by Odessa Rossi
I don’t, but I should.
I need to get up and scooch away from his thick arms and deliciously spicy scent. Even with the movie on, I stare only at the strong line of his jaw, the arch of his proud eyebrows, the brightness of his eyes. His hair might be greying and a few creases may have appeared around his mouth where he smiles for me, but Mr. Cavanaugh is more handsome than any man I know.
Does he realize it? Does he know how I’m twisting for him, squirming against the couch to get closer and farther from him? My skin flushes. I practically pant for air.
And all it takes is one brush of his arm around my shoulders before I’m lost. He pulls me against him—quiet and subtle to not wake Kimmie. An unbearable agony surges through me, throbbing me in places that have never throbbed so much before.
His finger brushes my arm. The swipe catches my breath, and every press twitches deep inside me. My core heats up.
I’m wet from a touch! Wetter than I’ve ever been for any boyfriend—not that I ever let them close enough to see or touch.
Mr. Cavanaugh is so different from those boys. It’s like my body knows to ready myself for him. I’m supposed to relax. Let myself go limp. Tease my little pussy in case—if only—this strong, amazing, gorgeous man decides to take me for his own.
My head doesn’t get a say. I know it’s wrong to think these things and even worse to feel so small and wanted, vulnerable and desired, but the pulsing deep inside my untouched core tells me this is okay.
This is what’s meant to happen when a man holds a woman. When he takes her. When he makes her his.
I tuck against him quiet as a mouse waiting for the leopard to pounce. With one solid, strong hand, he holds me.
The other?
He tucks that hand secret under the blanket. His fingers rap a gentle beat against my knee, occasionally dipping to squeeze just where I’m ticklish. I jump, but I don’t push him away. I don’t giggle either. The sound lodges in my throat.
How doesn’t my gasped breath wake Kimmie?
He leaves his hand on my knee, just at the hem of my skirt. One minute passes. Two.
Three?
How can he stand it? My skin burns under his hand, and the never-ending goose bumps march along my skin. Any other of my boyfriends would already have pressed their luck and been rejected. But Mr. Cavanaugh?
He waits.
Watches.
Listens to my breath.
And just as I twist against the couch, his hand moves.
A tickle, that’s all it is. The gentlest, most innocent of touches. Above my knee. Somehow it feels more inappropriate than our kiss. A man isn’t supposed to touch a little girl there…not unless he expects more from her than a wide-eyed glance.
I stare at him, but only the crook of his smile answers my questions.
With a tender touch, his hand grazes upwards. Along my thigh. Teasing the swell. I bite my lip, and the words tremble out.
“Mr. Cavanaugh?”
“Watch the movie, Ains,” he orders in a murmur. “Eyes on the TV.”
Eyes on the TV? His fingertips stop just shy of my panties. I whimper a coo. His quiet shush shivers through me.
His whisper paralyzes me in lust. “Don’t disturb Kimmie.”
Oh, God.
Kimmie. She’s still sleeping. Please don’t wake up! She can’t know what her father is doing to me, where he’s touching me, how he’s making me feel.
Her dad’s fingertips press the thin cotton of my panties. He has to feel the heat. My trembling. That wetness.
I swallow hard and do as he says. It’s too easy to obey his every wish while tucked against him—safe and warm—with his hands caressing the inside of my thighs. Is it because I want him to do more…or is it because this is what feels right with Mr. Cavanaugh?
An older, more experienced man would know how to control the girl cradled at his side. I surrender to his touches and let him do as he likes. I trust him. He won’t hurt me. In fact…I hope he ends this terrible wanting from between my legs.
His hand moves in, pushing my thighs apart. Inch by inch. Another order? No. Just a question. Letting me decide.
Do I want this?
Yes. More than anything. More than breathing. More than my heart beating. If he doesn’t touch me down there—where my body aches and trembles—I’ll melt through the couch.
I grip his hand under the blanket just before his finger grazes the cotton of my panties. Not to stop him. I have to touch him. I don’t think I can survive this moment if he doesn’t let me hold onto his strength. The last thing I want to do is flutter away.
