by Odessa Rossi
Restraining myself from touching her when she was all but offering her body to me on a silver fucking platter should earn me some kind of medal of honor. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Round, perky tits. Perfect pink buds. Coke bottle curves. Silky smooth skin. Glassy blue eyes. A mouth begging to be fucked.
God, I’d give anything to feel that puffy pout around my cock.
Fuck. What the hell am I thinking?!
“Kim!” Ainsley stands at the top of the stairs, thin pajamas clinging to her still-damp skin. Her blonde hair sticks to her shoulders, wet and taunting me with the reminder that moments ago this sexy little thing stood naked in my bathroom and didn’t bat an eye.
I think she wants to fuck me.
Hell. I know she wants to fuck me.
“Hey, doll!” Kim skips up the stairs, slamming into Ainsley and wrapping her in a tight hug.
“I can’t believe you’re picking Colby over your best friend,” Ainsley says with a teasing pout.
Kim rolls her eyes, sticking one hand on her hip. “I’d much rather be here with you. Believe me. It’s his mom’s fiftieth birthday, and it’s this big thing, and I couldn’t miss it. But I’ll be home in the morning. You get me all to yourself from now on! At least, when I’m not working.”
Or with Colby.
She’s with Colby all the fucking time. He’s the first serious boyfriend Kim’s ever had. I think they’ve been together almost a year now, longer than any other relationship she’s had in her short, twenty years. I don’t know how serious he is about her, but I know they fuck like rabbits. I’ve found used condoms in the trash more times than I’d like to admit, but I can’t stop them. They’re grown adults. And she’s a Cavanaugh. We have a very high sex drive. Hell, it’s a miracle I’ve been able to restrain myself the past ten years. When my wife was alive, we were insatiable, addicted.
I imagine it’d be that way with Ainsley. One taste of her sweet little cherry pie and I’d be a goner. I’d never want another woman. Another woman would never satisfy me. I’d be unable to stop myself.
Unable to control myself.
Yet another reason I have to hold those desires back.
Ainsley glances at me from the top of the stairs, and I swear she gives me a knowing glance. Her lips are drawn up at the sides as she adjusts the spaghetti straps of her paper-thin tank top.
She needs to put more on. She can’t walk around the house in practically nothing. It isn’t right.
I’ll wait until Kim leaves, and then I’ll say something. One of us has to be responsible. One of us has to put a stop to the inevitable before it takes us down a dark and winding path.
“I’m going to grab my computer, and then I’ll be on my way,” Kim says, walking backward to her room. “You can use my tablet if you get bored tonight.”
“I don’t think I’ll be bored tonight,” Ainsley says, glancing my way and tossing me a wink when my daughter isn’t looking.
Kim wrinkles her nose and sticks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth. “You sure about that? It’s just you and my dad. And believe me, he’s boring as . . .”
“Kim.” I say her name with a stern cough, and she grins. “No offense, Dad, but you’re . . . you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Your dad promised we would have all sorts of fun tonight,” Ainsley says, grinning.
I did?
Fuck. What the hell is she doing now?
“I was actually going to get some work done,” I lie, though holing up in my office with the door locked sounds like a great way to put a little physical separation between us.
“You’re working? On a Friday night?” Ainsley lifts her arched brows as if she doesn’t believe me.
“Yeah,” I say, holding firm. Owning my own construction company has afforded me a flexible schedule over the years, which made it easier to raise Kim as a single dad. I’ve always tried not to work weekends, but I might have to make an exception . . . at least for tonight.
Kim wrinkles her nose at me, then disappears down the hall, returning a moment later with her laptop.
“See you guys tomorrow,” she says, hopping down the stairs with her computer pressed against her side.
“Bye, sweetie,” I call out, turning to head back to the kitchen to fix dinner for Ainsley.
The front door slams and Colby’s headlights reverse out of the driveway shortly after. That kid. He’s always sitting out in his car, waiting. He never comes in or says hello unless he has to. In my day, something like that would get a guy banned from seeing a man’s daughter.
