Caught With My Best Friend's Dad

by Odessa Rossi

  Unfortunately, Riley thinks more of the touch than me. His pants tent. At least, I think they do. There’s a tightness across the seam, but it’s obvious he’s half the man of Mr. Cavanaugh. Hardly more than a bite whereas Daddy…well, he filled all of my mouth with plenty left over. It took hard work to get every inch into my throat, but his salty, warm gratitude was worth the trouble.

  “So…” Riley winks at me. Gross. “Kimmie says you’re single?”

  Not anymore. Not since I promised I belonged to Daddy and Daddy alone. My phone buzzes. I check the text.

  Be a good girl tonight.

  Always and especially for him.

  “I’m not really looking for anything serious,” I say.

  “Me either.” Riley’s smile turns wicked. “In fact, I like to have fun. Do you like to have fun?”

  Kimmie speaks for me. “She loves fun.”

  Traitor. I shrug. “I have plenty of fun.”

  This tightens his pants more. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun, baby…a lot.”

  I quietly text Mr. Cavanaugh.

  He keeps calling me Baby.

  His response is quick. Daddy will take care of it. Promise.

  I believed him, but Riley keeps trying to take my hand. Thank God for sticky movie theater seats. Once inside the theater, he can’t get the arm rest up. It saves me a night of groping, but the movie bores me, and I keep wondering what Mr. Cavanaugh is doing.

  Is he alone?

  Is he bored?

  Is he thinking of me?

  …Does he touch himself thinking about me?

  Thoughts like that don’t make boring movies any better. I pout through the movie and at dinner. Kimmie and I love our old pizza joint hangout, but the food tastes like ash while Riley’s hand moseys up my thigh during dinner.

  I cross my legs tight, even slap his hand as he tickles the hem of my dress, but Riley is a man possessed. Probably because his best friend’s eyes closed as Kimmie reaches beneath the table.

  Is she…

  Yep. She’s stroking Colby’s cock while reading the menu.

  Well, at least we were even for her dad touching me. Maybe.

  “What looks good?” Riley leans close enough to sniff my hair while pretending to offer me another slice.

  Who could think of food now? “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Feel like heading back early, baby?”

  Yeah, but not for the reasons he thought. All I want is to curl up on the couch with Mr. Cavanaugh, safe and cozy against his chest. My body only craves his touch, and every poke and prod from Riley makes my stomach turn.

  Usually I’d slap someone as forward as him. Hell, I consider dumping my water over his head.

  But Kimmie’s so happy to spend time together.

  Even if she spends more time with Colby than me.

  I send a quick text. I miss you.

  He responds quick. I do too. I’ll be waiting for you.

  He has no manners.

  Daddy will take care of everything.

  I take comfort in his words and eat my pizza. Kimmie giggles against Colby. Riley offers to buy me a milkshake for dessert. I’m not interested, but Kimmie thinks it’s a fun idea.

  “Let’s get milkshakes to-go and we’ll watch a movie at Colby’s apartment,” she says with a smirk. “We can hang out…watch some TV…you know. Have fun.”

  “Lots of fun.” Colby agrees so wholeheartedly that a mere moment later his tongue is down her throat.

  I consider texting Mr. Cavanaugh with a simple Come Get Me!! But how will that look to Kimmie? Mortifying? Confusing? It’d reveal everything I couldn’t admit just yet.

  And so I do the next logical thing. I fake a tummy ache the instant we get to Colby’s.

  “I’m so sorry.” I shrug. “Dinner isn’t sitting very well. Would you mind taking me home?”

  Kimmie groans, but Riley steps in, hero that he is. “Don’t worry. You two stay here. I’ll drive her home.”

  “There!” Kimmie winks. “He’s such a gentleman.”

  If he’s such a gentleman, why does he leer as he helps me to the car? I tuck my dress over my thighs, prim and proper. It does nothing but distract him the whole ride home. Twice I call out as we nearly bumble through a stop sign.

  “God, Ainsley…” He tugs at his pants. Gross. “Kimmie said you were pretty…but now that you’re here…”

  Trapped with him? I force a smile. “Thank you.”

