Page 20 of Bad For A Weekend

She bounces toward me in the water on one foot, two triangles of fabric barely containing her larger-than-a-handful breasts. Thank fuck I can’t tell what her bottoms look like while she’s underwater.

“Hey.” I unlock the French doors to the pool house. “You guys have a good night.”

“Did you have fun?” she asks before I can lock myself away.

When I turn to answer, her tits are now squished together and propped up on arms folded on the pool’s ledge. Her red and pink hair is slicked back from the water, and she doesn’t have a stitch of makeup on, though she looks professionally made up with her dark lashes and brows.

“Yeah.” Scratching the side of my head, I look everywhere but at her. At the banana trees and fuchsia hibiscus, at the springy green ground cover surrounding each of the odd-shaped white pavers leading to the house, and at the faux-rock waterfall that gives a spa ambiance to the pool.

But as beautiful as this backyard is, it doesn’t compare to Baylor, so my gaze shifts back to her.

“Where’d you go?” she asks.

“Out.”

“If you’re not ready for bed, you can come hang in the pool with us.” Ziggy hugs Baylor from behind.

They look good together and, more importantly, age-appropriate. So why do I feel the urge to punch the kid in the face?

“No.”

“Why not? The water’s nice.” Baylor pushes out of Ziggy’s hold and floats on her back. Jesus Christ. Her bottoms are just as skimpy as her top. I can even see slivers of skin down each side of her pussy. I gotta get out of this situation. Like right fucking now.

“Not happening.” I get myself through the door and shut it quickly.

I can’t be this attracted to my employer’s kid. I’m having a hard enough time keeping her at an emotional distance. If I slipped, even for a second, it could mean the end of my job, the end of Hudson’s company, not to mention my elderly parents would be mortified.

They’ve been through so much with me. Bedding an eighteen-year-old girl I was hired to protect might be the thing that breaks them. And I can’t fucking do that.

Heading straight to the bathroom, I strip, groaning when I pull down my boxer briefs and release my erection. I flip on the water and step under the spray, intending to take a cold shower, but the heat feels too good on my tight muscles. I’ve been overly stressed since starting work again after a four-year hiatus, and the transition has been hell.

I pour a good amount of body wash into my palm while I roll my head in slow circles. My neck pops and cracks with the movement, but I begin to relax, something I desperately need to do.

My hands roam up my arms and over my shoulders before going lower to my chest and abs. The proximity to my cock makes it jolt. Jerking off after getting hard from seeing Baylor feels so fucking wrong.

Then again, I jerk off every day in the shower; there’s nothing different about doing it now. It’s simply a routine. A stress-reducer. Nothing more. And thinking about Baylor while I get myself off is very different from fucking her. I’d never do that. This is a healthy solution.

Right?

I don’t give myself time to think of why I shouldn’t do it and take myself in hand, groaning as I stroke. I’ll allow myself to fantasize about her just this once. Just this one time, I’ll give myself permission to think about what a contradiction she is in her plaid skirt, white shirt buttoned all the way to the base of her throat, and those damn frilly socks next to her wildly colored hair and sassy mouth.

She’s innocence and sin, clashing together in one sexy package.

My fist glides up and down my erection as I conjure images of bending her over and lifting that skirt up to find out what she wears underneath. I don’t know if discovering a lacy thong or simple cotton panties would be better. Both hold an appeal that has my balls drawing up tight.

My hand moves faster, and before I can hold myself back to enjoy the moment longer, spikes of white-hot pleasure move through my body. I gasp as I spurt thick ropes of cum down the glass shower door.

Fuck. Shit.

I just got off, in my employer’s house, to thoughts of his teenage daughter.

I rinse my sins down the drain and turn off the water. Beating myself up and feeling like the ass I am, I towel off and open the medicine cabinet to dig out a bottle of pills. I pop a Xanax, something I never do unless I need it for anxiety, but I’ll never sleep tonight unless I have a little help.

Choking down a bottle of water, I towel dry my hair and fall into bed. Tomorrow will be different now that I’ve purged her from my body and mind.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

Baylor

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