And my heart jolted. Mr. Parker was right. No one would be alarmed if I started coming over on a day to day basis to help with Violet for a month. It was perfectly natural, I was her old babysitter, someone she’d bonded with a long time ago and a familiar face in these times of change. So yes, I could come over tomorrow night … especially if it meant seeing Mr. Parker alone again.
And with a sigh, I got to my feet in the tub, like a Venus rising from the waves. It was tricky getting up gracefully, I admit, the combo of the porcelain and water made for a slippery situation, but somehow I managed it, somehow I managed to rise gracefully, my form undulating, big boobs swaying gently as my hips appeared. Rivulets trailed my creamy form, and oh god, but the liquid sluiced so that a small waterfall descended from my pussy, a gush that was part me, part bathwater.
Mr. Parker was transfixed, those eyes devouring my form, making me go hot, then cold, then hot again.
“You like?” I breathed, shaking my ass sassily. God, everything jiggled when I did that, every single part of me bumped up and down, there was so much heft, so much flesh.
And Pete remained transfixed, body tight, almost unable to inhale. If I wasn’t mistaken, the man was about to jump me again, forget his resolutions about keeping it kosher, ravage my tits and sweet pink cunt. The alpha male struggled mightily, indecision in his eyes, the way his jaw ticked as he stared some more, eating up my curvy form. But finally with a low growl, he wrapped the towel around me, the terrycloth tight around my form.
“Get dressed woman,” he commanded, “Now.”
And I giggled because the towel wasn’t quite enough to cover my assets. Sure, it was tucked securely under my armpits, but the material had risen so that my pink pussy lips could be seen below, sleek and nubile.
“Oh sure,” I giggled again, this time shaking my hips, wiggling once more so that he couldn’t help but see my engorged labia, my wetly glistening cunt. “Oh sure,” I said lightly before reaching down to pick up my discarded clothes, arching my back so he could view my slit from behind, the flesh beckoning, so sweet and succulent.
For sure he was going to lose control this time. Pete literally inhaled and exhaled a couple times, eyes glued to my vag, ready to go. But the big man closed his eyes, summoning his deepest reserves of self-control, and growled.
“Git,” he commanded, swatting my rump with a big hand, the slap ringing loud in the bathroom. “Get dressed and come downstairs.”
I yelped then, more like a high-pitched squeak. Because it’d felt so good to have his hand on me like that, the initial sting had been so shocking, so delicious. And now a burn was spreading across my ass cheek, a warm tingling feeling that made my cunt shiver, gush a little. Would there be a handprint when I looked in the mirror? Oh god, would I be able to see his finger marks on my ass? The possibility made me cream a little harder, eyes flying open with shock.
And the big man smirked at me, reading my mind. But he just growled again. “Ten minutes baby girl. Downstairs.” And with that, he was gone, the door closing without a sound behind him.
I turned to look at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. Because it was me, sure, but it wasn’t me. The same brunette curls and big brown eyes stared back, but there was a knowing in them now, a sense of womanhood that hadn’t been there before. I’d tasted my first sperm, shown off my body to an appreciative man, and oh god, but he’d promised me more. More, much, much more … and I couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER SIX
Pete
Holy fuck, things had gotten out of hand. I’d come home early to find my babysitter masturbating in my tub. And instead of being the better man, leaving her to do her thing, pretending nothing had happened, I’d gone the opposite direction. I’d fucking busted in the bathroom, stripped off my clothes and come on that sweet body, forcing the curvy brunette to taste my semen. Fuck, I was a dirty motherfucker, there was no doubt of it, taking advantage of a sweet teen who didn’t know better.
But I argued with myself. Mandy was eighteen now, a college girl, and had every right to do what she wanted sexually. She was in charge of her body, an enlightened being, the beneficiary of all that women’s lib stuff. Right? Wasn’t that right? But while my logical brain argued I’d done nothing wrong, doubt still lingered because fuck, when I’d been eighteen I’d been a fucking lunatic, knowing nothing, getting in trouble, sowing my seed like it was a free handout for anyone with two X chromosomes.