  “What’s a guy gotta do to get with you?”

  Age another twenty years, get some grey in his hair, and treat me as if I’m the princess of his world?

  “So, you like to play hard to get?” He parks outside the house. The door doesn’t unlock. I reach for the handle, but he takes my hand before I can escape. “Know what else is hard?”

  “Your head?” I grumble. “Thanks for the date, Riley.”

  “Come on, baby. Kimmie said you were more fun than this. You like to flirt. I like to fuck. We can have some fun this summer.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Sure, you are. Come on.” He unhooks his jeans. I’m out of here!

  But the doors stay locked. I tense.

  “Just look.” Riley unveils his masterpiece. It must be abstract because I don’t find it impressive. “See how much I want you? Don’t you want a taste?”

  No. Not at all. My stomach clenches, and I’m afraid I really will be sick.

  “I want to go in the house, Riley,” I say.

  “Me too…” He jerks himself. “Wanna get you on the bed. Show you what you’re missing.”

  I slam a hand against the door, swinging it open. “You’re an asshole.”

  “And I’m sure yours is as tight as—”

  I stumble from the car, but his door is already open. Not by him. I gasp as Mr. Cavanaugh yanks him from the car and tosses him into the gravel.

  “Tight as what, son?” He snarls.

  “I…” Riley fumbles with his pants. Mr. Cavanaugh steps on his hand, placing just enough pressure to make him go still but not to break any bones. “I…sorry…I…”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Sorry, Sir!”

  Mr. Cavanaugh shakes his head. “Don’t apologize to me.”

  “S—sorry, Ainsley!”

  “Get the hell off my property. Harass her again, and I’ll be the one whispering sweet nothings in your ear.”

  Riley scampers into his car, peeling out quick enough to cast gravel over the yard. Mr. Cavanaugh doesn’t wait until he’s out of sight. He takes me in his arms and lets me cuddle against his chest.

  And the flutter of warmth so absent from my dinner with Riley bursts to life in the comfort of his arms.

  His voice is a possessive growl. “Did he touch you?”

  I shake my head, more than pleased to finally snuggle against his solid chest. He kisses my temple. It’s not enough. I stand on my tip-toes with parted lips. Mr. Cavanaugh leans in, stealing my strength with a single flick of his tongue. I go limp.

  “I was…jealous,” he says, a note of finality in his voice.

  “Jealous?” I smile at him, finally comfortable enough to feel playful. I boop his nose with my finger. “You know you’re the only one for me, Daddy.”

  “And no one will ever touch my Baby Girl.”

  “Except you?”

  The hope threads through me, electrifying us both. He smiles at me, his voice deep and commanding.

  “I think you deserve a little attention.”

  “Just a little?” My fingers trail to his pants. There’s the hardness I want. “Not…all the attention?”

  “Not yet, baby.”

  His fingers swoop over me, tucking into my hand. He leads me into the house, and we don’t stop until I’m naked on my bed, eager to feel his promised kiss on my sensitive little slit.

  “Let me show you how Daddy apologizes to Baby Girl for letting her out of his sight…” His tongue slips out, flicking over my aching nub. “I’m going to pr
ove that you don’t need anyone but your daddy.”

  He has nothing to prove. But I arch back, let my legs fall open for his tongue, and let him tease me anyway.

  After all, Daddy knows best.

  Chapter Nine

  Ainsley

  Mr. Cavanaugh’s lunch sits forgotten on the counter.

  Now what fun thoughts might have distracted a man so much that he’d leave his lunch at home? I giggle to myself, hoping that it’s me.

  I slip the heel onto my foot. The sandals are strappy and white, perfect for the little pink skirt that fluffs around my hips. I straighten the little white blouse and unhook the top button.

  There. Perfect. Cute and sassy. If that doesn’t make me look like a woman, I don’t know what else will. Hopefully, it’s enough to catch Mr. Cavanaugh’s attention at the job site.

  I grab his paper bagged lunch and tease a hand through my blonde curls in the reflection of the toaster. Even my lips are tinted bubblegum pink. He’s gotta like that, right? Though I much prefer when they’re puffy and red from his kisses.

