But the real world came and intruded on us. We had to call it off.
The last few days I haven’t seen her around as much. But holy shit, when I discovered today was her fucking birthday, I knew that I had to get past any sort of awkwardness that we had with each other.
Fuck, it didn’t seem like this morning that anyone else was going to celebrate her birthday with her. Dad probably doesn’t even know. Or if he does, he just wants to actively show he forgot to bring out the sentiment that he doesn’t fucking care. Because he’s a sociopath.
So that left me. I had the day, and the townhouse staff to help me whip something up.
And now, because of it, she’s holding onto my arms and kissing me passionately.
I’m fucking rubbing her back and running my fingers through her hair. I’m hard. Painfully fucking hard. As in my cock is going to break if we keep this up.
Are we headed to sex again?
But it’s different this time. Last time we were in a similar spot, we weren’t kissing. That was just pure lust.
This time, there’s something different.
I feel her tongue trace the outline of the roof of my mouth and then come back down and gently massage my tongue. I return the favor.
This time, we are kissing. This time it’s gentler. As if we’re falling for each other.
Shit. That’s even worse.
And then, as is our fate, I hear the front door slam open.
“I don’t care if the fucking Teacher’s Union doesn’t like the changes we’re proposing, tell them after the election the fucking voters forget about everything anyways,” dad’s loud voice comes through. He’s either talking to an aide or into his phone.
A light goes on in the hallway.
Jocelyn pulls back immediately. So do I.
We disentangle ourselves from each other. Her chest is heaving from holding her breath in this long. I’m looking at her.
“I don’t give two shits about the MTA funding right now,” dad says. He’s definitely talking into his phone.
I see Jocelyn turn her head as the footsteps come toward the living room. She doesn’t bother looking at me, but rather collects herself and briskly walks out of the opposite exit to the living room. She wants to avoid dad.
She’s gone not a second before he comes into the room. He sees me standing next to a table filled with food and champagne.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me.
I didn’t really plan this excuse out, but it just comes naturally to me. “Today’s Jocelyn’s birthday,” I tell him.
He stares at me blankly for a second. I hope he’s not trying to figure out which Jocelyn I’m talking about.
“So?” he finally asks. “That’s what all the food and champagne is for?”
“Want to join us?” I ask him darkly.
What a fucking horrible motherfucker. I mean, sure, I was just kissing her a few minutes ago so maybe I’m not saint, but I didn’t go about marrying her, and if what she says is correct, never fucking touch her in the whole time I’ve known her.
No wonder Jocelyn is crushing all over me. For the first time in a long ass fucking time, someone is showing real, genuine, affection for her. Someone is showing desire for her.
“I think joining you would be a waste of my time,” dad says, turning around after hanging his top coat in the closet. “I have plenty of better things I could be doing with my time.”
“Dad,” I paused and watched him as he froze at hearing me call out to him. “At least go upstairs and wish her a happy birthday then.”
Dad seemed to consider, but then shrugged his shoulder. “If that's all it takes for her to feel better, then I’ll leave that to you, son,” he tells me. “No one is better than you in winning people over.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say. “She’s your goddamn wife.”
“She’s a political prop,” he says to me. “And don’t you dare talk to me like all of a sudden you’re my son.”
I’m silent. Seething.
“You’re nothing more than an orphan that I bought with my credibility. You’re more like a window dressing for me. Never forget that,” he says to me, looking me in the eyes, telling me he’s deadly serious.
He turns, having gotten the last word.
And with that, he’s gone.
Lance
I curl my arms in another set of bicep exercises and watch my movements in the mirror. I look good. I don't fucking care how vain you think I am. I'll admit it. It's no wonder I've banged nearly every type of woman there is—co-eds, professors, housewives, and even the President's daughter, which I now sort of regret.
Besides, after the last two days since Jocelyn’s birthday, I need to clear my head.
We’ve been fucking too close to the fucking fire. Twice. The first time, I could understand. Her fight or flight response was kicking in and she wa
s going through adrenaline after her close call. I was there.
The second time, on her birthday. That was a fucking different animal. We kissed. And held each other fucking close.
No, I fucking need to shake myself of her.
