by Sylvia Fox
With that, he actually does rip my panties off me. One movement and they're gone. I widen my legs, desperate to have him fill me. Instead of his dick, Colt slides a finger inside me, first one, then two, then, oh holy shit, three. His eyes burn into mine as he slides his hand into me, using his thumb to work my clit.
“You're so wet, sweetness. I bet I can make you squirt.”
My eyes go wide in a combination of shock and horror. “That's not a thing,” I manage before he pushes his finger to my clit and I drop my head, moaning.
“Oh, it's a thing and it's hot as fuck. You think you’ve come hard before? Just wait until I get that juice squirting out of you.”
And with that, his hand is back, thrusting into me over and over, his thumb slipping and sliding over my clit. I can feel the dampness gathering between my legs and rolling down my ass crack to soak the quilt beneath me. My eyes roll closed as my hips buck and roll.
“Please,” I say, breathless.
“Please what?” Colt pulls his hands out of me and slaps my clit, hard and fast.
“Fuck. Please. Your cock.” I lift my head from the pillow and stare him down. “I want your cock in my pussy. Now.”
I expect him to press his crown against my opening and thrust into me, hammering away until he cums, but Colt surprises me again. He flips me over and helps me up onto my hands and knees. And then, finally, at long fucking last, I feel the pressure I've been waiting for. His dick slides into me, so slow and tantalizing, stretching me in a way I’ve never experienced before. He’s so long and so thick and just having him inside me is almost too much. My muscles clench around him and I drop to my elbows and bite my pillow.
“God damn girl. You're so tight.” Colt’s voice is primal. Raw.
And then he's moving. Slowly. Torturously. I push my hips back into him begging him to go faster. But it only slows him down. I can feel every delicious inch of him pressing against my inner walls. I don’t know how to handle his restraint. Every man I’ve been with in the past has hammered into me. Faster. Harder. Chasing his own orgasm, leaving me to rub my clit myself in order to find my own release. Not so with Colt. Every stroke of his cock is designed to send me spiraling out of control.
He slides into me, rolls his hips, and then pulls back far enough to slip completely out of me, the tip of his dick tickling my lips. The more I moan, the slower he goes.
And then, just when I think it couldn't get better—or worse I'm not even sure, that’s how much his pace is torturing me—there's pressure against my asshole. I whip my head over my shoulder. I can feel the shock on my face, eyes wide, lips parted. Colt smiles.
“I have so much to teach you, little girl.” To my complete and utter shock, he spits on my ass and then slides his finger into me, opening me in a way I’ve never been before. He pauses, letting me get adjusted to being this full. Any trepidation I had dissolves into utter pleasure. He pulls his finger out and slaps my ass. I cry out, arching my back, his red-hot handprint singing to me as he strokes his cock inside my pussy. He spreads my ass and spits again and I disintegrate. All the things that make me Nadine shift and readjust, making room for this new and elicit pleasure. Here I thought I knew what I was getting into. That I was in control of this situation. But as Colt slips a finger into my ass and rolls his hips into me, all I know is I'm screaming, filling up my parents’ house with the sound of my adulterated orgasm. I come and I come and I come and my dampness slides down my legs and gathers around the base of his cock.
He pulls his finger out of my ass again and I miss it, oh holy shit I miss it. Using both hands he grabs my hips and pulls me back into him, ramming me so hard I can feel him banging against my cervix. It’s that hot edge of pain meeting the sweet edge of pleasure and I never knew it could be this good. Never knew I could feel this alive. I cry out, screaming his name, and just like that he explodes inside me. His fingers dig into the flesh at my hips and his body strains with the power of his orgasm. Stars dance in front of my eyes and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that nothing in my life will ever be the same.
Chapter Five
My bedroom is on the back corner of the house and has windows on two walls. The way the house is angled, I’ve always had the first dose of the sunrise, streaming through both sets of windows at the same time. I used to love it, getting up with the dawn. Mom always wanted to buy me a set of blackout curtains so I could sleep in, but I always told her I was happier when I woke up early. Today, however, is a slightly different story.
