Page 9 of Staying Home with Dad's Best Friend
“Don’t be afraid,” he reaches to pat my arm. “They don’t bite. They’re just being friendly.”
Soon the herons leave us alone and we’re into a secluded area covered with dense shrubs along the shores and tree branches extending to the middle of the river.
“Wow,” I exclaim. “This is nice!”
Frank idles the boat toward the shore and then turns off the engine.
“Let’s rest here,” he says, moving out of his seat. He stretches before reaching for the storage compartment.
He passes a bottle of lemonade and a bag of potato chips to me and grabs a bottle of water for himself.
As we’re resting, I see movements under a tree near us. An animal is gnawing at a twig. “Is that a squirrel? What’s it doing?” I ask.
“No, it’s a beaver,” Frank says with a laugh. “It’s chewing wood.”
“Oh!” I giggle. It’s the first time I ever see a beaver. “Do they just chew it or do they actually swallow it?”
“They eat the bark and leave the actual wood alone.”
“Why? That’s so weird.”
“The bark has more nutrients and less tough.”
“I see.”
We watch the beaver as it holds the stick in its mouth, sucking it and licking it. Oh, my. Suddenly my imagination goes wild.
There is a certain stick I would love to do similar things to. I recall the other meaning of beaver and squirm in my seat, suddenly feeling hot. I remove the blanket from my thighs and undo the top buttons of my shirt.
Frank must feel the same because he takes off his windbreaker and places it on the seat behind us. He wears a white cotton t-shirt that reveals the contours of his pecs. I remember how tough but warm they felt last night.
As I’m gawking, he’s probably checking me out under his sunglasses too, but I can’t tell. I feel nervous because I can’t read his expressions, but he can see mine. All I know is his jaw is tightly clenched as if he’s fighting against something.
I glance down on his crotch and notice the bulge—his wood. It’s very large and rigid, and I want to taste it. I want to be a naughty beaver. My mouth becomes dry, and I lick my lips.
Frank takes a sip of water and smirks. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” I say, quickly unscrewing my bottle and drinking from it. The boat sways a bit and the pink juice runs down on my chin and drips onto my cleavage.
“Oops!” I quickly wipe it with the back of my hand.
Frank inhales sharply as he watches me, crushing the plastic bottle in his hand.
I’m suddenly possessed with a wicked idea. I undo one more button of my shirt and reveal two pairs of red lips, my Nippies of the day to him.
A drop of lemonade is rolling down on the left sticker and I use my thumb to rub it. The lips pucker because what’s beneath gets so hard.
Frank growls. “You’d better stop what you’re doing, Megan.”
He sounds so threatening that I pause right away, but my desire to tease him wins over. I squeeze the lips one by one. “Why? Otherwise, what would you do to me, Frank?”
“Things you can’t imagine.”
I shudder as a shiver runs down my spine. “Ooh. Sounds dangerous,” I say huskily, but I don’t stop what I’m doing.
He grabs my elbow and pulls me to him. It’s so unexpected I nearly fall right into him, but he steadies me by placing a hand on my hip. His nose touching the peak of my mound and his breath tickles my skin. My thighs tingle and a warm current rushes down in between.
“Don’t tease me, little girl,” he warns me in a low voice. “Unless you want me to take you right here in my boat.”