So being eighteen didn’t mean Mandy knew what she was doing. Sure, she’d acted like a slut tonight, the woman of my dreams, but inside, I knew the girl was different. The Amanda I knew was studious and thoughtful. The way the brunette took care of my daughter, patiently playing the same games again and again, reading stories until her voice was hoarse, cutting food into tiny little bits, only underlined how different she was from me at that age. Fuck, this girl was an angel, how the fuck could I take advantage of someone so caring, inside and out?
But it was too late. She was fucking gorgeous and of all the names on my black book, she was absolutely the best, blowing those thin bitches out of the water like a tsunami hitting the coast. And seeing Mandy like that, her curvy form the answer to my dreams, literally the stuff of fantasies was too much temptation. She was mine. She belonged to me, and the sooner she knew it, the better. Like I said, I’m a mean motherfucker, and I come, I see, I conquer … especially when it comes to women.
So when the brunette’s footsteps sounded on the stairwell, I turned, ready to claim what was mine. And oh fuck, but Mandy was gorgeous with her hair still wet, ringlets framing her face, that sweet pink pout lush and tantalizing, cheeks flushing when she met my eye.
“Hey,” she said softly, sitting on a stool across the kitchen island. “How are you Pete?”
And never one to lose my cool, I pushed a mug towards her.
“Good,” I rasped, clearing my throat. “Tea?” Oh fuck, how did the brunette do this to me? I was supposed to be a man in control and yet during the last half hour I’d fought with myself multiple times to stay calm, hand steady on the wheel instead of completely losing it.
And the girl just smiled at me sweetly, as if she could sense the battle raging within.
“Sure thanks,” she murmured, eyes twinkling as she reached for the mug. “How’d you know I like tea?”
I knew because I’d talked about it with my daughter. Mandy is one of Violet’s favorite topics of conversations, and the little girl chattered on and on, wanting to be just like her babysitter. But I didn’t want the brunette to know that we’d been talking about her, so I passed it off.
“Just a guess,” I lied casually. “We always keep a stash of tea in the cabinet, and there were always a couple packets gone after you babysat.”
The girl colored.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, a little alarmed. “I drink a lot of tea, I probably went through boxes and boxes over the years.”
That was the least of my concerns. Who the fuck cared about tea? She could dump it in the trash by the gallon if she wanted. But I kept my expression calm and neutral.
“No worries, we buy it from Costco,” I said smoothly. “How was Violet tonight?”
And the girl colored before beginning to speak. Because oh yeah, that’s why she was here allegedly. To watch over my daughter.
“Vi was good,” she said slowly, “We had dinner together, roasted veggies and a little chicken, and then I got her into the bath. She went to sleep afterwards, but yeah, I had to read her a couple stories.”
I grinned wryly.
“You mean Goodnight Moon five times in a row?” I rumbled. I swear, I hate that book, I could recite it line for line, cover to cover, that damned little rabbit and his mittens.
But Mandy shook her head.
“No, not that one, The Hungry Caterpillar,” she said with a smile. “Vi likes sticking her fingers into all the holes.”
And I shook my head. That was another one of my daughter’s fav
orites, and just like Goodnight Moon, I’d come to hate the book with a passion. But Amanda’s goodness, her patience, was clear.
“How many times?” I asked wryly, “Five? Six?”
And she bit her lip before nodding.
“Seven,” she confessed. “I had to. Vi wouldn’t let me stop, she’d start crying whenever I got to the end.”
That sounded all too familiar.
“Yeah, she’s got some attachment issues what with her mom leaving and all,” I rumbled again. “But she’ll be okay soon enough, kids forget easy.” God, that sounded awful and Mandy was silent for a moment, the kitchen space empty yet loud at once. So I spoke again, more to keep the conversation going than anything. “My ex was a bitch, this is all for the better.”
