Chapter 12
twelve
Jason
I’m lying in bed wide awake at two in the morning.
I’ve got my phone in my hand and I’m browsing pictures of Shea.
Some that I’ve taken on the sly around the house and some that she has posted recently on social media.
There’s one that she clearly took on a hike and she’s wearing those bike shorts.
The shorts. My dick stirs and lengthens at the sight of her ass cheeks, which aren’t quite covered by the hem. I don’t touch myself, though.
No, fuck that.
I’ve been beating off for three nights straight.
I need the real thing. I need my girl.
There hasn’t been an opportunity for me to be alone with Shea since the night we ate pizza in the kitchen with Emma.
I’ve been working around the clock. She’s had papers to write and exams to study for.
But mostly, when we’re home, Emma is glued to her side.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s been real nice getting to spend time with my daughter.
More time than I’ve been allowed in years.
But as far as I can tell, Shea still isn’t ready to tell Emma that we’re involved.
Has she changed her mind?
I zoom in on her face in the hiking picture, my stupid heart hammering over the adorable smattering of freckles on her nose.
At the same time, my pulse beats out of rhythm wondering what she’s thinking.
If she has decided that dating a man twice her age, a father of her friend, is too much. Too wrong. Too scandalous.
Tonight, in the living room, when the three of us were watching the new Batman, Shea and I couldn’t take our eyes off each other.
God, she looked so good in a pair of thin, silk pajama pants and a white tank top.
No bra. I wanted to eat her alive. And I don’t only want to spend time with Shea so I can fuck her…
she’s incredible in so many other ways, too.
She forced me to call the doctor and renew my epi-pen prescription.
Now, she carries one of them in her backpack.
Last night, she cooked for us, saying, “I don’t trust the takeout places not to cross-contaminate with fish.”
She cares about me. A lot.
Her insight on my remodels has been invaluable.
She’s an actual design genius.
This girl…she is phenomenal.
If she has decided our relationship is more trouble than it’s worth, I’m going to blow a fucking fuse.
I’ve been as patient as possible with her, because of the sticky circumstances of our relationship.
But I need her in my bed. Now. And I’m getting very close to my breaking point.
I’m just about ready to smuggle her out of the guest room.
I study her hiking photo for another minute, memorizing her lines and curves, salivating over another photo of her at a family birthday party in a navy blue and white polka dot dress, her tits framed in the neckline.
Plump and juicy. So delectable looking that my cock releases a hot spurt into my sheets, my head pressing back into the pillows, every inch of me miserable without Shea.
That’s it.
I’m going to get her.
I can carry her in here without making a sound. And if I get caught, so be it. I’m done waiting to make my relationship with Shea known. I want her sitting in my lap next time we watch a movie. I want to kiss her at breakfast. I want her to sleep beside me. Always.
I want her to carry my child and become my wife.
Tense with determination, I throw back the covers, intending to steal Shea from the guest room.
Before I can get out of bed, however, the door to my bedroom creaks open, slowly.
Shea appears in the doorway, wearing one of the bra and underwear sets I bought for her.
That lacy black one that I’ve been picturing her wearing for days.
The bra cups her tits the way my hands ache to do, pushing them up for the consumption of my lust. The panties are the briefest of shorts, exposing perfect handfuls of her ass cheeks.
Most arresting, though…is that little pout on her face.
It keeps me glued to the bed while she crosses the room, barefoot, blonde hair glowing in the moonlight, her fingertips skimming up the smooth flesh of her belly.
“I had a bad dream,” she whispers, climbing on top of me in a straddle of my hips, the soft swell of her cunt pressing down on my erection. I’m gritting my teeth to keep from coming on the spot when she leans down and whispers against my lips. “I’m so scared. I need my Daddy.”
A rush of something dark coalesces with hunger in my chest, my loins.
Something about her words tells me this is more than sex.
It’s play time.
I’m still new at this—so is Shea—but my instinct takes over without missing a beat, because my instinct has become a living thing that exists purely to give her what she needs.
“Shhh,” I say into her hair, running my hands up the bare lower half of her back. “I’ve got you now. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
A shiver goes through her. “Can I sleep here with you?”
I kiss her forehead. “Of course, angel.”
