by Cara Dee
I chuckle at how incredibly adorable she is, and then the decision’s been made. “Come on, little Gem.” I grunt under my breath as I scoop her up in my arms. She’s surprisingly light, but I’m not twenty anymore. It doesn’t matter that I exercise regularly—carrying someone up two flights of stairs isn’t the easiest.
“You’re carryin’ me.” She yawns, half asleep, with her head resting in the crook of my neck. “Mmmph…”
“How perceptive of you,” I tease. Even in this state, she manages to give my chest a playful swat. “Such a violent little girl.” This is when I reach her room, and with a slight shove, I push open her door. And I sigh…because her room is an utter mess. “What do you have against cleanliness?” There are clothes all over the floor, and I frown deeply when I see her cello next to the bed. It’s not in its case; it’s just lying there on the floor.
“Cleaning is boring,” she mumbles as I lower her onto her bed.
“Doesn’t matter.” I pull the covers over her. Since she’s only in a tank top and a pair of cotton shorts, I figure she can sleep in that. “You’re taking care of this mess tomorrow.”
She stretches and rolls over onto her side. “On one condition.”
“You’re hardly in a position to bargain with me.” I chuckle and sit down on the edge of her bed. She seems more awake now, and though her eyes are still closed, there’s a smile playing on her lips and her words come out clear of sleep.
“It’s something small, I promise.” She cracks her eyes open and pouts.
Fuck, I think I miss her. I don’t want to leave her room yet. Keeping to my own hasn’t worked worth a damn.
“All right.” I humor her. “Out with it.”
She regards me silently for a beat. “Don’t avoid me anymore.”
I sober immediately, all traces of humor gone, and something twists inside of me at her expression. I’ve hurt her. I’ve treated her like she’s been treated by other family members.
“Please?”
“I promise.” I swallow and grab her hand on top of the covers. “I apologize, Gemma. I won’t ignore you.”
She nods and offers a small smile. “Thank you.”
That’s not right. She shouldn’t have to thank anyone for not avoiding her.
“Don’t thank me,” I say, shaking my head at myself. I feel like a complete ass, and she’s done nothing to deserve my treatment. “Let me make it up to you instead.”
Her eyes light up. “How?”
Hmm. “I’ll think of something.” I smile and squeeze her hand. “Forgive me?”
“Pshh. Water under the bridge.”
No. Not really, but I’ll fix this. “Get some sleep, little Gem. Breakfast at nine?”
“I’ll be there.”
*
I wake up in the middle of the night, both thirsty and in need of the bathroom. Without flicking on the light, I make my way to my ensuite bath, and after a quick visit, I stumble back, rubbing my eyes from sleep as I go.
“Fuck.” I stop short. Had it not been for the moonlight filtering through the blinds, I wouldn’t have spotted the sleeping girl on the couch by the wall-sized window. Alas…
Good thing I don’t sleep naked.
Before I wake her, I head to my dresser and pick out a pair of pajama bottoms to go over my boxers.
She’s facing the back of the couch, only a blanket covering her, and she’s in a fetal position. It makes her look vulnerable, and I walk over to her, confused and worried.
“Gemma?” My voice is full of sleep, and a yawn slips out. “Wake up, sweetheart.”
“Y’gotta quit wakin’ me up,” she mutters sleepily.
I chuckle drowsily. “I won’t apologize for wondering what you’re doing in my bedroom.”
“Oh,” she mumbles and stretches out her body.
The blanket shifts down in her movements, revealing a sliver of skin between her tank top and shorts—Nope, those aren’t her shorts. Only panties. Jesus. I drag a hand over my face, willing myself to look away, but it’s damn hard. Her stomach is toned yet soft, and I fight the urge to touch her.
“Sorry,” she yawns, “I had a nightmare, and…” Grabbing my arm, she pulls herself up into a sitting position. Then I’m suddenly watching her cleavage. Okay, this has got to stop. It’s not like I haven’t seen her in that tank top before. Only…she’s worn a bra before. That’s gone now.