Maybe he’s afraid of me.
Ha.
He should be.
I’ve got about six inches in height and forty-five pounds on that little shit.
“Mr. Cavanaugh?” Ainsley calls my name, standing at the top of the stairs. One hand rests on the bannister and the other on her hip. She’s quiet for a second, letting the silence and palpable tension linger between us. “I’m starving.”
She takes the stairs carefully, each step bringing her closer to me. Our eyes lock, and there’s a hardness in my throat that grows bigger with each dirty thought that infiltrates my mind.
Her tiny pink buds poke through her tank top, and in the quick seconds I allow myself to look, I realize she isn’t wearing a bra.
Holy shit.
My mouth is dry, and my cock swells, aching and hardening with each exhalation. My palms twitch, burning to touch her. Craving her soft skin under my hands. I imagine myself kissing her, the way a real man would kiss a beautiful woman like her.
At six foot four, I would tower over her, I could crush her . . . but I would also keep her safe. One taste of Ainsley, and I’d never let her go. I’d take care of her the rest of her life. She’d never want for anything, and all of her needs, emotional, physical or otherwise, would be met by me and only me.
My lips press flat, and I turn my back toward her. “Come on. I’ll fix you something in the kitchen.”
Keeping my hands preoccupied with things like bread and deli turkey and silverware and condiments, I focus on the here and now and forget the wild fantasy playing in the back of my mind.
I may be slicing the crust off this sandwich for her for old times’ sake, but in my head, I’ve cleared everything off this kitchen island, yanked her paper-thin cotton shorts down to her ankles, and forced my greedy fingers under the sheer fabric of her panties.
I want to feel her. I need to feel her warm and inviting wetness, her sweet, slickness soaking my fingers. I’d bring my fingers to my mouth and taste her, and then I’d make her taste herself. Ainsley needs to taste what I can do to her because then she’ll know the ultimate truth: that no one else will ever satisfy her the way I can.
“Mr. Cavanaugh?” she asks.
I glance up, my gaze landing on her perfect pink pout.
“Yes?”
“I said your name, like, a hundred times. You’re totally spaced out over there.” She giggles, bouncing just enough to make her tits almost pop out of her tank top.
“Here.” I place her sandwich on a plate and slide it across the island. I can’t move. I have to stay put. At least until my throbbing erection decides to calm the fuck down.
“Aw, you cut the crust off! You remembered,” she coos. “Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need anything else, all right? I’ll be in my office,” I say, forcing the swelling in my pants to subside at warp speed.
“Wait,” she says, her expression falling. “Can you sit with me? Let’s catch up. I haven’t seen you in two semesters. So much has changed, don’t you think?”
She’s tellin’ me.
Not wanting to disappoint her, I exhale, run my fingers through my salt-and-pepper hair, and follow her to the table. It blows my mind that she can just act like earlier didn’t happen when it’s occupying my every thought.
She doesn’t touch her sandwich. Resting her elbow on the tabletop, she gazes into my eye
s wearing a dreamy smile.
“So what’s new with you these days, Mr. Cavanaugh?” she asks. My answer couldn’t possibly entertain her, and I’m inclined to believe she’s making conversation simply for the sake of keeping me around as long as possible.
“Just working,” I say. “The usual.”
Rising from the table, I grab a PBR tall boy from the fridge. Hell, I’m going to need one tonight, I can feel it. Before I shut the fridge door, I grab one for her too. She’s not driving or going anywhere. She’s staying under my roof tonight. I’ll allow her to have a drink. I’m sure after a long day of airports and travelers, she’s dying to unwind just as much as I am.
“Really?” Her eyes widen as she watches me pull back the tab and place her can on the table. I slide it her way.
“I know you’re not twenty-one yet. Don’t tell your father,” I say.
