Page 5 of My Dad's Best Friend

Instead, I drink my beer and do my best to stop watching Marie, even when she slowly licks the ice cream from her spoon at dessert, her eyes locked on me, her tongue swirling around the vanilla lump. I have to keep my gaze anywhere but her. I’m on the edge of standing up and throwing her over my shoulder and taking her to a bedroom and showing her what else she can do with this tongue, and what I can do with mine.

The dinner is painful, but I get through it, excuse myself to go to bed, and run my hand over my cock as I remember Marie’s sweet little mouth toying with her ice cream.

Friend’s daughter or not, she’s mine. I’ll have her all to myself. I’ll push myself deep inside her, fill her with my seed and claim her. Whatever it takes.

Chapter Three

Marie

Dinner last night with my parents was awkward. It should have been like any family get together. Conner used to come over all the time before he went to Europe, and the time he spent with us was always relaxed and easy, despite my crush on him.

However, last night, with both of my parents there and feeling as charged by his presence as I was, as I still am, the dinner was intense.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and to make matters worse, Conner would glance at me and then wink. I know that it’s just what he does because I’m me, and that it was just friendly. But despite whatever innocence there might have been behind his eyes, heat would rush through me and I felt my panties get just a little bit wetter. In the end, I had to excuse myself and go hang out in my room just so I could cool myself down and get a change of underwear.

This morning isn’t any better.

I promised to drive my parents to the airport to catch their flight to Washington for their cruise. I don’t do well with mornings at the best of times. This morning, as soon as I turn my alarm clock off I’m aware of the ache of want between my legs as images of Conner come fluttering into my mind.

I need to calm down, I tell myself. This is going to be a long three weeks if I’m this riled up and it hasn’t even been twelve hours yet.

I peak out the door to make sure there’s no one in the bathroom before I scurry across the hall to do my business. I wash my hands in cool water, which does the trick, chilling me out enough that I feel like I can act like a normal human being.

I make my way down the stairs, down the entry hall and to the kitchen then freeze, unable to make myself go any further.

I expected to see my parents in the kitchen, not the shirtless man, holding a newspaper while his muscles bulge as they hold a cup of coffee to his lips.

Holy fuck.

I am definitely awake now.

“Good morning,” he says with that deep voice of his that rumbles through him like thunder. Every time I think of it, I feel weak in the knees and wetter in my panties. There is something to the way he moves his mouth that gives me goosebumps.

“Morning,” I manage to get out, unable to take my eyes off his chest, a swirl of dark hair in the center of it, contoured with muscle. I’d seen him plenty of times as a kid with his shirt off when he came with us to the waterslides or to the lake. But that was before my crush, before I knew him as the object of my fantasies.

I clear my throat, trying to jolt myself from his hypnotic body so I could act somewhat normal. I reached for the coffee pot.

“Did you sleep alright?” I ask, trying to keep my mind from picturing him in a bed, beckoning me toward him with a sheet draped over his tasty parts like a Greek god.

“The jet lag is still getting to me,” he says. “I haven’t had a good night’s rest in at least a week.”

“What’s the time difference?” I ask.

“I was in Italy before coming back, which is an eight hours difference.”

“I see,” I say. As I hold my cup of coffee to my face, feeling the warm steam wash over it, I realize that Conner is staring right at me, watching me in my pajamas with my morning drink, my hair thrown up in a messy bun, just as intently as he would if I were some woman out on a club dance floor.

Is he into me? Or am I imagining this?

The thought that perhaps he’s hungering for me as much as I’m hungering for him makes me blush, and I turn away from him.

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