And yet, his first touch nearly launches me from the couch. I buck, but his strong arm wraps me up tight. Pressing me against him. Holding me against him.
I fall against his chest in a pool of shudders. He likes that. I like that.
My pussy gets so wet for him. He must feel the folds and petals within my little kitty—my slickness makes the panties stick to my skin. Bare. Just for him. Just because I thought he’d like it. Because it felt feminine and soft in the shower when I pressed my own hand against the slickness and imagined this moment.
Mr. Cavanaugh takes his time. Why hurry? I twitch against his exploring fingers as they rub perfectly concentric circles over the most sensitive part of me. My breathing puffs, but I don’t pull away. Not when it feels this good.
And this naughty.
My panties dull the sensation, and I hate it. I want nothing more than to feel his skin against mine, but Kimmie shifts on the couch. The shame flushes through me—hot and fierce.
I can’t be doing this in the same room as my best friend. It’s her dad! If she caught us…if she only knew how her perfect father was touching her closest friend?
The panties pull aside. I bite hard on my lip as the first prod of his fingers is meant only to test how slick I’ve become.
Shamefully slick.
My little pussy embarrasses me—so creamy and hot from only a few touches. What will Mr. Cavanaugh think? I can’t believe I’ve let myself get so worked up from just a stroke of his fingers. I’m not that kind of girl. I just want him so much. And who wouldn’t? The way he touches me, how confident his stroke is as he curls his finger within my folds and tests that undeniable wetness, nearly drives me to the edge.
Then he pulls away.
I knew he would. The world crumbles around me. A dozen insecurities bombard my mind. Maybe I want him too much. I’m too insatiable. I’m too young. I’m too little. He thinks this is wrong.
Maybe he thinks I’m wrong for him?
But he merely smiles. He raises his finger to his lips.
I gasp as he tastes the wetness.
“Sweet.” Did he actually whisper it, or did the word rumble through me? He lowers his hand again, taking another creamy sample from my aching heat. He presses his finger to my mouth. “See?”
I lick. Slowly. More timid than sensual, but he likes the feel of my warm tongue against his finger. Is he imagining my mouth gently caressing his cock? The thought only twists me more. I wonder if he would taste as sweet? Could I make him as juicy if I pump his cock and wrap my lips around his thick shaft until he gives me all of his sweet cream?
His cum.
The word shivers through me in excitement. Mr. Cavanaugh’s smile mirrors mine. His attention isn’t on the movie anymore. The blankets rustle, soft and superheated on my skin. His hand returns, and he cups my kitty in his hand.
My head lulls onto the couch as he flicks over my clit. The sensation rocks me. I breathe, uneven, but he leans close with a low voice.
“No talking during the movie…” It’s a stern voice. A daddy’s voice. I do as I’m told and bite my lip. He brushes the hair back behind my ear. “No whimpering. No moaning. No gasping. Be a good little girl and stay quiet for me.”
Anything for him.
His finger pokes a little lower. I say nothing as the tip prods through my folds, pressing into the tiny entrance that no one has ever touched before. I tense
and hold my breath. His finger slips inside.
And gets stuck.
My eyes widen.
So do his.
He stares at me, just feeling how a virgin pussy can so tightly clench over his fingers. And just like that, he leans in close, twisting to stare into my eyes as he pushes a little too hard against the tightness.
He makes me gasp.
I only wish I had something bigger than his finger.
He kisses me, fiercely, stealing my breath and silencing my cry as he slowly drags his finger from my core. It’s slick with my desire, but he doesn’t taste it. Instead, he rubs against me again, massaging my clit as if the only mission in his life is to make me orgasm as quickly and wildly as possible.
Gripping the blanket does nothing. I can’t think. I can’t move. I do the only thing that makes sense.
I cuddle into his chest. My eyes close, and I bury my head against Mr. Cavanaugh’s hard shoulder. His arm tightens over me. Protective, even if it does pin me in place. Even if I can’t get away from his flicking fingers and deliberate rubbing of my sensitive pussy.