Shit, don’t tell your father anything. If Mitch knew the thoughts I’d been having, he’d chop my dick off and feed it to his Rottweiler. Happily so.
Maybe this is beyond fucked up, but knowing she’s off limits kind of makes me want her that much more.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” Ainsley grins, lifting the lip of the metal can to her lip and taking two long drinks. Then a third.
“Slow down there, sweetheart.”
She giggles, taking another sip just to spite me. My palm heats with the realization that I want to spank her for defying me. This girl doesn’t listen. She never has. She’s a defiant little thing, and that only makes me want to tame the hell out of her. Make her mine. Domesticate her and own her sweet little pussy.
For a brief moment, a vision flashes in my mind. A woman barefoot in my kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove with one hand and her other cradling a swollen belly. She’s beautiful with flaxen blonde locks and a warm glow about her. When she turns to face me, I realize I’m not remembering my late wife.
The woman smiling back at me is Ainsley.
I shake my head, tossing back a swig of beer like it could erase that image from my head. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of filling Ains with my seed and watching her body swell with my child gets me all kinds of hot and bothered on a primal, animalistic level, but . . .
“So you don’t have any boyfriends back home?” I ask, the question surprising both of us.
Her smile fades. “No.”
“No?” I lift my brows. “I doubt that. You’re a very beautiful young woman. Surely you’ve met some nice boys at school?”
Ainsley’s face slumps as her gaze lands on the perspiring beer can in front of her.
“Boys hit on me left and right,” her tone suggests this isn’t necessarily something that pleases her. “No one wants to date me, though. None of them want to get to know me. They all want the same thing.”
“What’s that?” I play dumb, like I haven’t been a college-aged asshole before.
Her round blue eyes lift onto mine. “They just want to use me for sex, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
My mouth goes dry, and, without warning, I find myself picturing Ainsley on the bed of some douche bag frat boy, drunk and nearly passed out as he forces himself inside her.
If anyone so much as thought about taking advantage of this woman, I’d knock him on his ass in two seconds flat and send him running with his tail tucked.
“You’re a good girl, right?” I ask, not wanting to know the truth. With her insubordinate nature and rebellious history, I can only imagine.
“Actually I am.” Ains sits up straight, her entire demeanor shifting. “Believe it or not, Mr. Cavanaugh, I haven’t given it away yet.”
My cock bulges against my pants, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “Given what away?”
“You know.” She slinks one shoulder to her ear. “My v-card. My cherry. My virginity.”
Oh, god.
My balls tighten.
“That’s . . . that’s good,” I say. “You should hold onto it. Save it for someone special. Someone who loves you.”
“I am saving it for someone special,” she says, exhaling until her shoulders slump. She glances out the window behind me, toward the backyard where she used to run and play as a little girl. When her gaze snaps back to mine she shakes her head. “But I don’t think he likes me the way I like him.”
“How do you know that? Haven’t you tried to talk to him? Maybe you should tell him?”
This feels right . . . doling out relationship advice. There’s nothing naughty about this conversation. She’s heartbroken and in love with a young man and she needs my advice. Simple as that.
“I’ve never told him,” she says, tracing her nails against the wood grain of the table top. “I’m afraid of what he’d say. I’m afraid it would make things weird between us . . . assuming he doesn’t feel the same way.”
I clear my throat, an old nervous habit of mine, and toss back another drink. Beer’s almost empty, and shit, I don’t remember drinking most of it.
“You should tell him,” I say. “What do you have to lose? If he doesn’t feel the same way about you, then he’s a goddamned asshole who doesn’t deserve you.”
Ainsley’s soft cheeks glow warm, and she tucks her chin against her chest. “Telling someone how you feel when you’ve felt a certain way about them for, well, most of your life . . . do you even know how hard that is?”
“Okay, then. If you can’t tell him how you feel, then show him.”
“I’ve tried.” Ains slumps back in her chair, sulking almost, her full lower lip in a stiff pout. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“And what happened?”
