Chapter 4
I’m going crazy, tossing in my bed, reliving the moment I came inside Becca while Dad snores on from his bed in our hotel room, oblivious to my obsessive thoughts about his daughter. When Mom and Dad told us that they booked two rooms for our overnight stop halfway to Tuscon, I stupidly thought our parents would be in one room with the twins while I’d get to share a room with Becca. But she’s in the other room next door while I’m stuck here dreaming about all the things I would have done to her body if we got to spend the night together. About how many times I could cum inside her unprotected, dripping-wet, dream-come-true pussy.
I slip my hand under the covers and into my sweatpants, slowly stroking my achingly hard shaft as I close my eyes and smile when I revel in the memory of Becca falling asleep with my dick and cum still inside her after I gave her three orgasms. I didn’t know I had it in me. Since I was a virgin—having saved myself for the girl I’ve been in love with since we met—I thought for sure I’d cum the instant my dick touched her bare skin. It took nearly everything in me not to cum in my pants the second I pulled her onto my lap.
She doesn’t know that I’m the one who brought up my concerns to Mom about her sentimental valuables falling or breaking if we stuffed them in with everything else in the trailer. I’m the one who gave Dad the idea to remove the second-row seats instead of the third-row. I wanted our parents to pack the Tahoe full, forcing Becca and me to share the back bench seat instead of sitting separately in the bucket seats.
My plan worked perfectly, down to Becca being so uncomfortable in the cramped space that I had the perfect excuse to make her sit on my dick for hours and hours and hours. It couldn’t have worked out any better when she started wiggling and complaining about her hips from sitting in one position for so long that I got to massage her thick thighs. I would have been satisfied with just that, but then, oh man, I spontaneously took it a step further, and I couldn’t believe my luck when she didn’t protest my pulling her leggings down, giving me my first look at her full, round ass that has played a starring roll in my wet-dreams for years.
And that tiny white thong of hers? She doesn’t know that I snuck into her room the night before to place it on top in her panty drawer so she’d pick it to wear. Fucking hell, the sight of the narrow white fabric between her cheeks had my balls seizing up tight, ready to unload my cum all over her ass.
But I couldn’t let that happen. I had to save it so I could spend it deep inside her pussy. And when she tried to pop off my dick and told me she wasn’t on birth control anymore? That shit had the most primal part of me taking over my brain, envisioning her belly swelling and stretching to grow my baby.
It’s that thought that has me throwing my covers off and stumbling out of bed to the small bathroom. I have just enough time to yank my shirt up and jack my cock twice before my cum pulses out and paints the bathroom mirror. Fuck, how I wish it were painting Becca’s insides instead.
Becca won’t make eye contact with me while we eat our continental breakfast with our parents the next morning before we get back on the road. It kills me that she won’t give me her jade-green eyes—the ones our future children might have. With the plan I have in store for her, she’ll be giving me those eyes long before we make it to Tuscon.
As he did yesterday, Dad cranks up the volume on his early 2000’s rock playlist, still oblivious to us in the backseat. Becca sits silently at my side, doing her best to make herself small and squeeze her gorgeous curves into the minuscule amount of space between me and the boxes blocking the back window as she stares blankly at them.
I can’t keep my eyes off her in the fitted white Arizona Wildcats T-shirt she bought on our trip to visit our university’s campus—the same one I picked out for myself this morning. She was so pissed that I applied to and got into UA after I overheard her talking to Dad about which colleges were on her list. She still doesn’t know that I applied to every school she did, ensuring that we’d be together no matter what. What I hadn’t foreseen was our parents going with us as well.
I’ve been saving up every cent I’ve earned from my after-school and summer jobs, as well as investing the considerable sum of money I inherited from my grandfather when he passed two years ago in different high-yield savings accounts. And since I have enough money to support the two of us and any future children we might have until long after we finish school and Becca pursues her music career, I had been planning on renting an off-campus apartment. I was going to convince our parents to let Becca move in with me since the dorms are so expensive.
Unfortunately, I have to put those plans on hold for a few months since our parents would have some serious questions as to why I want to move into my own apartment and bring Becca with me after they just bought the new house, and I can’t have that. Can’t have them questioning my motives when it comes to Becca just yet.
So for now, I’ll make do with sharing a bedroom wall with her on the second story of our new house instead of on opposite sides at our last house, at least until she’s pregnant and we can reveal our relationship. Our parents will be forced to accept us as a couple, as a growing family of our own, even if they’re unhappy about it.
I bide my time in the Tahoe, somewhat impatiently, imagining what color thong she picked out to wear under her black leggings today. It doesn’t take long before Becca starts squirming, just as I figured she would. I’ve surreptitiously been spreading my knees wider and wider, nudging her closer to the stack of boxes at her side so she’d have even less room.
Eventually, she twists, and with fiery eyes, she snaps at me, “Would you fucking stop man-spreading!”
Ahhh, it’s like a sip of cold water in the southwestern desert having her give me those cool jade eyes of hers, even if they are narrowed with irritation.
“If you need more room…” I motion across my lap, and she scowls before crossing her arms and turning to stare at the boxes again.
Another ten minutes go by, and Becca starts trying to stretch out her legs, just as unsuccessfully as she did yesterday. My mouth waters, thinking of getting my hands on her bare thighs and hips again. My cock spits pre-cum in my red athletic shorts, thinking about it too.
I brush her dark blonde hair, which she left down today, over her shoulder and lean in close to her ear. “Are your muscles sore again, Mama? I can help you with that.”
“Ew, Samir! Why would you call me that? And, no, I’m…I’m fine,” she says, even as she squirms again and winces.
I slip my left hand under her knee and drape it over my right leg, spreading her out before gliding my palm up her thigh and digging my thumb into the muscles at the crease. I squeeze her inner thigh, subtly pressing the side of my hand against her pussy, wondering if she’s wet—and if she’s not, maybe my massage will get her wet and ready, just as it did yesterday.
Becca uncrosses her arms, drops her head back with her eyes closed, and moans as I manipulate the area, applying more and more pressure until her jaw goes slack and she’s rolling her hips up, grinding her pussy against my hand.
“That’s it, Mama. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Two things happen at once: Becca’s eyes snap open as she whisper-yells, “Jesus Christ, Samir! Don’t call me that,” while I swiftly slip my hand under the waistband of her leggings and thrust my middle finger as far as it will go into her—fuck yes—slick pussy. She can be mad at me all she wants, but her cunt sure isn’t. Neither are her hips as she writhes while I gently roll circles over her clit with my thumb. “Samir, oh god, why are you doing this to me?” she asks, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I work a second finger into her and curl them as I apply more pressure to her clit. “You hate me.”
I nip the column of her neck and then her ear, careful not to pull on her small, silver hoop earring, and inhale the intoxicating scent of her body lotion. It’s time to set the record straight while I have her trapped in the car for the next six hours as I continue to work her clit, withdrawing my fingers and fully sinking them inside again.
“I don’t hate you, Becca. I’ve never hated you. I’m in love with you,” I confess, getting a little choked up at the overwhelming depth of what she means to me. She is the only girl who has ever had my heart. The only girl who will ever have my heart.