Big Bad Neighbor: A Single Dad Next Door Romance

by Tia Siren

  She gasped when she pulled away, and then she started to laugh as some of his pearly white cum slid out past her lips. She slid her finger along her chin, gathering the spunk, and ate it once more.

  David left the next day. They made love that night, in the bed, the windows open, the soft breeze rolling over their naked bodies. He was gone before she woke. It was just her and the maid in the large house, and Cherry found herself growing sad as each day passed and the man didn’t return.

  Weeks passed before he came back. When he did, he was in a bad mood. He fucked her for five nights, hard and fast, filling her with his seed or forcing his cock into her mouth before he blew, even painting her tits and chin with it. She came too, of course, but he didn’t seem to care. She knew he was stressed, was in danger of losing it all. Then he left again, back to America. Back to regain control.

  Cherry was pregnant. She found out three days after he left again. She had missed her period and had sent the maid to the mainland for a test. She took it and sent the woman for another. She took that one too, and it had the same reading. She was with child.

  When David came back two weeks later, she told him as soon as she saw him. Anger flashed in his eyes. She had thought he would be excited. She had realized she loved the man, had fallen for him despite who he was, despite what he did. But when she saw that anger, she didn’t know.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” David asked, his accent thick. He hadn’t tried to sound American since they had left Chicago.

  “No,” Cherry said. “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “I thought you were on the pill,” David demanded.

  “I am.”

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “It can happen!” Cherry said. “Stop being angry.”

  “Everything I have is gone! I’m fighting for it all, trying to hold on with my fingertips,” David snarled. “Don’t you understand that?”

  “Fuck you,” Cherry said, and that was the end of the conversation. She went to bed alone that night. She woke up alone, before the sun was even out. She got out of bed and went down to the kitchen. Standing at the sink, she filled a glass with water and drank it. In the backyard was a small hut. The maid, a Greek woman in her thirties named Beth, which of course was short for something more exotic sounding, lived there. The light was on. Cherry could see through the window. There, bent over a kitchen table, was Beth, nude. David stood behind her, plowing her with his large cock. Tears swam in Cherry’s eyes, and she ran back upstairs.

  She packed what she could, finding a small bag in the back of the closet. She hurried out the front door. The ferry wouldn't come by until later that morning, but there was a small row boat tied to the dock. She got in and set out for the mainland.

  It took her hours, but she made it. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. She had taken money too, and she bought a room in the city. It was small and lonely, and she sat on the end of the bed and wondered what she was going to do next.

  Her cell phone rang. It was David, and she didn’t answer.

  Days passed, and he called and called. She didn’t answer or listen to the messages he left. He texted her, but she didn’t read those either.

  One day Cherry was getting lunch at a small shop near the hotel when a man took her by the arm.

  “You’re a hard woman to find,” the man snarled as she turned. He jabbed a gun into her ribs. “Don’t try anything,” the man said. He was American, and Cherry hadn’t heard anyone with that accent in days.

  She nodded to show she understood and let the man lead her out of the shop. A car was waiting nearby, and he pushed her into the backseat. Nathan was there.

  “Cherry, holy fuck, I had to come to Greece to get you,” Nathan said as the other man got behind the wheel and started driving.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “Where is David?”

  So they didn’t know where he lived. They just had found out he had a home in Greece.

  “If I tell you, will you let me go?” Cherry asked.

  Nathan grinned and nodded. “This has grown beyond you,” he said. “You have my word. I’m over that earlier stuff. So you saw what I was planning. To be honest, you made me jump forward on my time table, and everything has worked out. I’ll even give you your old job back.”

  Cherry considered it all. She didn’t know if Nathan was telling the truth, of course, but she didn’t care what happened to David, not after what she had seen.

  “I’ll take you there,” she said finally, and Nathan grinned.

  6

  David was worried. He had been for days. He didn’t know where Cherry had gone. He had been rough on her—he knew that—but wasn’t she taking things too far? He would apologize; he would win her back. He had too. He loved her, and he wanted to be a father.

  The bell rang. Beth had the day off, so she wouldn’t be getting the door. David went and pulled it open.

  “Cherry,” he said, seeing her first, and then it dawned on him who she was with. “Nathan,” David growled, reaching for the gun he always kept on him, but Nathan already had his drawn.

  “Mind if we come in?” Nathan asked sardonically, and David stepped back. Only one other man was with Nathan, but David had no way of telling if there were others out of sight.

  “Where have you been?” David asked Cherry.

  “I saw you two,” Cherry spat. “You and Beth. You fucked her!”

  “I didn’t!” David said, and then it all dawned on him. He knew what she had seen. He could explain it to her, but he had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

  “You did!” Cherry said, her voice full of hurt.

  “Enough,” Nathan said. “I should have just killed you both right away, but I wanted you to know it was me.”

  “You little shit,” David said. Nathan laughed and lifted his gun, aiming it at Cherry.

  “You said!” Cherry said, her eyes going wide.

  “I lied,” Nathan said, and then there was a loud bang.

  Nathan crumpled to the ground, his head red and horrible, a bullet having slammed through the back of it.

