Page 23 of Praise Me: Pilot
His left eyebrow arches. “Ravishing?”
“I’m taking a Victorian literature class,” I say airily, taking his hand and tugging him playfully into my room, marveling at thesight of this six-foot-three pilot with a five o’clock shadow in my girly room full of furry pillows and bras drying on door handles. “Wow, seeing you in here reminds me how many years there are between us. Our ages.”
“Are you saying I look old?” he drawls, amused.
“No,” I pout, running my hands up his bare, sculpted chest. “I’m saying you look older. Than me.” My face is turning pink, I can feel it, but he’s looking at me so patiently, I find the truth flowing easier. “I’m saying I like that you’re older. Your maturity makes me feel…free to be young. Does that even make sense?”
He nods, looking thoughtful. Running a knuckle down the side of my face. “You had to be the mature one growing up. Now you don’t.” His chest dips low, his lips dropping to speak quietly against my ear, like we’re passing a secret. “You have a Daddy now who is going to take care of everything while you enjoy yourself. Be there when you need to cry or fuck. Buy you pretty things. Handle the tuition and bills—”
“Tuition? B-bills?” I sputter. “Joel, my father pays my tuition and—”
He’s already shaking his head. “Not anymore, Haylo. Daddy in bed and out.” He unbuttons my shorts and yanks the zipper down, shoving the garment down to my ankles. Eyes darkening, he picks me up by my waist and settles me onto my desk, untying my bikini top and tossing it away, groaning brokenly at the sight of my perky breasts. My body in nothing but itty-bitty thong bathing suit bottoms. “Anything you might have gone to your father with before, it comes to me now.”
“But you’re not my father,” I point out.
“No? Try it out.” Gradually, he begins to breathe hard against my mouth. Or is thatmestruggling to draw air? My head is spinning a little, because I’m not sure what’s happening, but I know the walls of my sex are contracting rhythmically, tingles racing up and down my legs, arms. “Try it out, angel.”
“Try what out?” I gasp, feeling gooey and ticklish beneath my navel.
Uncomfortable, but not in a bad way? At least, I don’t think so…
What’s going on here?
“You know what,” he whispers.
I close my eyes. I’m scared and excited at the same time.
What is happening to me? I’m on the verge of something…emotionalandphysical.
“Dad, did you send my tuition check?” I murmur, voice unsteady.
“It’s in the mail,” he rumbles.
I close my eyes. Does he know that’s the exact phrasing Phil uses? No, he couldn’t possibly. But because of those four familiar words, suddenly, it’s someone else entirely between my thighs. It’s someone else clutching the bare cheeks of my ass and dragging me to the edge of the desk, his erection prodding my mound. Someone else raking his mouth down the side of my neck and reclining me back slightly, in order to suck noisily on my nipples. Right, then left, with an older, greedier mouth.
“Y-you shouldn’t,” I whisper, choked, forbidden images painting themselves on the backs of my eyelids. “We sh-shouldn’t.”
He pauses for several heavy seconds, breathing erratically. Then, “You need money for textbooks, too, don’t you?” He runs a finger from my belly button to the underside of my thong, twisting the digit gently against my opening through the barrier of white material, but it’s like a sensual bomb going off inside of me, confusing and intense. “It wouldn’t kill you to show me a little appreciation. No one needs to know.”
A bead of sweat rolls down my spine and I swallow with the use of an arid throat.
I’m not sure what’s happening, but it has to be bad.
Why does it feel like I might come from mere…implications.
Still. “Dad…” I say, in warning. In encouragement.I don’t know.
“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t, it’s just…” He leans over me, pinning my lower body. Rolling himself forward with a shuddering grunt. “You grew up so fast. So pretty. Just like your mother.”
I whimper hysterically.
“Wonder if you feel the same.”
I orgasm so suddenly, I jackknife with a scream, my core convulsing violently, cloudy feelings both hot and wrong, course through me, wetting my thong until it’s sopping wet and I’ve made a mess on the desk, all while strong arms close around me, lips kissing my temples and shhhing me while my body is ransacked with wave after wave of strange relief.
Desperate to dispel the very specific, very incorrect imagery, I seek Joel’s eyes, relieved to find him there. Clinging to him desperately, needing him to make sense of what just happened. “I…I don’t know why…”
“It’s okay, angel.” He kisses me fiercely, holding the sides of my face in his hands while looking me in the eye. “You’ve got some father issues. Ofcourseyou do, after everything he’s put your through. We’re going to work them out of you. Together.” Again, he kisses me. “Okay?”