I stretch and discover all the ways I ache. Little leftovers from my night with Colt. It all still dances along that fine line of pleasure and pain, but now it comes with a healthy dose of anxiety. There was no way both of us were going to fit into this bed to sleep, and when Colt got up and announced he was going to sleep in the guest room, I didn’t ask to follow him. It seemed to presumptuous. He kissed me and said goodnight and left me to fall asleep on my own.
Last night, it seemed fine. Natural, even. But now, I’m stuck somewhere between thinking it was the best and worst idea of my whole life. Not just our sleeping arrangement, but the whole night in general. How do we come back from that? The dirty sex? The admission of my lifelong crush on Colt and his admission of his own desire for me? I gave myself to that man last night. What if it turns out he doesn’t really want me?
Oscar Wilde once said that everything in this world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power. Never in my life have I given someone else power over me. But wouldn’t you know, last night, I gave all that power to Colt. It was amazing, but now I’m terrified.
I’ve never been out of control during a sexual experience. Everything always happens on my terms. It never happens with any kind of admission of things like feelings and it most definitely never happens with any talk of an encore performance. I’m a one and done kind of girl. But something about my night with Colt tells me I’m not going to be done after one.
And, since we’re spending Thanksgiving trapped in this house alone, that means I’m going to have to go out there and face him. I can’t just run away and disappear. The moment I get out of this room, he’s going to be there. The most wonderful, awfulest, best, most worst thing that ever happened to me in my whole life.
Oh my god. What the fuck have I done?
I yank the covers up over my head and roll over. Maybe, if I just pretend to be asleep for the whole day, I can avoid the inevitable awkwardness and uncertainty of a morning-after with my dad’s best friend. Holy fucking shit. It’s one thing to imagine stuff like this, but actually living it? I am so not prepared for this.
The smell of something sweet and familiar wafts under the crack of my door and sneaks under the worn fabric of my purple paisley quilt. It brings memories of years and years of Thanksgivings right along with it. My mother, laughing and joking while she whisks around the kitchen, wrapped up in a silly apron and a smile. The smell is warm and welcoming and ohhhh no…
It’s my mother’s apple pie.
Fuck! When did they get here? Oh, please, please say it was after my last screaming orgasm. The one where I screamed Colt’s name so loud there wasn’t a place in this house that didn’t hear it.
Horror creeps through me. My shirt is still in the living room. My underwear is a frayed mess on the floor. God only knows what other dirty little leftovers we’ve left trailed throughout the house for anyone to find. It’s one thing to figure out how to navigate an awkward post-sex morning with my dad’s best friend. It’s a whole different thing to figure out how to navigate a post-sex morning with my dad’s best friend, with my dad in the room.
Throwing back the covers, I leap out of bed and dig through my suitcase, throwing on the first mostly matching set of clothes I find. I take a moment in the bathroom to brush my teeth and make sure none of the little hickies Colt left on my breasts are visible, and then, after throwing my hair up into a messy bun, I bound down the hallway towards the kitchen.
It’s either going to be one of two thing
s. Deny, deny, deny, or an Emmy award winning conversation filled with fake smiles and a careful avoidance of what everyone knows happened last night.
“You made it!” I say as I turn the corner into the kitchen, smiling widely.
I expect to find my mom, bending over to check the pie in the oven while my dad sits at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and staring at her ass. While someone is definitely peering into the oven, and someone else is definitely staring at one hell of a fantastic ass, it’s not my mom or my dad.
Colt straightens, grinning at me. He’s fully dressed in his typical no nonsense outfit, but he’s also wearing my mother’s oven mitts, her flowered apron tied around his waist.