  Cherry turned as another shot rang out. A man in the doorway was stalking forward, limping, a gun raised. He had killed Nathan’s driver.

  “Any more?” David asked the man while Cherry tried to take it all in. The man who had saved them looked almost identical to David. Same build, same square jaw, same color hair. It was uncanny.

  “Who is this?” Cherry asked, looking to her David. She could see the differences, looking back and forth between the two men, but at a distance they would easily pass for one another.

  “His name is Tom,” David said. “I hired him because he looks just like me. Safety precaution. He’s a double and a bodyguard. He was injured back home some months ago; I sent him her to recuperate. He and Beth have hit it off, to say the least.”

  Cherry got it then. Tom had been fucking Beth, not David. She felt stupid, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. David stepped forward and took her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “About before. I’m excited about the baby. I am. I’m excited about you. I have a lot of work to do, and it isn’t pretty work, but I wanted you to know I’m in, if you are.

  Cherry looked at David, keeping her eyes off the dead bodies at her feet. She nodded. It was a wild life and a wild world, and she didn’t know what she was getting herself into, but she knew David would always keep her safe. She kissed him.

  “I’m in,” she said as she pulled slowly away.

  *****

  THE END

  Big Bad Professor: An Older Man and a Virgin Romance

  CHAPTER ONE: Audrey Ross

  I chewed on my thumbnail and hit the browser’s refresh button again. Dammit! The page showing my midterm grades still hadn’t updated. I was a nervous wreck, sitting on my bed with my legs and fingers crossed. I kept hitting the refresh button on my laptop every ten seconds, waiting for the midterm grade to be posted so I could
finally exhale.

  My iPhone buzzed and I took my eyes off the computer long enough to glance at the screen. It was my BFF Rachel calling again. She knew I was on pins and needles about my grades and had been trying to get me to come to Lenny’s, the off-campus dive bar where the Trent State football team hung out. The night would involve lots of beer, loud partying, drunken dancing, and, if you were Rachel, sex with her boyfriend, Duke, the captain of the football team, most likely in the backseat of his car.

  “Come blow off some steam with us,” Rachel pleaded the first two times she’d called. “Stop worrying so much about your grades and come have some fucking fun!”

  That sort of thing worked for Rachel, but I wasn’t Rachel, not even close. I cared about my grades. I never drank or partied. I had two left feet, so I never danced. And I wouldn’t be having sex with anyone any time soon. In fact, I’d never had sex. I had never even come that close. I was probably the only twenty-two-year-old virgin on the Trent State campus.

  It wasn’t that I was averse to having sex or that I was saving myself for marriage or anything so noble as that. No, the truth was, I had the desire. I’d just never had the chance.

  I’d been dating the same boy since the tenth grade and he didn’t believe in sex before marriage. Danny Dickie was the son of a Baptist preacher back home in Orlando. He was a senior at Laughton College all the way on the other side of the state now, getting a degree in history (yawn). His goal in life was to teach middle school history. I’ll say it again: he wanted to teach middle school history. How incredibly boring was that?

  I had no idea why I’d stayed with Danny so long. I mean, he barely believed in making out. I probably hadn’t had his tongue in my mouth more than a dozen times in six years. And I’d never had his hands on my tits or his finger in my pussy.

  God forbid that happen! Fire and brimstone, oh my!

  The few times I got Danny alone and tried to throw myself at him, he acted like the devil himself was trying to grab hold of his cock.

  “Come on, Danny, you know you want it,” I whispered as we sat in the back of his dad’s Buick the night of our senior prom. I was rubbing his thigh and pressing my boob against his arm. “Just let me touch it. If you let me touch yours, I’ll let you touch mine.”

  “Gee, I dunno, Audrey.”

  “Just let me touch your cock and you can put a finger in my—”

  I grabbed his cock and he shot out of the car like a race horse bolting out of a racing chute. I remember squeezing my knees together as he silently drove me home and then asked me to please get out of his father’s car.

  He didn’t even walk me to the door.

  I think it was because he had a big stain on the front of his pants that I’d caused. Oops! Sorry...

  I think that was the night I learned to masturbate.

  My fingers and I had since been best friends.

  I hadn’t had much luck with guys in college, either. Of course, I still considered myself spoken for with Danny, but I was starting to think that I’d wasted six years of not getting laid for nothing.

  I’d see Danny at home during spring break. If he didn’t have the balls to break up with me, I guess I’d have to take his balls in hand and do it myself.

  I did have one hot and heavy make-out session with a boy named Victor something-or-other at the Trent State homecoming dance last year.

  Rachel introduced me to Victor. He was a friend of whichever football player she was dating, i.e. fucking, at the time.

  Victor wasn’t that good looking, but he was nice and courteous and I could feel his cock pressing against me as we slow danced to an old Madonna song.

  I liked the way his cock felt, semi-hard, rubbing against my belly. The more we danced, the more it rubbed and the harder it got.

  Rather than pulling away, I pulled Victor closer so his cock would press into me even more. I remembered him sighing into my ear. I remembered how wet my panties were, how stiff my nipples were, how determined I was to lose my virginity.