  I think he does too.

  A man can’t be without his lunch—certainly not one who works as long and hard as Mr. Cavanaugh. He deserves someone who will take care of him, someone who’ll remember to make his sandwich (with extra cheese) and pack the pretzels (sticks, not rods) and include a can of soda (Sprite, not Coke). Sure, Kimmie used to help her dad out all the time, but that was before her boyfriends and college and just…growing up.

  She outgrew her daddy, but he still needs someone there for him. Someone to make his lunch. Greet him at the door. Talk about his day.

  Share his bed. Relax him at night. Give him another baby.

  But first, he needs to eat.

  Kimmie doesn’t mind me borrowing her car, so I tuck the lunch next to me and head to Mr. Cavanaugh’s job site. The commercial project is big, lots of steel beams and dangerous equipment stalking the site. The foundations are dug deep, and loose gravel piles up everywhere. I park the car in the least dusty corner of the site, but it’s no use. My heels plunk into the soft soil, and it’s a trial to heave the sandals every step towards the construction trailer.

  Just as I near the trailer, my ankle twists. I plop into the dirt, and Mr. Cavanaugh’s lunch thuds against the ground. The only thing I bruise is my pride, and I hoist myself to my feet, but I’m not without an audience. Three of the contractors on site take notice of the coed who spent more time in the library than out in the hot sun.

  “Well, well, well. Lookie who just fell from heaven.” A man adjusts his pants and leers at me. I don’t like the way he looks at me, like he’s as big of a tool as the ones on his belt. “We got ourselves our very own angel.”

  I shakily take a step and test my ankle. It hurts, but nothing a good stretch can’t fix. But, I’m not bending over anywhere near Moe, Larry, and Curly as they feast on my curves.

  I lift my chin and pretend to be more confident than I am.

  “I’m looking for Stone.” His name tastes funny on my lips—naughtier than his kiss.

  “Aw shit. Is this Kim?” A balding man wipes a handkerchief over his sweaty face.

  “Naw.” Tool grins at me. “Kim’s got dark hair and smaller tits.”

  She does not, but I cross my arms anyway. But it doesn’t block their view, just gives them a chance to ogle my curves.

  “Kim’s my friend.” I say.

  “I’ll be your friend.” Tool gets a little too close. I take an unsteady step back, but he’s already circling. “I could be your best friend, little angel.”

  Enough is enough. I reach for Mr. Cavanaugh’s lunch, but the instant I bend to grab it, Tool’s hand snakes up the back of my thigh. I yip and twist to stop him, but he’s quicker.

  SMACK.

  I squeal as his open hand spanks right across my bottom!

  How dare he!

  My cheeks warm, but that only makes the men laugh harder. This can’t be happening!

  “She’s got a tight little ass.” Tool announces to his buddies. He turns to laugh, but the men immediately silence as a looming shadow darkens the group.

  Mr. Cavanaugh launches at Tool. His fist rears back and clocks the man right across the jaw. The contractor falls to the dirt at my feet.

  I hardly recognize Mr. Cavanaugh. His face hardens with rage—his jaw tight and the blue fire of his eyes hot enough to weld steel. He speaks through clenched teeth, and his men leap before him, not to defend Tool, but to save his life.

  “You’re fired.” Mr. Cavanaugh’s voice could crush gravel. “Collect your things and get out of my sight before I bury you with the foundation.”

  Tool scampers away, half-crawling, half-running. The other men scatter, either worrying for their own cheekbones or their jobs. Mr. Cavanaugh doesn’t give me a choice. He sweeps me into his arms. My sandal is lost in the dirt, but the way he’s holding me? I don’t think he’ll ever let me go to walk again.

  He says nothing, and neither do I. My heart races, and it must be clamoring hard enough for him to feel it. His steps don’t waver. He ignores the curious glances of the men at the site and takes me straight into his private trailer.

  The door crashes shut behind us. He holds me with one hand, still silent, still so unbelievably…enraged.

  He flicks the lock.

  And we’re alone.

  He brushes the blue-prints and plans off his desk, casting aside pens and paper, his laptop and an extra cell-phone. Only once the space is perfectly clear does he sit me on the desk. His fingers clutch at my waist, and he searches my face for any sign of distress.

