CHAPTER 2 – AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR #2
It’s subtle at first. A glance that lingers a half-second too long.
The tiniest smirk when I fumble my napkin.
But then it escalates: she props her elbow on the table and rests her cheek in her hand, pushing her chest forward.
When she leans in to grab a tomato, the neckline of her tank top sags, and I catch a sliver of a bikini top.
Holy fuck, it’s all string with no fabric and I clamp down on my body’s reaction.
I’m too old for this. I’m not nearly old enough to want it less.
Midway through a story about a power outage and spoiled venison, Eliza reaches for a napkin, and so do I.
The square is mid-table, and our hands collide—skin to skin, firm grip to soft fingers.
For a split second, I could swear there’s electricity in the air, or maybe that’s just how hard I’m overthinking it.
I freeze, but Eliza doesn’t hesitate; she curls her fingers around mine, gives them a gentle squeeze, and then lets go.
I can’t tell it even really happened, it was that fast. But I stare at her, my cock hardening as the young blonde merely smiles innocently, pushing a wisp of blonde hair from her face.
“Daddy, you have cherry pie smeared on your lips!” she laughs while handing Gerald the napkin. “Was it sweet?”
“So sweet, sweetheart,” her dad responds, blotting his mouth with the napkin. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to regale you guys like a caveman with food all over my face.”
“It’s no problem, Daddy,” Eliza mewls with a quick glance at me. “I love cherries too.”
Holy fuck, is the young blonde saying something to me again?
I stare at her, and then quickly look away, pulse racing.
Meanwhile, Gerald blabbers on about generator brands.
“You know what they say, Landry: always be prepared,” he says, oblivious to the way his daughter’s foot has migrated under the table and is now pressed lightly against my shin.
At first, I think it’s an accident. Then she slides her big toe, slow and deliberate, up the inside of my calf.
I nearly choke on my beer as my cock jerks.
Eliza asks innocently, “What’s your opinion on the best generator, Jack?” while rubbing her foot on my leg.
“I—uh—depends what you want to power,” I manage, voice about two octaves higher than normal.
“Oh, I know what I want to power,” she says, eyes locked on mine. There’s a little curl at the edge of her sweet pout, and my brain short-circuits. Literally, I can’t think as she swipes her tongue over her lips, leaving them glossy.
Gerald interrupts by getting up for more beer. “You want another, Jack? Or you still working on that one?”
I hold up my bottle, label facing out so he can see it’s empty. “Wouldn’t mind another.”
He disappears inside. Eliza’s foot is still on my leg. I turn to her, trying to sound casual. “You do this to all your dad’s friends?”
She rolls her eyes. “Only the hot ones.”
I growl, because I don’t know what to say in return. “Sweetheart, do you know how old I am?”
“Forty-something? You and Dad are buddies, so it has to be around there. But you look good for it.” She shrugs, unconcerned. “Besides, I like older guys because they know what they’re doing.”
She slides her foot up another inch, and now it’s definitely not accidental. My entire thigh is on high alert. “Have you ever thought about boundaries?” I ask, hoping I sound like an adult and not a total horndog.
“I think about them a lot,” she says breezily. “Mostly about crossing them.”
The way the young girl looks at me—flirtatious, with challenge in her eyes—makes me want to do something idiotic and irreversible. And if not for the sound of Gerald’s return, I might.
The rest of lunch is a study in self-control. Eliza’s foot stays exactly where she left it, and every time I glance at her, she’s got the look of an innocent princess on her face, all sweet and unassuming. Gerald has no fucking clue that his daughter’s foot is about an inch from fondling my balls.
When the meal is over, Gerald stands to clear the plates and says, “Eliza, can you show Jack the pool? I’ll handle cleanup.”
She stands, stretching in a way that should be illegal in at least ten states, and grins. “Sure, Dad. I’ll give him the tour.”
Gerald is still talking as he heads inside. “Make sure you point out the new deck, too. Cost me a fortune—damn contractors…”
As soon as the patio door closes, Eliza cocks her head. “Want to see something cool?”
I’m not sure if it’s a threat or a promise, but either way, I nod.
She leads the way around the side of the house, hips swaying with practiced insolence, and I follow—because I’ve never been a smart man when it comes to women, and I’m not about to start now.
The “pool tour” should be short and simple, but Eliza draws it out, skipping ahead on bare feet, hips doing figure-eights, golden hair swinging.
I tell myself I’m following her to keep an eye on the kid, a legacy of military duty and best-friend loyalty, but let’s call a spade a spade: I just want to look at the lush girl, with her big tits and sweet smile.
She wants me to look too. The only question is how far she’s willing to push this game.