  There was a longing deep inside me that Victor was bringing to the surface. I think I kissed him first, and then he kissed me back, and then I dragged him off the dance floor and into a janitor’s closet down the hall from the gym where the dance was being held.

  We were making out like crazy. I was groping him. He was trying to grope me, but his hands kept missing their mark. Rachel told me later that Victor had never had sex either. It was a case of the blind leading the blind. Or the blind trying to fuck the blind.

  It made sense now. Because just about the time his hand found my tit under my shirt and my hand found his cock bulging in his jeans, he shot his load right then and there against my hand.

  I heard him grunt and suck air in through his teeth, and then I felt his cock pulse as it emptied its load of jizz all down his right leg.

  Victor looked at me with horrified eyes and said, “Oh shit.”

  He ran away, leaving me there with my mouth hanging open and my tits hanging out of my bra.

  It was a sad attempt at losing my virginity.

  I think it pretty much scarred me for life, because I haven’t even tried to get laid since.

  My fingers and I are now closer than ever.

  * * *

  I knew Rachel wasn’t worried about her English Lit. grade. She never worried about grades because she didn’t have to. Rachel was not only more sexually active than me and most girls at Trent. She was also probably smarter than most of us as well. Heck, she was the smartest person I knew. And she had way more sex than most girls. I thought only the dumb girls fucked around a lot. Evidently not, because Rachel regularly made the dean’s list and had had sex with most of the football team and a few professors.

  I loved her like a sister, but I must admit, I was jealous of Rachel in more ways than one.

  The only grade I was really nervous about was English Lit. 105. It was a required class my senior year as a business major, and if I failed the class I would have to take it over again in the summer and pass it, or else I would not graduate in the fall.

  Rachel sat next to me in Mr. Hollander’s English Lit. class, and even she said the class was the hardest one she’d ever had to take. She also said that Mr. Hollander was the hottest teacher at Trent, but he also had the reputation of being the biggest asshole when it came to giving students any leeway on grades.

  He didn’t give makeup work and he didn’t grade on a curve. “You get the grade you earn,” he had said at the beginning of the semester. “Period. End of story. Don’t bother whining to me because I hate whiners.”

  Well, if I didn’t get at least a B on this midterm, I would earn a D in the class. Maybe even an F. I’d never gotten an F in anything and had no desire to start now.

  The problem was that I hated English Lit. I know, crazy. It was literature, not rocket science, but the topic bored me to tears. I thought it was because of my attention deficit disorder. I had a hard time focusing on some things, and English Lit. was one of those things.

  Take this midterm for example. The assignment was to write a twenty-thousand-word essay on a fictional character from nineteenth-century literature. Sounds easy enough so far, right? Just hang on to your shorts, because here’s where it gets hard.

  Once we chose a character, we had to hypothesize what motivated the author to create that character, what motivated the character to act as he or she did in the book, what repercussions the character’s actions had on the story and other characters, what effect the character had on the reader, and did we find the character to be sympathetic in any way and if so why.

  Whew. I remembered nearly having a heart attack just reading the assignment sheet. Holy crap. I was screwed.

  I had no idea why, but I chose the character of Frankenstein’s monster from the book by Mary Shelley. I had never read the book. God knows I tried several times, but I couldn’t get through the first chapter, so I just rented the top three Frankenstein movies on Netflix and tried to write the essay based on tho
se.

  The problem was, all the movies were different and none of them followed the book. I did the best I could with what I had. And I learned what I could about Mary Shelley on Wikipedia.

  Writing that essay was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. I mentioned my ADD. Just try writing a twenty-thousand-word essay on what motivated fucking Frankenstein’s monster with ADD.

  Crap, I couldn’t write twenty-thousand-words on any topic, much less one that forced me to pick apart the brain of a monster and a nineteenth-century writer.

  But Mr. Hollander didn’t give a shit about my ADD or anything else as far as I was concerned. When I casually mentioned my ADD in an after-class meeting one time, he just looked at me with his deep blue eyes and his ruggedly handsome face and said, “Guess you’ll just have to work a little harder, huh?”

  Guess I’d just have to work a little harder? Seriously?

  What kind of fucking scholarly advice was that?

  Rachel was right. Mr. Hollander was an asshole. An asshole who always smelled like cigarettes and booze. And an asshole was supposed to have all the grades posted by five this afternoon.

  It was five-fifteen, and so far no grade was posted.

  I’d bet he was holding back the grades on purpose because he knew it would drive me mad.

  Asshole. Douchebag. Dick-hole.

  I couldn’t wait to be out of his class so I’d never have to see him again.

  I hit the refresh button again and held my breath.

  CHAPTER TWO: Chase Hollander

  I lit another cigarette and poured another inch of the cheap whiskey into the shot glass with the Disney World logo on one side. I was not unintelligent or without a sense of humor. I saw the irony in getting shit-faced drunk by drinking shots of whiskey from a glass with Mickey Mouse’s picture on one side.

  The irony was that it perfectly represented how shitty my life had become over the last few years. It was all about my Mickey Mouse problems and the Goofy shit I had done. I was the eighth dwarf: Loser. Whistle to that tune, motherfucker.