Page 29 of Enemy Daddy Next Door

But then I remember I’m a virgin. And while I don’t judge other people for not having sex, I certainly judge myself. Just look at two of my sisters who got pregnant out of wedlock, assumedly because they felt so passionately about having sex with someone that it had to happen.

That terrifies me to my core.

Amy. Fantasy time.

Right, right. Nearly let my anxiety be the thing keeping me awake instead of the horniness.

Hunter in a towel. Focus on that.

His pecs glistening from his shower. Dark hair damp over his shoulders. The smell of coffee permeating the room.

I was in my bikini…wonder what he thought of that in the moment.

I hope he liked it.

In my imagination, I am a vixen. I’m not afraid. And so I imagine myself walking toward him instead of squealing away in fear.

My center throbs, calling for my fingers.

“Fine…” I mutter to myself and shove my fingers into my pajama shorts.

Oh, fuck. I’m wet.

Really wet.

We haven’t even done anything in my imagination and I’m already a mess.

I imagine Hunter taking me by the hips and pressing me up against the counter, towering over me. His thumbs playing with the elastic of my swim bottoms.

“What are you doing here? Looking like that,” he growls.

Not sure how I would take to domineering and intimidation in real life, but in a fantasy, god, is it stirring.

I tilt my head back. “What would you like me here for?”

“Is that even a question?”

Hunter seems like he takes control easily, so it comes easily in my fantasy that he’d lift me up onto the counter, ramming his lips into mine and eagerly ripping my bikini bottoms off.

My clit throbs. I let my thumb skim it, my body convulsing at the sensitivity. “Oh, fuck.”

Hunter’s lips trail down from my mouth to my jaw to my neck. There, he lingers, nipping at the skin hard enough to leave a mark. Luckily, in my imagination, I don’t have to worry about explaining that to my dad afterwards.

Stop thinking about your dad, Amy!

Back to Hunter. Hunter’s lips tracing my clavicle, moving down to the mount of my breast, slipping his tongue beneath the cup, lapping at the nipple.

My hand between my legs becomes his in my imagination.

“Wet for me, Amy.”

God, the way I want him to whisper my name in my ear.

“Want to be inside you…”

And the way I want him to let me know how much he wants me. Beg to be inside me.

In my fantasy, it won’t hurt. I’ve heard the first time hurts; some people say it’s horrible while others say it’s not so bad. With the right person, it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would even be pleasurable.

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