She melts down onto me in relief, her inner thighs so smooth where they drape down around my hips, that supple mound wiggling around to get comfortable.
Conversely, I am not comfortable in the slightest. My balls are like rocks, throbbing, to say nothing of my cock.
It’s in a full salute against that lacy crotch of her panties.
But God, how can I help it when she’s molded to me, head to toe, and she’s so sweet?
“Your penis is so hard, Daddy,” she whispers, lifting her head. “What were you doing before I came in here?”
“Nothing,” I rasp. “Trying to sleep.”
We both glance over at my phone. It lies unlocked on the bedspread, open to the picture of her in the polka dot dress. When she drags her attention back to my face, her eyelids are at half-mast. “Do you…” Her face flushes. “…like that picture of me?”
My dick surges thicker between her legs.
Over the game we’re playing.
The way she shifts her pussy a fraction of an inch. A forbidden move.
And she feels it, her lips popping open on a gasp.
“Yes,” I admit, my voice down to the lowest octave. “Of course, I like the picture.”
“Wh-why?”
My hands move of their own accord, my rows of knuckles brushing up and down the outsides of her thighs, turned on further by the way they flex and spasm involuntarily. “Because you’re happy in it. You’re smiling.”
Briefly, her gaze flits to my mouth. “Is that the only reason?”
I’m breathing hard now. Like I’ve run a mile. Oh God, what is this?
“I like the dress,” I say, so low, I’m not sure she’ll hear me.
She does. “Why do you like the dress?”
“Shea,” I say, in an attempt at a warning tone. “That’s enough.”
Slowly, deliberately, she settles her lips against mine. “Is it my boobs, Daddy?”
I swallow audibly. Close my eyes.
That’s seems to satisfy her curiosity. She shifts her cunt a fraction of a centimeter, and Jesus, I almost ejaculate. So close. Too close. “I won’t be able to sleep in this bra,” she whispers. “Could you unsnap it for me?”
“Angel, no.”
“Don’t you want me comfortable?” she whines softly, nuzzling my nose.
Fuck. I’m on fire. My skin is hotter than a brand.
I’m dying to roll Shea onto her back and ride her young pussy like I’m possessed, but she grows more and more pliant the longer we carry on like this, because of this very specific foreplay.
I enjoy driving her higher. Seeing how high she can get for me.
“Fine,” I mutter, unsnapping her bra and pulling it down her arms. She must lift up to fully remove the undergarment, and I can’t help it, I leer at her hot, perky tits in the dark, knowing she can feel the speeding pulse in my cock.
“They’re too big,” she pouts, massaging them in her hands.
“They’re perfect,” I say, hoarse. Gripped by hunger so fierce, it should scare her.
She looks at me from beneath her lashes. “You really think so?”
“Fuck yeah.”
She still looks dubious, so I bounce her up and down on my lap until her giggle fills the room, even though her lacy, wet sex smacking down on me is pure torture. Even though her jiggling tits sink me into even more sexual frustration.
We’re both breathing hard by the time I stop.
She stares down at me. I stare back up at her.
“I always wonder what it would be like to have someone touch them,” she says, softly, lifting her hands, circling her peaked nipples with her middle fingers.
Sick with need, I reach for them, but she tumbles onto her side before I can fill my palms, laughing playfully as she lands on her back beside me on the mattress.
A horny siren in nothing but panties and a big smile.
Son of a bitch, she is a thing of beauty.
I don’t deserve such perfection, but my body compels me to take.
Compels me beyond any warnings or common sense or rules.
I roll on top of her so fast, she squeaks, her eyes flying wide.
“It keeps getting harder, Daddy.”
I lean down and speak against her ear. “You’re making me hard, little girl.”
Her nervous gasp shouldn’t make me need to fuck so bad. God help me, it does.
I’ve lost my grip on control as I come up on my knees, lean forward above her and plant my left hand among the pillows.
In my right hand, I fist my cock, letting her see it.
Letting her watch me stroke it roughly while looking directly at her tits.
“Push them together around my dick,” I say, guiding my shaft to that soft valley, caging her in with my planted knees when she tries to flee.
I spit into her gasping mouth. Then again on the trunk of my cock, lubing myself up.
“Do it, you little tease.”