I look around the gym at the odd mix of people. Even though this gym offers up a strange, and sometimes annoying blend of gym goers, I never miss a day of working out. Let's face it; you don't get the ripped body of a gladiator by just sitting around, right? I'm a fucking machine, and I plan to keep it that way. As I'm curling my rock-hard muscles, I overhear a couple of teenagers next to me.
"No way. Steroids are expensive. You know what you need bro?"
"What?" the other kid asks.
"You need some McDonald's in your life."
"Now you're trippin'."
"Here me out. I'm not kidding. Just eat the chicken nuggets every day. There's a lot of growth hormones in those nuggets; it's borderline unnatural. Those chickens are all breast and no legs and shit. It's an easy way to get steroids. I'm telling you."
I chuckle a little as I hear their conversation, and then my eyes immediately fall on a group of women standing a few feet to my left. I overhear them talking too.
"I don't like lifting weights. I'm afraid I'm going to lose my breasts," she says, slightly massaging them with her fingertips.
"That's a misconception. Weight lifting is one of the best ways to stay in shape. You don't want BMI problems, do you?"
"Girl, I definitely don't have BMI problems! I've got 99 problems but my ass sure as hell isn't one of them."
When she says that, I can't help but check her ass out. She's right. Her ass is nice. Not as nice as Jocelyn's ass, but still nice. Shit. There I go again. I really need to stop thinking about my dad's wife—my stepmom. But I can't. She's way hotter than I ever expected. But my mind is jolted back to reality when I overhear some of the worst pick-up lines that I think I've ever heard in my life.
From a sweaty, hairy-chested middle-aged guy on the bench press to a woman nearby: "We should train together because I hear it's good for bone density."
And then from another man: "My personal trainer told me I had to come talk to you."
This line seems to work for a minute because the woman stops, and gives him a confused look, and then the man continues, "He said I should talk to you for a few minutes as part of my routine. If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you share your training regimen with me?" And then it dawns on her that this guy is talking out of his ass, and she walks away. I swear, these men are clueless—it's embarrassing. And you know what? That's fine because it gives me a leg up. They should watch me in action and learn a thing or two. I decide to do one more rep before leaving, and as I reach for the weight, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and see her. That perfect outline of the female body could only be one person. It's Jocelyn.
"Hey stranger," she says. "What are the chances? I had no idea you worked out at this gym."
She's being cordial, and I appreciate that. She could've easily seen me, and quickly slipped out the back door, or at least out of sight.
"I guess New York isn't so big after all," I shrug with a smile.
"It might not be as big as some things," she replies, and I swear she takes a quick glance at my cock. Did that really just happen, or am I imagining it?
Are we really going to go down this road a third time?
"I guess you could say that," I say, deciding to play along.
There’s only one way to find out. I’m going to give her an opening and see how far she fucking wants to take this.
"So tell me. Is the rumor true?" I ask.
She doesn't respond, but just furrows her brow, so I continue, "Do all women really love retail above all else?"
The confusion dissipates from her face. "Retail therapy is a thing." The way she responds with her head cocked back, and a slight smile parting her thick, juicy lips, makes my cock twitch. Damn. She's something else.
"Then I have a proposition."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
"I say we get out of this place and indulge in a little retail therapy."
Sometimes you've got to be bold. I watch as she determines whether or not this is a good idea. I can almost picture the inner workings of her brain. One side urging her to stay at the gym and do the sensible thing—get her workout in and not fraternize with the ill-behaved stepson. The other, wilder side of her brain—and I'm now beginning to think she has a wild side—urging her to leave. I begin to wonder which side will win when she responds.
"Sure, let's blow this joint." I can't believe my luck. And did she just emphasize the word blow?
"Let me grab my things from the locker room," she continues. "I'll meet you out front."
I watch as she walks away, her perfect ass sashaying across the gym and I can't fucking believe she's agreed to hang out with me. I drop the weights and quickly grab my things from the locker room as well. By the time I walk outside, I see her standing there, carefully applying lipstick. I feel like I'm on a roll, so I say, "I have an idea. Let's count shoulders."
"What are you talking about?"
"Watch me," I say, standing directly in front of her. I start counting, tapping my shoulders first. "One, two…" and then I move my hand to her shoulders, "Three, four." And now that I'm done counting and I've created an excuse to touch her—see what I just did?—I drape my arm across her shoulders and say, "Let's go."