“He didn’t return my advances, that’s for sure.” She blows a blonde curl from her eyes, her damp hair drying into sleek curls, and folds her arms across her chest, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Then try again. If you love him, if he’s worth all this pining you’re doing, then try again. Maybe you didn’t make it clear enough the first time. Or maybe he’s scared. You know, men get scared too. Loving isn’t always easy.”
Her glassy blue eyes lift to mine, and she releases a gentle, surrendered breath. “You think I should try to show him one more time?”
“Yeah. Why the hell not?”
Biting her lip, she rises, slowly, and steps toward me. A devilish smile curls across her lips.
“Shit, Ainsley, what are you doing?” Before I can rise, before I can stop the inevitable, her legs wrap around my hips and she crawls into my lap. With her arms around my shoulders, she licks her pillowed mouth and breathes me in. “Come on now . . .”
“Mr. Cavanaugh,” she says, her voice soft as clouds. The gentle graze of her fingertips against my scalp follows next. “This is me . . . showing you . . . how I feel . . . for the second time.”
It happens so fast. Her lips on mine, my hands gripping her hips just above her round ass, our tongues pressing. She bites my lip before tossing her head back, and I devour her soft flesh, breathing in her powdery scent and tasting her sweetness. Peppering kisses along her neck, I work my way to her ear, catching her smile as my five o’clock shadow grazes her sensitive skin.
With her hands in my hair and my fingers teasing at the waistband of her cotton shorts, I claim her mouth. My palms slide down her sides, circling her tiny waist, and I pull her closer, almost losing all control when I feel her grind her hips against my hardness.
“Mr. Cavanaugh . . .” she says, breathless.
I don’t answer; I continue to claim her mouth again and again. She belongs to me now, and I can never let her go. One taste, and I’m already addicted.
Ainsley presses her hands against my chest, peeling herself away. “Mr. Cavanaugh, I think Kim is back. I just saw headlights through the living room window.”
The front door swings open before slamming, and the sound of my daughter’s footsteps tromping up the stairs brings stunned silence to our kitchen table rendezvous.
Ainsley scrambles off my lap, taking her place at the chair beside me, panting and breathless and red-
faced. We don’t look directly at each other. But we don’t have to.
I think we can both agree that was fucking intense. My body’s on fire, my heart racing like I just finished the New York City marathon. I’ve never felt this way in my entire forty-five years.
“Hey, guys.” Kimmie pops her head around the corner a moment later. “Forgot my laptop charger.”
Chapter Four
Ainsley
It takes me a full week before I get to see Mr. Cavanaugh again.
The man works non-stop—rushing out the door at the crack of dawn to get to the construction site he manages. For the past couple days, he’s eaten dinner out and returned late, after Kimmie gets back from Colby’s.
But tonight was my triumph. A little pout, a plea for pizza, and some help from Kimmie, and it became Cavanaugh movie night.
But my victory’s short lived. Kimmie takes the loveseat. We take the couch behind her, just out of her line of vision.
The movie is a bad idea. And so is the blanket I’ve tucked over my skirt. Sure, it looks modest, but the blanket lets me cuddle against Mr. Cavanaugh.
And immediately, my every thought is consumed with the memory of our kiss. His lips. The brush of his hands. How absolutely perfect I fit into his lap. Not such a little girl anymore, but just right to hold him tight.
I can think of nothing but how much I want this man, but my best-friend lounges in the same room. If she only knew how close we came to making such a sexy mistake?
I have to behave.
Mr. Cavanaugh flicks the control on his iPhone, and the overhead lights dim before flicking completely off. Kimmie’s phone goes dark on her tummy, and soon it falls from her hand. She’s asleep. Never could make it through a Martin Scorsese movie.
Then again, my heartbeat crashes so fast against my chest I don’t think I’ll survive the first act without shattering into little pieces of lovelorn Ainsley.
I should move.