“I figured you’d be hungry,” he says, brandishing one of my mom’s pre-made pies. “Lord knows I worked up quite an appetite.” He puts the pie down on the top of the stove. “At first I thought I’d make an omelet, but when I opened the fridge to investigate the ingredients situation, I saw those pies.” He sucks his lips into his mouth and slides the oven mitts off. “They were just begging to be eaten.” He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and his gaze is focused somewhere just over my head.
“Kind of like you,” I say, although I’m not really sure what I mean. A little sexual innuendo seemed like the way to go to break the tension and that was the first thing to come to mind even though it’s not exactly appropriate.
His eyes lock on mine. “Nadine…”
I step into him, standing so close I can feel the heat of his body along mine. I gave him control last night. Today? I’m taking my power back.
“Don’t you dare feel bad about what happened last night,” I say, running my hands up his arms. “I don’t.”
Colt clears his throat. “That’s the thing. I don’t either. But I feel bad for not feeling bad.”
“Don’t.”
He stares at me, his gaze bouncing back and forth across my face. He’s struggling with something up there, but he’s not going to bring it up until he’s had his chance to untangle it all. That’s just the way Colt is and it’s part of what I love so much about him. He’s not just strong physically, he’s strong emotionally as well.
We work our way through breakfast and while I never ask him what he’s thinking, I do make sure to be in constant contact with him. I keep it light, not aggressive, but definitely sexual. A hand on his thigh. My fingertips across the back of his neck. I don’t have to look down to know he’s fighting an erection, but I do anyway because I love seeing the bulge of his hard cock and knowing it’s because of me.
After our breakfast of pie and sexual tension, Colt announces that we’re going to go ahead and cook ourselves a Thanksgiving dinner.
“Do you even know how to cook a turkey?” I ask. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”
“I know my way around a kitchen. Besides, that’s what’s Google is for.” He pours me a cup of coffee and goes to work, giving me simple tasks like slicing and boiling potatoes to mash up later. I live off a lot of takeout and more than my fair share of cereal. I’m almost always having to pluck a dirty plate out of the sink to wash before I can eat because my roommate is a slob and I swore off cleaning up after her lazy ass a few months ago.
Working with Colt is soothing. He cleans as he goes and stops to teach me the the how’s and why’s of what he’s doing. We dance around each other, exchanging little touches, his hand on my waist, my hand on his lower back. His hand on mine as he shows me how to slice a carrot—something I obviously know how to do, but with him leaning around me, whispering his instructions in my ear, there’s no way I’m going to remind him of that and make him stop doing what he’s doing.
Somewhere around the time we baste the turkey for the fifth time and I do a google search for a good green bean casserole recipe, Colt pours us some wine. And then, somewhere around the time he pours our third glass of wine and I realize how fantastic this day with him has been, he pulls me in for a kiss. It surprises me and I freeze for the tiniest fraction of a heartbeat before I melt into him. It’s like I’d been holding my breath all day and his kiss is the oxygen I needed. My body comes alive, pulsing and throbbing and I whimper against his mouth.
“I needed that,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Me too.”
“I can’t get over how right this feels.” His breath moves in the bits of hair curling at my forehead. “It shouldn’t feel this easy with you.”
I pull back and stare up into his face. “Why not?”
“Because you’re Jim’s little girl. Because this is wrong…”
“Why is it wrong?”
“Nadine. I’m nineteen years older than you.” Colt takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
“It would have been wrong when I was fifteen and you were thirty-four. I’ll give you that. But I’m not a little girl anymore. There’s no shame in this. And it’s something I’ve fantasized about for years. I’m not about to let you walk away from me now.”
I press into him, letting my breasts squish into his chest as I run my hands down his back to squeeze his ass.
“I never said I was walking away, sweetness.” He presses his lips to mine, sucks my lower lip into his mouth and captures it between his teeth.
Not ready to relinquish my power to him, I reach between us and squeeze his dick through his pants. He thrusts his hips into my hands and moans, the sound liquefying my body.
“Tell me your fantasies, Nadine. What do you want me to do to you?”