She smiles, but pulls away. "Easy there," she laughs. "I'll give you credit. You are bold. I like that in a man."
Good. At least she sees me as a man, and not a kid. I know there's a sizeable age difference between us, but it's no different from the one between her and my dad. "Would you expect anything less from the Lance Anders?" I reply.
"How much woman can you handle?"
Holy shit. The way she just asked that made my heart leap into my fucking throat. I can't even answer that question, so instead I smile and order an Uber for us. She watches as I pull the app up on my phone.
"What kind of ride are you? Long or short?" she asks.
"I'm the longest ride you'll ever need." Like I said, two can play this game.
She raises an eyebrow and simply smiles.
We take the Uber to Saks Fifth Avenue. I figure I can't go wrong with this store—there's designer apparel at every level—shows, accessories, housewares, and when we step out of the car, I see her face light up and I know I've definitely made the right choice. I follow her into the building as she walks at a fast clip to the women's clothing, her heels clicking against the floor. She changed at the gym and is no longer wearing yoga pants. She's wearing a tight black dress and heels, and honestly, I can't keep my eyes off of her. Does she always go the gym with an extra change of clothes? I wonder to myself.
"Here's what I'm looking for," she says. I look around and see we're standing in the women's blouse section. "What do you think of this one?"
I honestly think any fucking blouse would look amazing on her, but I simply say, "I like it."
My answer doesn't seem good enough because she gives it another critical look. She holds the shirt in front of her, one hand on her hip. "I think I should try it on."
I nod my head and follow her to the dressing rooms. I find a bench and sit down.
"I'll wait right here," I say. I lean back and check my phone—no calls or texts, which is good—and I wait.
"Lance? Can you come here?"
I make sure no one is looking before heading into the dressing rooms. Are men even allowed back here? "Where are you?" I ask, just above a whisper.
"Right here."
I look to my left and I see her holding one door open slightly ajar. I slip inside. The room is small and it's forcing us to stand unusually close to each other. I watch as she starts to unzip her dress.
"I just need your opinion."
With her dress unzipped, I watch as she pulls it off of her shoulders. Her perfume fills my senses. My h
eart is seriously in my fucking throat. It's beating at a frenzied pace and I can't believe this is happening. The top of her dress is now completely off and hanging at her hips. I can't help but gaze transfixed at her perfect breasts. Those two perfect scoops cupped in a lacey bra. Do I dare touch her?
I immediately think back to the question she asked me at the gym. How much woman can I handle?
Jocelyn
The moment my shirt comes off, I know I have him.
More than I had him on the couch the other week. Or during my birthday.
There is no stopping now.
I’m going to do this, hun. No stopping me.
I’ll probably go to hell afterwards.
His eyes are on my cleavage, and he seems hungry to feel my breasts. He closes the door to the dressing room and I look into his eyes, my heart drumming wildly inside of my chest. I could get used to having men look at me like this, insatiable hunger flickering behind their eyes. After months of sharing a bed with a husband who doesn’t even look at me, there’s no way that I’m going to let an opportunity like this slide by me… He’s my stepson, sure, but so what? One hard look at him and my pussy grows wet, desire raging through me. He looks young, handsome… Delicious. No wonder he has such a reputation. As his stepmother, I think it’s my duty to find out if the rumors are true... Oh, why are forbidden things the most irresistible ones?
My pussy is already wet, my drenched underwear sticking to my skin. There’s a whisper inside of me, one that tells me to stop, that what I’m doing is wrong… But I just push it to the back of my mind. The blood that runs through me is charged with lust and sinful thoughts, fanning flames of wickedness in my mind and making me forget all about right and wrong.
I tried to avoid this. I knew how dangerous it would be for me to be near Lance. He’s simply too irresistible—handsome, wicked, relentless. But here I am now… And there’s no going back. There’s no stopping what’s about to happen. I’m going to have him, come hell or high water.
“Come here,” I whisper, taking one step forward, my eyes never leaving his, and I grab him by the scruff of his shirt. Pulling him into me, I press my mouth against his, parting my lips and brushing my tongue against his. I start unbuttoning his shirt, my eager fingers flying down the fabric as I expose his chest. My eyes take in the perfect shape of his pectorals, the irresistible ridges in his abs.