Wait. Nightmare?
“Nightmare?” I ask, concerned.
She smiles sheepishly. “Let’s just say I shouldn’t have watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre before bed.” Relieved that it’s nothing worse, I chuckle a little. “That’s some scary shit.” She shudders. “Anyway, when I was convinced that I heard a chainsaw running, I came up here. Hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s okay.” I smile in amusement. “But you could’ve woken me up, you know. This couch is hardly made for sleeping on.”
She shrugs. “It’s all right. I’d rather sleep on this than get chopped up.”
Good God, this girl. “No one’s getting chopped up, dear.” I laugh and stand up. “Come on.” I extend my hand to her. “The bed is big enough for the both of us.” Fucking hell, what did I just say?
I swallow hard. The words are out there now. Can’t very well take them back.
I did just screw myself over horribly, though. That’s for sure.
“You have chest hair,” Gemma observes. “Who knew?”
I stare at her blankly, possibly too tired to be surprised at her little observation. “I don’t know how to respond to that.” I shake my head and walk over to my side of the bed.
“Just sayin’.” She shrugs and sits down on my bed. My bed. She’s in my bed. “I like it.”
“Okay, I think that’s enough out of you, missy.” I get settled under the covers and try to ignore her…noises. The sounds slither through me, aiming straight for my cock.
She moans and hums. “Fuck, this is one comfy bed, Mr. G.”
I sigh. “Language.”
Her giggle does not help the matter. “Fuck, fuck, shit, goddammit, fuck.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to…give her a fucking spanking.
A shiver runs through me, and I clench my jaw as less than gentlemanly thoughts assault me. At a raging speed, my mind conjures images of what I desire. Images of me…of her…flashing through me. Things I’d do…things she would do. Backward, sideways, bent over, moaning, whimpering, begging…
Fuck me.
“Goodnight, Mr. G,” she yawns.
“Goodnight,” I mutter through clenched teeth, and I’m so fucking hard.
Chapter 5
Waking up the next morning, I realize it doesn’t matter how big the bed is. We’ve ended up in the middle, and she’s curled herself up against me. In return, I have both arms around her, and my face is buried in her hair.
Touch her. This might be your only chance.
I’ve lost my mind.
I breathe in deeply, letting my senses get invaded by her. Having her this close feels better than I could ever imagine. Her faint, sweet scent almost coaxes a moan out of me, though I manage to keep it bottled up.
I need more.
She stirs in her sleep, one of her hands sliding up my chest, and I bite back a growl. Why is she doing this to me? Crossing another line, I touch her hip, my thumb brushing over the soft skin. Her top has ridden up to expose most of her stomach. My cock jerks against her upper thigh, at which she hums in her sleep and snuggles impossibly closer.
I have about a second or two before I do something incredibly reckless—that I won’t be able to take back—so I carefully detangle myself from her, and then I head straight for the shower.
*
With the hot water cascading down my body, I place my arm against the tiles, my forehead resting on my forearm, and my free hand goes to my cock. Slick with body wash and water, I stroke it slowly to the fantasies I can’t suppress any longer.
I groan under my breath. In my mind, Gemma is on her knees before me, watching me as I stroke myself. She wants it, and I want her to beg for it.
“What do you want, baby girl?”
She whimpers. “Your cock, Daddy. Please. I want it in my mouth.”
I swipe my thumb over the head, imagining her taking that same thumb in her mouth to taste me. I’d chuckle and call her a greedy little girl, at which she would plead for more.
“You want Daddy’s cock?” I ask quietly, in a rough voice laced with want. “Does my girl deserve it, though?”
“Please!” she begs. “I’ll be a good girl, I promise.”
I smile and caress her cheek. Then I tap her jaw with one finger. “All right. Open for Daddy.” She obeys right away, opening her mouth, and I suck in a breath as my cock slips past her soft lips.
Like a naughty little girl, she suckles the tip of my erection.