I shake once. Twice.
Then my entire body convulses in a pleasure so sharp, so consuming that I couldn’t have cried out even if I wanted to. I come and come and come, each clenching shudder wishing for more than his finger over my petals.
I want him. All of him. I’ve never wanted to be taken so badly before. My body melts and shivers, flushes and chills. It needs a man.
No. Not just any man.
Him.
Mr. Cavanaugh.
The only man I’ve ever craved, and the only one I’ll trust to take me, to claim me, to own my virginity. He could give me all the pleasures I’ve imagined, and no doubt he could show me more.
Kimmie shifts in her chair. I freeze, but Mr. Cavanaugh pulls me from the couch.
For a moment, I think—I hope—that he’s taking me upstairs, to his big bed in his quiet bedroom where he’ll lay me back and take me with that raw, animalistic fury I see pumping through him.
Instead he leads me to the kitchen. I hold my breath as he lifts me up, sitting me against the counter. His hand brushes my cheek, and he offers me a glass of water. I hold it in two shaking hands, taking a sip like the girl who so often swung her feet over the counter and told him knock-knock jokes.
And I feel little. Tiny and vulnerable, but sexy and so very ready to become a woman. His face etches a fierceness I hardly recognize. I’d be frightened, but it’s me who made his eyebrows furrow, his lips thin, and his blood pump so quick and hot. I glance down. He wears jeans, but they’ve tightened over the massive secret he keeps tucked away.
Could that really fit inside me?
I have to find out.
I lower the water. His voice is harsh and wanting.
“You’re a virgin.”
He says it like a source of conquest and pride. I nod my head. Once. Did he like it…or was he disappointed?
“I told you. I haven’t met the right boy.”
“No.” His words are stern and yet so gentle. “You haven’t met the right man.”
“I’ve been waiting.”
“That’s a good girl. You deserve more than some little punk stealing such a perfect gift. You deserve a man. Someone who can show you what you need. Make you feel as beautiful as you are.”
And the tension drains from me. I nearly cast my arms over his shoulders, but I’m afraid of Kimmie hearing. I can’t have her walk in as her dad confesses the only words I’ve ever wanted him to say.
“I’ll be the one who takes your virginity.” He holds my chin, ensuring I stare into his eyes. Not chastising, but strict and comforting. “I’m going to fuck you, Ains. Your innocence? That cherry? It belongs to me now.”
I nearly gasp. “It always has.”
“I’ll make you mine, Ainsley, and for more than one night. I’ll take that kitty, lose myself in your perfect wetness, and you will come for me again and again while I make sure you know where you belong. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
His jaw tightens. Desire only makes him more attractive. More dangerous. More of the only man I’ve ever dreamed about taking me.
“I’ve had no one in my bed for ten years, Ains,” he says, softly. “I don’t make commitments lightly. If we do this—you’re mine. For now, forever. You’ll belong to me, and I’ll spend every waking minute proving to the world that you’re my baby girl.”
“Yes.” My words trembled. “I want that too. Please, let me be yours?”
His lips nibbled mine, but the promises he made stirred me more.
“There’s one condition.”
“Anything.”
“I don’t do flings. This isn’t just for fun. If you agree to be mine, we’re going all the way.”
My world swirls—hot and crazed. He speaks so sincerely, so desperately. Who wouldn’t agree?
He stares at me, brushing his hand against my cheek. “By the end of this summer, I’m going to put a baby in your virgin tummy.”
My mouth dries, but the rest of me falls away into a shadow of pure and unadulterated desire. I know he’s right. The only way we can truly belong together is if he claims me in the most primal and romantic way a man can take his woman.
I offer him a teasing, sensual smile.
“Do you promise, Mr. Cavanaugh?”
Chapter Five
Stone
“Why’s everyone so quiet?” Kimmie crunches her cold cereal on a lazy Sunday morning, letting her spoon clink against the bowl with each scoop.
I lower my newspaper and meet Ainsley’s gaze. She gives me a wink before rising to take her dish to the sink.