And the brunette flushed, nodding, but chose not to speak. I admit that I admired her for it, her tact, her decision to hold back. Because this was the perfect opening to ask about my divorce, sate her curiosity on all the dirty details of the separation. But the teen had the good sense to mind her own business, not to go where the footing might be slippery, and it was the right thing to do. God, Mandy was so different from when I was her age, about ten times more mature and with a real, functioning brain, whereas I’d been a giant penis, my dick my only guide.
“So,” I rumbled. “What’s next?”
And Mandy bit her lip then. But the little girl didn’t play games, didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about.
“Well Mr. Parker,” she began slowly. “I’d like to see you again.”
I nodded. I had to see her again, had to get into that body asap. But there was no reason to lay out all the cards now. So I nodded sagely.
“How about tomorrow?” I ground out. Oh fuck, so much for being smooth, the man in charge. I was more like an adolescent boy, panting, no, begging for attention.
And the girl laughed throatily then.
“Sure Mr. Parker, would love to. Eight okay?” she murmured. I found her shyness adorable after what we’d just done in the bathroom, this girl had so many facets to her personality, so many amazing sides to be discovered. “I’ll come by and put Vi to sleep and then we can, we can …” her voice trailed off.
I grinned internally. So the girl wasn’t exactly the vixen she made herself out to be, she was still an eighteen year-old naïf, unable to say the words. But no worries, I’d teach her to say the dirty words, to say all the dirty words and love them, her mouth spewing filth only for my ears.
“That works,” I rumbled. “Another cup of tea?”
And the girl looked down at the empty mug.
“I drank all that?” she murmured quizzically. “I really do drink a lot of tea, but no thanks,” she said throwing me another dazzling smile. “It’s almost ten and I better get back, otherwise my parents are gonna call the cops.”
I grunted then. Trish and Jim absolutely should be calling the cops with what happened upstairs tonight, and the sexy things I planned on doing to their daughter tomorrow. But for now, there was a pause, a much-needed intermission until our next session. Because Mandy was smart, that much was obvious. The brunette had a good head on her shoulders and I wanted her to be ready for what was coming next, to have some time to think things through. Because once I started … there would be no going back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mandy
“Mom, Dad,” I called from the foyer, purse already slung over my shoulder. “I’m headed over to Mr. Parker’s place.”
My mom tottered over with an apron still on, patting her hands dry on the floral print. Oh Trish. She was cute, looking more like Mrs. Claus each year, and had insisted on spending the entire evening baking batch after batch of Christmas cookies. How in the world we were going to eat all those cookies, I had no idea, but it’d been fun helping her, icing dozens of reindeer, trees and candy canes, making idle chit chat as we worked.
“Again?” she asked plaintively. “I thought Pete Parker had a number of girls who sat for his daughter.”
I frowned slightly. What? That was the first I’d heard of a potential stable of women going by the Parker place. But I just shrugged on the outside, expression smooth.
“Maybe, but maybe they’re visiting their families for the holidays. It is December,” I said pointedly.
And my mom sighed again.
“You’re so nice honey,” she said. “Such a good heart, taking time from your vacation to help a single dad, and going over there last minute too. How is that little girl doing, by the way? Does Miss Violet miss her mom? Poor thing.”
And here I could tell the truth.
“I’m not sure,” I said, biting my lip, my concern evident. “I think she does, but Violet doesn’t say anything and I don’t ask. I just play with her a lot and cover her in hugs and kisses as much as possible.”
“Oh good,” said my mom, patting my arm. “I’m proud of you honey, taking care of a down-on-her-luck little girl like that, one with a missing mama. You have such a great maternal instinct, I hope you get it from me,” said my mom with a sweet smile. “Just like your mama,” she repeated again.
And I had to laugh then, even though the play on words wasn’t that funny. Because Trish was a good mom, no she was great, she’d given up her career as an executive secretary to stay home with us, and my brother and I had benefitted hugely from her presence, showering us with her love every minute of every day. My mom had baked countless birthday cakes, hand-sewn all sorts of Halloween costumes, and more than that, had been with us through the thick and thin, the daily tedium that makes up life. So I was grateful to Trish and only hoped I could be half as good when the time came.