Nearly a decade’s worth of daydreams come welling up from inside me. Simple ones from my adolescence twirling around dirty ones from my adulthood. “I’ve imagined you throwing me over your knee and spanking me.”
The words come out in a rush, the first time I’ve ever voiced one of my most favorite of fantasies. I don’t know why it turns me on so much, the thought of being stretched out over his lap, his hand alternating between stinging my ass and sliding into my pussy, but it does.
“What else?” asks Colt as he trails kisses along my jawline.
“I’ve imagined you jerking off on my face while I finger myself.”
He growls, a low sound, deep in his throat. “What else?”
“I’ve imagined you coming in my ass.” My voice is low and tight, heat flaming across my cheeks. These are words I’ve never spoken. Truths that have never left the confines of my mind. I feel raw and exposed and utterly and completely turned on.
“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?”
I look up through my lashes, afraid to find him staring down at me in disgust. He’s staring down at me alright, but disgust is the last thing he’s feeling.
“I want to be your dirty little whore.” The words leave my lips and I recognize the truth in them. Heaven help the man who said that to me without my permission, but Colt has my complete and utter consent. I wait, breath held.
“You’re my dirty slut?” he asks, his eyes burning into mine. “Mine and only mine?”
The heat of his gaze burns up my words and all I can do is nod. He has no idea just how ‘his’ I am. The more I try to keep the upper hand, the more I discover that I like it better when I give it to him.
“Well, then sweetness. Let’s see just how dirty you really are.”
Chapter Six
We burn the turkey while we test each other’s limits in my bedroom. Colt doesn’t just live up to my expectations, he exceeds them mightily. He starts by jacking off on my face, ordering me not to waste one drop of his cum. He watches while I scoop it off and suck it from my fingers, but when I miss a spot on my chin, he throws me over his knee and spanks me, each stinging stroke of his hand punctuated with three long fingers sliding into my pussy and hooking over my G-spot. I come so hard I get dizzy and then, while I’m still recovering, Colt tosses me onto the bed and fucks my ass, using my juices to keep things lubricated. I scream in pleasure until I’m hoarse and when he finally shoots his seed into me, I collapse on my bed, limp with pleasure.
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I want to thank him. I want to tell him that nothing could have prepared me for that experience. That I have a whole list of dirty fantasies I want him to work through with me, but I never get a chance. First, my cellphone starts shrieking at me from my purse. As I stare in its direction, trying to decide if I care enough to answer it, Colt sits upright, brows pursed, scenting the air. Then, the smoke alarm goes wild.
“The turkey!” We shout in unison and Colt barrels out of my room, totally naked, while I pull my phone out of my purse and race after him.
I wouldn’t answer the phone, except it’s my mom, so as I grab the oven mitt off the table and fan the wailing smoke alarm, I press the button to accept the call.
“Hey Mom,” I say as I stand on tiptoe, waving the oven mitt in the air beneath the wailing device.
“What in the world is going on?”
“It’s nothing. Colt and I burnt the turkey.”
“The turkey? Colt’s there? What the hell is happening?”
I finally get the smoke alarm to be quiet and stand there, naked in the kitchen, explaining to my mom how Colt and I decided to go ahead and cook Thanksgiving dinner while his cum leaks out of my ass.
“I’ve been texting you all day,” says my mom, hurt and disappointment coloring her voice and activating the guilt button they had pre-installed in me at my birth.
“My phone was in my purse.”
“And your dad was trying to get a hold of Colt. We thought you guys were dead and frozen on the highway somewhere. Why didn’t you think to call us and let us know you were okay?”
Uhhh. Because I was busy seducing the one man who has occupied every naughty fantasy and spending the day as his dirty whore? Somehow that answer doesn’t seem like it would pass muster.
“I’m sorry. We just got preoccupied with figuring out how to cook this dinner.”
I raise my eyebrows as I meet Colt’s gaze. How the hell am I supposed to navigate this conversation?