“Did I do something?” Kimmie asks. “Is this about not being around Friday night? Wait, is this because I fell asleep during that lame movie last night?”
“Kim, don’t be ridiculous.” Ainsley takes her seat again. “It’s early. I’m not a morning person. Your dad isn’t either, if I recall.”
My daughter exhales, lifting the bowl to her lips and finishing the sugared milk at the bottom.
“Anyway,” Kim says. “What are we doing today?”
Ainsley shrugs. “Whatever you want to do.”
“Maybe you girls should get out of the house for a bit? Go to a movie or something?” I propose.
Ains shoots me a look like she doesn’t want to leave and loathes the fact that I want them both out of the house today.
“Yeah, we should,” Kim agrees, turning to Ainsley. “That new movie you said you wanted to see is out now, and I promise I won’t fall asleep. It’s supposed to be good. And maybe after we can hit the mall? Oh! I want you to meet Colby too. I’ve told him so much about you, but he needs to meet you to get the full effect.”
I rise, carrying my mug to the coffeemaker. Lifting an eyebrow, I say, “Sounds like you two will have quite the busy day today. That’s good. I could use some peace and quiet around here. Starting to feel like old times.”
Ainsley gets up, making her way across the kitchen and batting at my arm. “Don’t act like you didn’t miss this, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
My arm tenses where she touched it. Last night’s been playing on a loop in my head all morning. Running my finger along her seam and then pressing it inside of her, inhaling the scent of her arousal, and imagining my cock filling and stretching her tight, wet kitty was heaven on earth.
I’m afraid it would’ve gone much further had Kimmie not begun to stir.
It was too risky.
But god, did I want to fuck the hell out of my best friend’s daughter.
I want that ripe, sweet cherry of hers.
I want to fill her with every rock solid inch of my veiny cock as my skin slaps against hers. I want to empty my balls, dumping stream after stream of cum deep inside of her. And I want to do it again and again, until she’s screaming out my name.
Until she promises she’ll never look at another man again.
Until she agrees she�
�ll only ever belong to me.
My need for her is primal in a way I’ve never felt toward another woman before. I can’t even begin to understand it. All I know is how I feel, and right now, I’m disgustingly, obsessively infatuated with this beautiful young woman, and I can think of nothing but all the ways I want to take her.
“Guess I should hit the shower.” Ainsley rises on her toes, tossing me a wink when Kimmie’s not looking, and disappears around the corner.
I check on Kimmie for a moment, to make sure she’s not onto us, but she’s got her nose buried in her phone as per usual these days. She and Colby are so obsessed with each other it’s become hard for her to pay much attention to anything else.
“You going to get ready too, sweetheart?” I ask.
“Huh?” Kimmie looks up mid-text. “Right. Yeah.”
I need to get them out of the house . . .
. . . before I do something crazy stupid.
Something that can never be undone. Never be unfelt.
Something so carnal it might terrify us both.
Slipping my hands behind my head Sunday night, I lie in the middle of my king sized bed. The girls were out all day, and I had a much needed breather which may or may not have included jerking off in the shower while thinking of all the things I want to do to Ainsley . . .
The TV flickers on the wall across from the foot of the bed and my eyes grow heavy. Beside me, the clock on the nightstand reads eleven PM. It’s going to be an early day tomorrow, and since it’s been a long weekend, I need to get some quality shut eye.
Grabbing the remote, I click off the TV and roll on my side. Exhaling, I close my eyes until I hear the soft creak of the bedroom door. The sound of feet gently padding across my carpet follows.
Rolling to my back, I squint in the dark, making out a familiar outline before feeling the bed dip slightly when my “visitor” climbs across it.
“Ains,” I half whisper, half yell. “What the hell are you doing? Get back to your room.”
My heart is definitely beating in my throat right now, if that’s even possible, and my mouth runs dry. Peeling off the covers, Ainsley slides in beside me.
“Mr. Cavanaugh, are you naked under there?” She gasps, bringing her fingertips over her opened mouth and pretending to be shocked. “Uh-oh.”