“Mmm, so eager,” I moan. “You want my come, don’t you?”
She nods and looks up at me with those big eyes of hers. Fuck, she looks good with my cock in her mouth.
“Suck me hard and you’ll get all of it.”
My orgasm takes me by surprise. There’s no warning, no tingling in my spine, no tensing, I just explode. I squeeze my eyes shut and pump my cock roughly, milking it till the last drop. And by the time I open my eyes again, I catch one stream sliding down the wall and into the drain.
The satisfaction is there, albeit briefly.
Panting and catching my breath, I…I still want more.
Would it be so terrible if I only pretend for myself? She doesn’t have to know how I view her.
*
At eight fifty-nine, I watch a barely awake Gemma enter the kitchen.
She’s not late.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
She smiles tiredly in return and takes a seat at the kitchen table.
“No more nightmares, I hope?” I inquire as I pour my coffee. Next to my mug, I already have her orange juice prepared.
“No, you scared the chainsaws away.” She rubs the sleep out of her eyes. “Anything I can help with?”
“No, all done.” I walk over with our beverages then return to the counter where I’ve plated our breakfast. Toast, scrambled eggs, and a few strips of bacon. “Any plans today?” I take my seat and look out the window. The snow is falling as heavily as yesterday, so a trip into town will have to wait.
She seems to come to the same conclusion. “Looks like I’ll have to buy a new laptop another day.”
“Is there something wrong with yours?”
She nods and picks up a piece of bacon. “Won’t start. I had to use yours.”
That explains that. Goddamn computers have failed me.
She sighs heavily, practically pouting. “I guess I’ll clean my room.”
I laugh through my nose. “You poor baby.” My poor baby.
“You have no idea.” She tosses me a cute little scowl. “What about you?”
I take a sip of my coffee before answering. “Nothing much. Maybe I’ll watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” I give her smirk, and she flushes bright red, averting her eyes, too. “You had that coming, little Gem.”
“It’s a really scary movie.” Her glare is weak. “I swear I’m a glutton for punishment. I can’t stop watching horror movies, even though I always end up with nightmares.”
I chuckle. “Have you seen Amityville?”
“No, not yet. I saw it in your cabinet.” She grins. “Wanna watch it with me?”
“Sure,” I say as casually as I can. In my head, I conjure plans to keep her in my bed for many nights to come, until I remember her saying that it’s only when she watches horror movies right before bed that she gets scared. So, I guess that’s out…unless I ask her to watch it with me after it gets dark. Jesus. What am I doing?
“So, after I’ve cleaned my room?”
I manage a polite smile. “Sounds good.”
We eat in silence for a while—thankfully, an easy silence—and I do my best to get my head out of my ass. In truth, the bizarre thought of tricking her into watching scary films in order to get her into my bed makes me feel awful. What I want most of all is for her to feel relaxed enough to be able to count on me. I didn’t take it lightly when I asked her if I could make up for avoiding her. Now I need to come up with something she will like.
I want to get to know her better.
“Hey, before I clean my room, can I borrow your laptop for a while?”
I look at her over the rim of my mug, taking a slow sip from it as a million thoughts rush through my head. The cache has been emptied, so it’s not like she can find any of the sites I frequently visit. Which means there’s no harm. And…I must say I’m curious about what she will do on it. Then I give myself an internal eye-roll. She most likely wants to check her email or something equally innocent. I’m really being paranoid.
Or is it wishful thinking?
I tell myself it’s not.
“Of course,” I say, clearing my throat. “Take your time.”
*
For the next couple of hours, I clear the driveway of snow so we can eventually get out of here. I make a call to the local company that clears the private roads as well, and they tell me they’ll be here tomorrow.
By the time I reenter the house, I’ve gotten a good workout. I’m shivering from the cold as I remove my jacket and shoes.
“Mr. G!” I hear Gemma call from upstairs. “Is that you?”
“No, it’s the reaper!” I call back.
“You’re so funny,” she laughs sarcastically. “I’m done with my room. Wanna check?”
