CHAPTER TWO #2
I realize how stupid I sound. Like some jealous teenager who has any right to tell her anything.
But I also realize I’m acting like a piece of shit, making her feel bad on her birthday for something she can’t control, nor should she.
Just because I don’t want anyone else to see her doesn’t mean I get any say in the matter.
She’s a grown, stunning woman and she deserves to get noticed.
But ... fuck!
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I shouldn’t be getting angry. You look ... so fucking beautiful, Chrissy. I can’t even blame them, but I hate it.”
“Why?”
I should have expected the question, but my brain fails me. It leaves me teetering on the edge all over again trying to decide how to explain.
But there isn’t a way.
There is no path I can take that won’t drop me off a cliff. Truth or lie.
“Because you’re my best friend’s little girl and—”
“I’m not a little girl,” she cuts me off.
Ignoring the hot bind around my throat, I chuckle. “No, baby, you certainly are not.”
“They can look all they want. They don’t matter to me.” Her fingers tighten into the soft folds of her skirt. “I only care what you think.”
Fuck.
I need to abort this conversation. I need to stop before I say something I can’t take back.
“That shouldn’t matter either,” I try stupidly.
“I want you to notice,” she blurts at the same time.
I need a drink. My throat is a wasteland of sand and unspoken things.
“I notice, baby,” my traitorous tongue tells her.
“Do you like it?”
The nerves and tension, her question leaves no room for avoidance. But ... I can’t. I can’t open that can of worms. But I can’t ignore it.
Don’t want to.
“More than I should.”
The white-knuckled grip she has on her skirt loosens. Her fingers uncurl. I notice all this from the corner of my eye, missing when she reaches tentatively across the murky distance illuminated solely by the dashboard until her fingertips brush my arm.
Just a feather light whisper over the sleeve of my coat that I feel straight to my toes. I would have jumped at the unexpected brush but I’m already reaching for her. Already meeting her halfway. Our digits collide. Soft and warm. I capture them in the coiling of mine.
I don’t take my eyes off the road so I don’t see her drag my arm to her side of the console until my palm is placed on her thigh.
Naked. Warm. Supple thigh.
Her skirt has bunched and the spot she picks has no covering and it’s well over her knee. High enough that I know it’s wrong. High enough that I can feel the heat of her pussy along my pinkie.
“Chrissy...”
I think I say her name aloud, but I can’t be sure of anything when her flesh is satin beneath my fingertips.
When her knees part.
Fuck.
Fuck!
No.
But I’m not pulling away. Not even thinking about it. My eyes snap to the rear view mirror for a heartbeat of a second. A fleeting peek of guilt to where my friend is passed out, oblivious to the hand his daughter is intentionally guiding deeper between thighs I’ve dreamt of spreading wide.
I resist.
I dutifully stay anchored with only the tips of my fingers tracing circles too far inside her thigh.
Chrissy widens her legs. Gives me all the room to submit.
“Baby...”
“Please.”
My erection, that has not gone down once since her descent, throbs in the confines of my jeans. It pangs with such violent ferocity I groan. My fingers flex. They dig into her soft skin.
She pries them loose.
I think she’s going to push me away, not pull me straight into hell.
“Chrissy.”
Her grip is trembling, but insistent guiding me over her sex. Her knees are so wide. Open to the palm she presses flat over the strip of fabric barely covering her pussy.
It’s soaked.
The whole thing is a wet mold clinging to her lips. There’s so much, her thighs are slick.
“So wet,” I breathe without thinking.
“Yes,” she pants weakly. “All evening.”
I have to resist the urge to close my eyes as I’m assaulted by the image of her sitting at the table, cunt dripping all over the seat.
My fingers press into the slick heat. The core where it’s all coming from, and Chrissy gasps. Her hips buck under the belt containing her. They wiggle. The place I’m rubbing grows hot with a fresh release of arousal I feel.
So eager.
So responsive.
Just the way she’s breathing, ragged and desperate, it would take nothing to make her cum for me. Cum on my fingers. I can stretch her right here in my passenger seat, work her tight channel until she drenches my fingers.
I even trace the seam, the elastic keeping her from me.
And I have to stop.
I have to.
But she’s shifting her ass down on the seat...
We hit a chunk of ice and the jolt has my hand jerking away. It returns to the wheel, partially out of cowardice, but mainly out of necessity. I have to remind myself it’s winter. The roads are at their worst, and I have an obligation to get Chrissy home safe, not indulge in something so ... wrong.
I don’t go back. She doesn’t take my hand again. We fall into our usual silence where I stare hard at the road and pretend not to notice when she straightens. When she brushes her skirt down around her knees.
We arrive at her place without a single word between us. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I need to apologize. I need to explain why that can never happen again. I’m thinking a million things when I finally roll to a stop and Mark jerks awake.
He straightens and blinks at the window, squints at the shadowy outline of his house.
“Oh, good, we’re here.”
Without another word, he kicks open his door and throws himself out into the crisp evening.
I’m so distracted watching him, I don’t expect Chrissy to push open her own door and hop down. She’s so quick, she’s already hurrying after her father before I can even react.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath.
Keys pocketed, I start after them, though I know I should just go home. But I can’t without talking to Chrissy. I need to make her understand why this can never happen again.
So, I follow them inside and shut the door behind me.
“All right, kids. I’m going to bed,” Mark informs us with a sleepy wave.
Neither Chrissy, nor I move while we watch him ascend the stairs. The boards groan as he reaches the landing and vanishes deeper into the upstairs shadows.
Then, it’s just her and me, and a vacuum of things I want to say, but don’t know how. I’m still trying to figure it out when eyes the darkest blue of the deepest ocean cut through the murky silence to where I stand, wishing I hadn’t left the truck.
“Thank you,” she whispers, unclipping her coat.
I stand frozen, brain, heart and dick torn in three different directions as each reacts to a different part of her.
It’s very unlikely the universe has slowed down time to allow me the opportunity to watch as the fabric parts with the slowest reveal, unveiling every inch of her bit by bit until the heavy fabric slips down her long arms.
“Do you want to crash on the sofa?” she’s asking when I will myself to focus again.
That’s usually how this plays out. I think I spend more time on their sofa than at my own apartment, but Mark doesn’t mind and I’ve become obsessed with the sight of her coming down those damn stairs.
And it has nothing to do with her dresses.
It’s the morning softness in her eyes. The sweet smile she gives me from across the table.
It’s lying awake long after she’s gone to bed surrounded by the scent of her.
I’m very aware that I need professional help or a priest. This level of obsession can’t be normal or healthy, especially with someone so fucking sweet. So pure.
“Shawn?”
The sound of my name on her soft, glossy lips sends a spiral of desire coiling in my gut. It tightens all the places it shouldn’t. I have to take a breath before I can make myself speak.
“Yeah?”
She’s standing too close. The five feet between us has her directly in harm’s way, but she seems oblivious as she watches me with those dangerous eyes.
“Will you stay?”
My traitorous gaze drops to her lips. I look away.
“Yeah.”