Page 8 of Such a Sweet Girl

Alow, red light washed the empty pillow next to me. The clock hit three, night slipping to early morning without me finding an ounce of sleep.

Nick ignored me for most of the afternoon, only dragging himself from gaming long enough to join me for a stilted dinner. The conversation was as sparse as the pathetic drizzle of whitish gravy that slopped on the freezer meal. Living in London, I’d never learned to cook. With a thousand restaurants on my doorstep from more countries than you could imagine, there’s never been any need to learn. Nick and I’s summers had been spent eating bacon sandwiches, toasting fish we caught on the barbecue out back, and with far more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches than I cared to admit. Our failure at catching our meals had only made us laugh all the more.

Back then.

Back when trying felt good. Before Nick had given up on me.

Rolling over, I sighed. Why did I work all year to come here? Nick didn’t want me anymore. I pushed my relationships aside, struggled financially for years, and all to be in a house with my son yet feeling like a stranger.

He’s an adult. I couldn’t force him to spend time with me.

Hell, he barely even paid attention to the pretty girl who lounged around the cabin in nothing but a t-shirt, all tousled hair and pouty-lipped. Stifling a groan, I pulled a pillow over my head and tried my hardest not to focus on the expanse of soft, naked thighs that flashed into my head.

Soft cotton squishes between my fingers as I pressed the pillow to my face as though it could keep out the invasive thoughts of the sweet woman who plagued my night with thoughts I definitely shouldn’t have been having.

No luck.

A vision of her reaching over the countertop, her t-shirt hiking high, hit me. Sunlight dancing over her olive skin, a glint in her eye as she looks back and smiles. Watching her beat batter in a baking bowl, dark hair just begging to be tugged.

What’s wrong with me?

Too long since I got laid.

No-one would know if I just thought of her… it’s harmless.

Pushing the pillow away, I tossed back my blanket and wrapped my fingers around my cock, it was already thickening at the thought of her.

Delving into my mind, I picture her in my kitchen, looking at me with gleaming eyes. She doesn’t want me to taste her cookies; she wants me to taste her.

My mouth waters.

I imagine sitting her on the counter and teasing her with my lips, kissing and licking everywhere but where she needs me. The moans she’d give had me hard, my breath catching as I stroked my dick. We can hear Nick’s video game over our mixed pleasure… I’d reach up and press a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet while finally fitting my mouth over her cunt.

Fuck.

That forbidden thought made my balls tense in a way that floored me.

I’d never lusted after one of Nick’s summer flings. But Francesca drew my attention like a flickering light. Impossible to ignore.

With a deep groan, I circled my dick before increasing my strokes. Would she spread wide for me and take it all? Tension coiled deep in my groin, building with each sordid stroke.

I want my son’s girl.

Despicable.

Yet, it took only seconds for my body to tense, my balls unloading and sending ropes of come ejecting all over my stomach. The red from the clock makes the sticky mess gleam, the flashing reminiscent of police car lights.

If the thought police were a thing, they’d have to slap the cuffs on me. At the first sight of Francesca, I’d lost all sense.

What I should have done was to clean myself up, chalk it up to an acute case of the horn and let it go.

But I couldn’t.

Nick didn’t deserve the pretty stranger from next door. She didn’t deserve to be ignored by my layabout son. No. Francesca needed a man with ambition. A man who would praise her attention and encourage her. A man to let her know what true desire feels like.

A man like me.

The question I needed to answer… Would she desire me? I didn’t doubt that she could have any man she wanted, and her boyfriend’s father was likely as low as shit on that list.

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