“You’re an amazing mom, Mom,” I said, leaning in for a hug. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
And Trish was visibly tearing when I stepped back, blue eyes watery as she patted her nose.
“Oh you!” she exclaimed, waving a hand my way. “It’s just the holidays making me nostalgic, my baby girl is back in town again. I love you so much, Mandy. Now you better get on, that dear child is waiting.”
I gave Trish another quick hug again before getting into my car and pulling it onto the snowy street. But as I drove, the warm feeling of happiness, of utter belonging, melted a bit, turning into confusion. Because that was the thing. I did have a strong maternal instinct and it blasted to the fore when I was taking care of kids, whenever I was around Violet. On the one hand, I was pre-law at Evergreen, the pride and joy of my parents, slogging through rhetoric classes and all those things budding lawyers need to learn. But the thing is, it paled compared to when I was at home, feeling useful, doing things like helping my mom bake cookies and taking care of kids. Because what the hell was “rhetoric” anyways? Even though I’d just finished the class, for the life of me I still wasn’t sure. Instead, I’d regurgitated answers like a bird, spitting out whatever I thought the professor wanted to see on exams, with no deeper understanding of the world or what I was doing in school.
So I sighed again, shaking my head as my car pulled into the Parkers’ driveway. Crossed wires was a good metaphor to describe me, without a clear idea of where I was going or even what I wanted. Sure, on the outside I looked like a winner, graduating at the top of my class, Miss Wall Street all the way. But inside … I dunno. I felt like a mass of contradictions with no clear path, no clear meaning in life. So I sighed again, frustrated. Maybe this is what it meant to be a teen. I wanted direction, focus, but instead was fumbling, flailing wildly, trying to keep it together as I spiraled out of control internally.
But first things first. Straightening my shoulders, I mounted the steps to the mansion, and as if on cue, the double doors swung open, Mr. Parker with Violet in his arms.
“Mandy!” cried the child joyfully. “You’re here, you’re here!”
And I reached out to hug her, her little arms closing tight around my neck. For a moment, peace descended on me once more, standing here in a triumvirate with Pete and Violet. A sense of calm pervaded my being, it was like
I’d been swimming in rocky waters and suddenly the waves had stilled, leading to a smooth, soothing ride. A warm glow descended and it felt so right, so amazing, that I hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do next.
But Violet never fails to surprise.
“Mandy!” she cried again. “I have something for you!”
And Mr. Parker grinned at me, his handsome profile so close to mine, our heads bowed over our precious charge.
“Come on Vi,” he said, “Let’s go into the kitchen and you can show Mandy what you made her.”
I beamed at the big man deliriously before catching myself. What was wrong with me? I was positively soaring on Cloud Nine, acting like I was part of this family unit, spending quality time with Pete and his daughter. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I was just a babysitter for hire, someone paid with money. A beloved sitter, sure, but still. The job was temporary, I wasn’t here for the long haul or anything, there was still school and my fancy future career waiting.
So I forced myself back to reality, trailing Pete’s broad back into the kitchen, Violet giggling all the way. I really was losing it, I was letting my mind go wild, sinking into a comfortable goo. Oh shit, oh shit. I didn’t even want to think about what that meant, so I slogged on ahead.
Besides, the cookie that Violet had made me was so cute. The little blonde girl held it up to me, beaming with pride.
“For you, Man-man,” she babbled.
And I crouched down so I was eye level with the tot.
“Thank you,” I said, giving her a hug. “Can I eat it? What is it?”
And Violet giggled then.
“It’s you!” she said excitedly. “Can’t you tell? It’s Man-man and Vi-let!”
To be honest, no I couldn’t tell, not at all. The blob I held in my hands was just that, a blob. Although if I squinted and used my imagination, I suppose the brown blob on the left could be my eye, and the red blob on my right could be my nose maybe? Mouth? I wasn’t sure.
His Captive: A Revenge Marriage Romance Page 18
