by Odessa Rossi
Caught with My Best Friend’s Dad
Odessa Rossi
Contents
Copyright
Description
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Thank you!
About the Author
Copyright
COPYRIGHT 2016 ODESSA ROSSI
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher or author. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or received an advanced copy directly from the author, this book has been pirated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Description
When did Ainsley Miller grow up? And how did she stay so damn innocent?
Ainsley's my daughter's best friend-practically family to me. I've made her pancakes after slumber parties, chased away boys who got too close, and carpooled her to soccer practice.
But she's not such a little girl anymore. She's a young woman with red lips, dangerous curves, and short skirts that leave little to the imagination.
Now she's home for the summer, and she's staying under my roof. This sexy little thing should be off-limits, but when she tells me she's been saving herself just for me?
I have to make her mine, no matter the consequences.
Author’s Note
Hey, love!
Just a word of caution before you proceed …
This book is a myriad of wonderful things. It’s dirty. It’s romantic. It’s over-the-top sweet in some spots and ridiculously raunchy in others. It’s short enough to read in one sitting and long enough to incite your naughty bits many times over. This book WILL make you blush. And no, I’m not sorry because you’re going to love it. ;-)
X’s and Ohhhhhhs!
Odessa
Chapter One
Stone
“Mr. Cavanaugh, over here.” A curvy blonde bounces on her toes, waving a hand frantically in the air. Her t-shirt pulls up, just above the waistband of her cut off shorts, teasing me with a hint of her taut belly. “Mr. Cavanaugh!”
I see her.
God, do I see her.
But it doesn’t register immediately.
This isn’t . . .
This can’t be . . .
“Ainsley?” I slip the bartender a twenty and toss back what remains of my two fingers of Scotch before leaving the airport lounge.
Her smile grows wider the closer I get, and as soon as we’re within pouncing distance, Ainsley walks away from her carry on, lets her purse fall from her shoulder, and lunges at me.
“It’s so good to see you.” Her words muffle into my neck as her round breasts press against my chest. The scent of peaches and cream shampoo fills my lungs when I bury my face in her soft, golden hair. “It’s been for-ever. Where’s Kimberly? I thought she was coming with?”
My daughter’s childhood best friend peels herself off me, though my hands are still very much resting on her hips. She slinks away, grabbing the handle of her luggage and slipping her purse over her shoulder.
“Let me get that,” I offer, taking it from her. It feels heavier than it looks, and I’m beginning to think it’s stuffed full of beauty products and skimpy clothes because it’s clear as day Ainsley Miller isn’t a little girl anymore. With a full face of makeup and a woman’s curves, it’s safe to say she’s officially all grown up. “Kim got stuck at work, and then she’s got a thing with her boyfriend tonight. She wanted to be here, but . . .”
“It’s okay.” Ainsley slips her arm into mine. She always has been the touchy-feely type, doling out hugs like candy at a parade. Even when she’d come around with her little pencil dick boyfriends in the past, she was always sitting on their laps, throwing her arms around their necks, and nuzzling her face against theirs. She’s an affectionate little thing, and I should know. I’ve known her most of her life. Not only did she grow up with Kim, her father is one of my closest friends.
In a lot of ways, we’re family, though it’s hard to keep that in the forefront of my mind right now thanks to the pot-bellied middle-aged man giving me a thumbs up from ten feet away. His starry-eyed expression makes me think he’s living vicariously through me, imagining himself in my place with a pouty-lipped honey on his arms and bouncing DDs.
The asshole gives Ainsley a once-over, undressing her with his bulging eyes. My fist clenches, and I see red. I’d love nothing more than to sock him in his stupid face, but I won’t. For her sake. I don’t want to cause a scene, I just want to get her in the car, take her home, and spend some quality time together until Kim comes home.
Ainsley left for college last August, opting to attend California State, her father’s alma mater. Being three-thousand miles apart was hard on the girls at first, but they’ve adjusted. Kim’s always been more of a homebody, especially since her mother passed away ten years ago. I think she feels like she needs to stick around and take care of me, but I’ve been just fine on my own. Or at least I try to assure her of that.
Though I do miss a woman’s touch . . .
But I’ve always said I’d move on when the right woman came along.
Guess I just haven’t met her yet.
“Where’d you park, Mr. Cavanaugh?” Ainsley all but skips across the drop-off lane, pulling my arm and leading us between taxis and shuttle busses. There’s a fun, spritely spirit about her that I’ve always loved, and I can’t help but smile in her presence.
Kim was always the serious one growing up. She was the mother hen of their group of girlfriends. Ainsley was the fun one. Always up for anything. Always the first to get caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.