  Who could be scared when a man like him protects you?

  “Baby girl…what are you doing here?” His voice catches, still raw and fierce. “It’s dangerous here. These are hard guys, and you’re…”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  He groans. “You’re you, sweetheart. You’re so fucking beautiful, and you come waltzing onto the site in that short little skirt. They could see all of you.”

  His hand grips my knee. Hard. My breath shudders as it gropes upwards. His expression doesn’t soften. The same dark and masculine rage he summoned for his employee still tenses his features. His brows furrow in frustration, and his teeth practically bear with every breath.

  As if he’d bite me instead of kiss.

  And I almost want him to.

  His rumbling words knot in my core as his hands grip me harder.

  “What am I going to do with you, Baby Girl?” He towers over me, checking my cheek, my arms, my legs. He stops at my ankle and caresses the skin. “You’re hurt?”

  “I fell. It’s okay—”

  “It’s not.” He won’t permit me to argue with him now. “They touched you.”

  “Just…” I pause. “Just the one.”

  He lifts me off the table, placing me onto my feet. With a deliberate hand, he lifts my skirt. I gasp as the cool air tickles over my heated skin, but the warmth isn’t from where the man’s hand had struck.

  Mr. Cavanaugh turns me, surveying my behind. His fingers brush over where Tool had slapped, but any sting to my skin or pride fades. There’s no mark. But that doesn’t comfort Mr. Cavanaugh.

  His hand suddenly clutches me. He claims my bottom in his hand and squeezes. I gasp.

  “They touched what belongs to me.” His words tangle in my chest. I can’t breathe, and I don’t care at all. “You’re mine, Baby Girl. First that idiot boy on your date. Now this? It stops now, Ainsley. No one will ever come near what’s mine again.”

  “I only want you, Daddy.”

  A primal and fierce edge cloaks his words. Is it…jealousy? No. Nothing so ugly. Nothing so dangerous. Mr. Cavanaugh isn’t jealous.

  He’s possessive.

  Of me.

  “I won’t let anyone look at you like they did…” His eyes study every inch of me—seeing far more than what any of the construction site bullies saw. “I won’t allow them to touch you. I won’t have them thinking about y
ou. You’re mine to have…and mine to protect.” He leans close, tipping my head back with a determined hand. His lips press against mine, not to delight, but to claim. “And I’ll make sure everyone knows you're mine.”

  I don’t get to ask how or why. My fingers brush his cheek, but it doesn’t ease the stress hardening his features. Mr. Cavanaugh is beyond calming down, beyond reason and rationalization. The gentleman is gone, replaced by a beast of a man seething with an innate desire to take. Claim.

  Seize his mate.

  He tugs my shirt over my head before I can whimper, but his kiss soothes me. My bra slips away. His hand grips my breast, full and heavy and rising in quick breaths before him. He pinches—not hard, but just enough. My nipple stiffens. He likes that, and his fingers squeeze harder. His voice rasps in my ear.

  “These are mine,” he whispers. “And you know what they’re for?”

  That’s an easy one. “They’re made to please daddy.”

  “That’s right, sweetheart.”

  He leans down, taking a nipple in his mouth. I gasp as his tongue swirls over the bud, suckling and pulling harder than I expect. It doesn’t scare me. The shock is good. Fierce. Something ravenous. I give more of my chest to him, clutching my own breasts and offering them with panted breath and a curious glance.

  Instead of taking more, he pushes me down against his desk. The skirt bunches at my hips. He stares at my pink panties. Princess pink for his little girl. He growls. At least he appreciates the gift before ripping them away.

  “Spread your legs, sweetheart.” It’s a command I’m not afraid to follow. “Show Daddy what a good girl you are.”

  I do as I’m told, and the cool air brushes against my bare pussy. Completely smooth. Innocent. Untouched save for a few gifted moments when he’s delighted those sensitive petals with his fingers or tongue. My body heats for him, and for good reason. Mr. Cavanaugh knows everything about this part of me—what I like, how to tease, and where to touch to make me cry out just for him.