Page 73 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

My hips shot up as I gasped.

“You’re so needy. I’m going to take care of you.” He moved up my body, kissing me again as his fingers stroked through my folds. The combination of his licking and sucking my breasts as he teased my clit had me writhing with need.

“Come for me,” he murmured against my nipple. He gently tugged on it with his teeth as his fingers swirled around my clit. Pleasure burst through, white-hot and so good.

I cried out, moving my hips with his fingers, seeking to prolong the pleasure as much as I could.Why can’t I have what I want?The question swirled through my mind, seeking a solution that wouldn’t put my heart at risk.

27

Brett

Ihadn't come tonight expecting to kiss Miranda, much less touch her. I’d come to believe that it could never happen. And yet here I was, listening to her moans echoing in the bedroom, filling my heart with such hope.

As she came down from the high, I wanted to sink into her, not simply for the sexual release I was craving but to finally be a part of her. Like joining with her body would fill the emptiness I’d been feeling. But I knew I couldn’t. Not tonight, anyway. I didn’t want intercourse to impact her or the baby, even though the doctor had said everything was fine.

I leaned over to kiss her, trying not to read anything into the fact that her kiss felt stilted. I lifted my head to look at her, seeing regret in her eyes. My heart sank.

She gave me a wan smile. "I know that you're not finished yet, so maybe—"

"I wasn't planning to have sex with you. I don't want to do anything to hurt you or the baby."

She looked down toward my groin. It was impossible for her not to see my dick straining to be free.

"I guess I could help you out."

I had a moment of wanting to lash out at her for making it seem like getting me off would be such a chore. But I’d been practicing the suggestions my therapist had given me in noticing my feeling, taking a breath, and counting to five before speaking.

I rolled on my back, taking my breaths and counting.

“Are you mad? I could—"

“I’m not mad.” Ultimately, I undid my pants, shoving them down until my dick sprang free. I wrapped my hand around it and stroked it. "It's all right. I can take care of it." For the life of me, I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I was hoping that if she saw me, she'd want to touch me, not out of duty but out of desire.

Her eyes drifted down to where my hand still wrapped around my dick. Her eyes flared with heat, and for the first time, I thought one of my cockamamie plans was going to work. I stroked him again, letting out a groan as I did.

Miranda’s gaze stayed on me, entranced at watching me stroke myself. Would I have rather had her mouth on me? Absolutely. I'd rather have any part of her on me. But I couldn't deny how sexy it was to have her watch me pleasure myself. So I gave in to it. I wanted to ask her what it did to her to watch me. Did it turn her on? I wondered if I could get her to talk dirty to me. But I was worried I would break the spell, and so I kept my mouth shut except for the heavy panting as I continued to stroke my cock and fondle my balls, turned on by her watching me.

I watched her watching me, and it wasn’t long before my hand was pumping quickly and my cum shot out, landing on my stomach and chest. It felt good, and yet empty, too.

I excused myself, going to the bathroom naked to grab tissue to clean up. Only when I was heading back to her room did I consider the possibility that her father was home. Oh, well. He had to know I slept with his daughter considering she was having my baby.

When I reentered the room, Miranda was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a robe. Disappointment filled me. I sat down next to her, pulling her to me.

"I'm sorry, Brett. I can't do this." She stood, walking away from me. Her room wasn’t very big, but it seemed to me she was trying to get to the farthest space from me as she could. Was this two steps forward and one step back? Or had it been one step forward and two steps back?

I rose, grabbing my jeans, slipping them and my shirt on before I stood across the room looking at her. The time it took to get dressed gave me a moment to gather my thoughts so that when I spoke, my frustration didn't hurl out at her. "If you can't do this, then why did we just do it?"

"The things that attract us are still there, Brett. But I don't trust you. You scare me."

She could've stuck a knife in my chest and gutted my heart and it wouldn’t have hurt as much as those words. "I scare you? I assure you, Miranda. I’m not a violent man."

"You don't need to be violent to hurt someone. I've been there, I've done that, and I don't want to do it again."

Goddammit. Why couldn't I do the thing or say the thing that would make her change her mind? Couldn't she see that I was trying? Couldn't she see that she meant something to me?

The words of my therapist came back. She was talking to me about communication and how nobody was a mind reader. “You need to tell her how you feel. It’s the only way you can get what you want.”

But standing here vulnerable in front of Miranda, who just told me that she was never going to trust me, I didn't have the courage to tell her what was in my heart. I felt certain it wouldn't matter if I did. It wouldn't change the past, and the past was why she was determined to keep me away. I couldn't ever remember feeling as dejected as I was at that moment.

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