I’ll never forget the time I walked in on the kids skinny dipping in our pool one hot July night. There had to have been at least ten or twelve of them out there, and they were all hammered. The second they saw me come out, they all scrambled for their bikini bottoms and trunks and towels. Everyone but Ainsley. She locked eyes with me, walked slowly out of the water, and took her sweet time like a little cock tease who knew full well what she was doing.
I swear she put herself on full display just to fuck with me.
Only back then, she didn’t have much to display. The girl was flat as a board. Petite little thing. No curves. She always was a late bloomer, especially compared with the rest of her friends. Hell, when Ainsley graduated high school, she still looked like the youngest in their group. Part of me wondered if she would always stay that way. It seemed like she was always going to be a bit behind, at least physically.
Boy, was I wrong.
“We’re in parking lot C,” I tell her, glancing down at her baby pink nails as they dig into my arm. She’s clinging onto me like she needs me. Like she wants me. I haven’t had anyone this excited to see me in ages.
Ainsley yammers on about her flight. It was cold. The guy next to her was snoring for two straight hours. The in-flight snack was stale pretzels. She
’s starving. All she wants is a hot shower.
Her flaxen locks bounce on her shoulders as she walks, and her lips, slicked in a shade of fuck-me red, twist into a coy grin each time our eyes lock.
It isn’t until we reach my truck that I notice the thunder in my chest and the hint of hardness in my pants.
This can’t happen.
This is beyond inappropriate.
She’s Mitch’s daughter for crying out loud. He’d murder me just like I’d murder him if he ever so much as thought about fucking my Kimberly.
I unlock the truck and watch Ainsley climb in while I load her bag in the back. In a flash of a second, I find myself picturing what she’d look like if I unpeeled those tiny little shorts and ripped off that skimpy excuse for a tank top.
My mind fills to the brim with inappropriate musings.
Is she shaved? Does she wax? What does she taste like? Is she still a virgin?
Does she enjoy sucking cock?
What does she sound like when she’s being fucked?
Could I fit inside her?
I shake my head, scolding myself for my thoughts, and I picture her father, Mitch, his fist reared back, seconds from punching me clean across the mouth. That’s enough to suppress my desire, at least for the next five minutes.
Hopefully.
By the time I climb into the driver’s seat, Ainsley’s admiring her reflection in the passenger visor mirror. Her full lips are puckered, and she’s about to add another coat of lipstick.
“You don’t need that shit,” I tell her, starting the engine. My truck roars to life, the seat vibrating under us.
She giggles, gazing my way and swatting at my arm. “Oh, stop.”
“I mean it.” Shifting into reverse, I check my rearview, and then I check . . . her.
Fuck, she’s sexy.
So. Damn. Sexy.
It’s hard to look at her and comprehend that she’s the same Ainsley Miller who used to ride bikes with Kim. The same girl who used to show up with a suitcase full of Barbies and beg to stay not one night but two. It’s hard to believe she’s the same girl who played volleyball and soccer, the same girl who filed into a limo with my daughter and their dates for half a dozen formal dances.
I used to make the girls pancakes for breakfast. They’d stay up all night, giggling and braiding each other’s hair and playing Truth or Dare, and then they’d wake up at the crack of dawn, tiptoe downstairs, and beg me to make them chocolate chip pancakes with powdered sugar.
Glancing at Ainsley through my periphery, I catch her checking out her cleavage, tugging on her bra straps and pulling at her shirt. Her tits spill out of her top, as if it’s intentionally one size too small.
“Mr. Cavanaugh!” she cries, pointing straight ahead.
I glance up, spotting a red light ahead, and I slam on my breaks, crushing the brake pedal to the floor.
God damn it.
“That light came out of nowhere.” I clear my throat, shoving my bruised ego down where it belongs.
I need to pull myself together. I’ve got to keep my eyes on the road. I’ve got to think unsexy thoughts.
Baseball.
The leaky faucet in the downstairs bath.
The yard I need to mow.
Taxes.
“What are you and Kim going to do this summer?” I try to make small talk.
Ainsley slinks back in the seat, placing her palm on my shoulder briefly. “Don’t you mean what aren’t we going to do?”
“Psh. You girls better stay out of trouble,” I inject a fatherly tone into my words, and it feels like old times. Except it doesn’t. Because she’s not the girl she once was, and I’m very much aware of that.
“Where’s the fun in that?” she asks, twirling a blonde wave around her finger.
“I think you two gave me enough gray hair during the high school years.” I run my hand through my short strands then finger comb it all back into place. “You’re grown up now. You’ve got to be good girls. I’m not trying to go full George Clooney here.”
I come to a gentle stop at the next light, my body jerking when I feel her finger tips raking at my temples.
“I love it,” she says softly, adding a sigh. “George Clooney’s got nothing on you anyway.”
I tell myself she’s just being nice, and I don’t acknowledge her compliment because it doesn’t feel appropriate. It would be like me telling her she looked like that centerfold model in that magazine I got in the mail last week, the one I jerked off to this morning out of sheer coincidence.