Oh, but how I adore that she asks questions like those. It gives me a warm feeling in my chest when she wants my approval.
Leaving the hallway, I walk through the downstairs before reaching the living room and the stairs. I take two steps at a time, soon ending up outside her room. The door is open, revealing a clean space and a smiling Gemma. She’s proud again, and I can’t help but smile at her.
“Such a good girl.” This time, my words are deliberate. I’m only pretending for myself. She won’t know. She won’t know that I’m playing with fire.
Gemma’s smile widens, and her cheeks turn a lovely pink color. “Thank you, mister.”
I narrow my eyes briefly. More wishful thinking on my part? Or did that sound like a title she used with a deeper significance?
Definitely wishful thinking.
I sigh internally.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” I say. “Then we’ll watch the movie?”
“Okay.” She nods quickly. “Um…” She looks up at me, smiling rather shyly—another thing my cock seems to appreciate. “I can fix us some hot chocolate if you want?”
Something’s changing with her. She’s more polite—definitely sweet.
“That’s kind of you. I’ll be down in a bit.”
*
When I return to the living room half an hour later, I feel better—more in control. I’ve showered, masturbated, dressed for comfort in sweat pants and a tee, checked my laptop after Gemma’s used it—the cache has been emptied again, much to my intrigue—and I’ve reviewed the weather report.
“You’re back!” Gemma jumps off the couch. My eyebrows lift in surprise. She seems so…happy. “Just a second.” She holds up a finger and runs toward the kitchen. “I put one of the pies we bought in the oven,” she calls, already out of the living room. “It should be done any minute!”
In a slight daze, I make my way to the couch, her words going on repeat in my mind. And her exuberance.
I can only bask in the warmth. As I take in my surroundings, I notice that Gemma’s kept herself busy while I was in the shower. The movie is ready, the mentioned hot chocolates are set on the coffee table—on coasters, I might add—and a couple of candles have been lit. Sweet Jesus, what is this?
“Here we go,” she sings. Two plates with what looks like apple pie and whipped cream are set
on the table, quickly followed by two forks that she pulls out of the pocket of her pajama shorts. “I couldn’t carry all of it in my hands.” She grins sheepishly and sits down next to me. Very closely, too. This is going to be hard. Certainly no pun intended. “In the store, you said you preferred whipped cream over ice cream, right?”
I nod dumbly and take a seat.
“Great.” She smiles. “Should I push play?”
That’s when I finally gather my wits. “Gemma…” I shake my head, chuckling a little. “What is all this?” I wave a hand at the pie, the chocolate with marshmallows in it, the lit candles…
She offers a small shrug before getting comfortable against the cushions.
Again, she looks shy. “I wanted to do something nice. You’ve been so sweet, you know…letting me stay here and stuff.”
Oh.
I smile softly and drop a kiss on the top of her head.
Friendly enough, yes?
“My pleasure.” And how true that is.
She snuggles closer.
While I’m sure she’s in my embrace for the comfort I may bring as an older family member, that’s definitely not how I see it. To make things worse—or better, depending on how you look at it—she draws a blanket over us and rests her head on my chest.
Aside from the obvious desire I have for her, I care for her deeply, and I hope this is a good start for us. In the end, I want her to open up to me and let me into her life.
“Ready to push play, sweetheart?” I murmur.
“I’m ready.”
*
“Are you sure you don’t want me to turn off the movie?”
She merely shakes her head furiously. By now, an hour in, she’s practically sitting on my lap, yet she refuses to look away from the TV. Since we’re so close, I can almost feel her heart pounding. With each scary sequence on the screen, I hear her gasps, too.
She’s a sight to behold, and had I not been paying attention to the movie, I would’ve been thoroughly amused by how endearing she is. I probably would’ve been hard as a rock, too; alas, the movie really is a good one. That doesn’t mean I’m not able to appreciate her close proximity, though, because I certainly am.
“Jesus fuck, they need to get out of that house,” she breathes out.