Guess I have a type.
My phone rings over the speakers and Kimberly’s name flashes on the dash. Ainsley wastes no time, pressing the “answer” button for me.
“Kimmie!” she squeals. “Hey! I’m here with your dad. I miss you!”
“Ains!” Kim squeals back. “I can’t wait to see you! I have to go to this family dinner thing after work with Colby, but as soon as it’s over, I’m coming home. Don’t pass out before I get there, promise?”
“Promise.”
Ainsley ends the call as we turn the corner toward Cherry street, toward the house I raised my daughter in after her mother passed. It’s become more of a bachelor pad now than anything. Kim still lives there, but with work and school, we’re like two passing ships in the night most of the time.
I’d be lying if I said it never got lonely.
Time and time again, I think about how nice it’d be to settle down with a beautiful woman. Maybe at night we’d drink wine and make dinner together. On the weekends, we’d take day trips. I’d spoil her with nice things and she’d spoil me . . . in the bedroom. We’d make each other laugh, and neither of us would have eyes for anyone else. Ever again.
My late wife always said I had a possessive streak a mile wide, but she loved that about me. I never wanted to share her with anyone else. I never wanted to lose her.
Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard for me to move on.
“I always love coming back here,” Ainsley says with a wistful breath as we pull into the driveway. “It’s like coming home again.”
“What about your house, Ains?”
Her lips twist at the side. “I spent more time here than at my own house, don’t you think?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. True.”
I kill the engine and watch Ainsley slide out of the passenger seat, her breasts bouncing when she lands. Her shirt has ridden up, revealing her belly again, and our eyes catch for a sliver of a moment as she pulls at the hem.
“You hungry?” I ask, grabbing her bag from the back. “It’s going to be a while before Kim gets home. I can make you something if you want?”
Sauntering around the truck, she comes to my side, glancing up at me through long, curled lashes. A single endless second passes before she slips her arms around my waist and pushes her body against mine.
“You always take such good care of me, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she says, pressing harder on me. When her hips graze mine, her body separated from my pulsing cock by thin fabric, I clear my throat and take a step away.
Distance.
We need careful distance or this is going to get all kinds of fucked up.
“Come on in, Ains,” I say, grabbing her bag and wheeling it toward the front door. I listen to the trot of her footsteps behind me, counting down the hours until my daughter gets home because, clearly, I need some kind of deterrent.
I’ve never considered myself to be a weak man in any sense of the word, but right now, it’s taking every bit of willpower in my body to keep my damn hands off this beautiful girl.
With my back toward Ainsley, my cock throbs. The image of her naked, sprawled across my king-sized bed with her legs spread and her full tits in her hands invades my mind.
Something tells me this is going to be a long, hard summer.
Chapter Two
Ainsley
Mr. Cavanaugh shows me to the guest room.
He’s so silly. I’ve been in his house a million times
before. Kimmie and I used to have sleepovers and parties and study sessions here all the time. Even the framed family photo hanging over the fireplace includes my cameo.
Still, Mr. Cavanaugh is a gentleman and my bags are heavy. He leads me to the door and smiles.
Is it my imagination, or do his eyes linger on mine for a heartbeat too long?
…Maybe two heartbeats.
It’s not hard to get swept away in his gaze. His eyes aren’t the blue of ice and water, but something warm. Hot even, the sapphire from the heart of a flickering flame. It’s a sincere look, honest and protective. Not like the gobbling gazes of the boys at college.
That must be why it tickles me in such a good way.
“After you, Ains.”
“You know I only let you and Kimmie call me Ains now, right?”
He laughs a caramel rumble guaranteed to make me sticky all over. “So, it’s a privilege then?”
“Well, you’ve known me for so long. It’d be weird to switch.” I can’t help but squirm. “Besides, I like it when you call me Ains.”
“Why?”
Because it drags over his tongue, leisurely and slow, like he’s tasting the word and all the sweetness that comes with it. “It’s comforting. Feels like home.”
“Well, welcome back, Ains.”
His voice drips with sensuality. Or maybe that’s just me. But Mr. Cavanaugh doesn’t notice how I twist under his gaze. I even give a little tug of my shirt, hoping it peeks down a hint more to reveal just how much little Ains has grown since the last time I was home.
Is it wrong to hope he looks?
It’s probably worse to hope that he wants to look.
So why is the temptation so fun?
Probably because I know he’s the one fantasy that will forever stay locked tight away in my mind. Mr. Cavanaugh isn’t just my best friend’s dad, he’s practically family. Hell, he was the one who texted to make sure I got on the plane, checked on me during the layover, and picked me up from the airport. I couldn’t even get my own dad to text me back. Business never sleeps, Ainsley. That’s his favorite excuse. Gotta work hard to provide for the family.
