Forbidden First Times: A Contemporary Romance Collection

by Sofia T Summers

  My mom laughed, looking almost embarrassed.

  “Your father has a new friend,” she teased. “Mr. Pritzker comes over for dinner once a week, and sometimes, they golf together.”

  I blinked. Mr. Pritzker? The name sounded like an old man – an old man who wore pants up nearly to his nipples, always wore a jacket even in ninety-degree weather and had cats with vaguely racist Asian-sounding names.

  My father chuckled. “Elliot’s a nice guy,” he said as he parked the Subaru and turned the key in the ignition.

  My mother leaned closer as if Mr. Elliot Pritzker were listening to the conversation himself.

  “He’s divorced,” she said in a stage-whisper. “Poor lonely old man.”

  I laughed to myself as I got out of the car. The Russets’ son, who I’d had a crush on since I was a little kid, was long gone, and now, the only man next door was a divorced old man.

  I really gotta get a job and move out, I thought as I hauled a suitcase into the foyer. Or else, I’m gonna die of boredom being back here.

  2

  Elliot

  As I stood in front of the mirror and adjusted the knot in my tie, it was hard not to groan. Another Sunday night, one that I should have spent in my office going over work for the next day, that I’d have to waste with my well-intentioned but somewhat clueless neighbors.

  I guess that I should have seen all that coming when I bought a house in the neighborhood. It was a tasteful, wealthy street – I bought the house I did because I thought the quiet would be good for all of the work I’d be doing at home – but in retrospect, I should’ve known that I would have stuck out on that damn street like a sore thumb.

  As a divorced forty-three-year-old with no kids, no girlfriend, and no interest in joining the gardening club or the HOA, I practically had a target on my back.

  My neighbors, Rob and Cynthia Browne, had pounced almost immediately. Well, Rob had hung back – which was likely the reason that the two of us had struck up a curious kind of friendship over the last few months. But Cynthia, as soon as she heard I was divorced (and not a “confirmed bachelor”), she’d tried desperately to take me under her wing.

  “And don’t even think of spending Sundays alone,” she’d first chirped to me, months ago. “You’ll come over for dinner and good conversation. And maybe some gin rummy,” she’d added. “You won’t be lonely; we’ll make sure of that!”

  At the time, declining her offer would’ve been the height of rudeness. So, I’d gone. And whenever I’d tried to tell her that while her offer had been generous and lovely but that it was time for me to start “fending for myself,” Cynthia would take my arm and shake her head.

  “But you and Rob are such good friends,” she’d argue. “You can’t deprive my husband of his companion!”

  Now, months later, I fully realized that I was stuck. If I were going to extricate myself from the death-grip of my neighbors, I’d have to go full-on nuclear and take an extreme measure. Like, suddenly becoming a Democrat or start doing yard work in just a pair of overalls with no shirt. But then, I thought as I narrowed my eyes at my reflection, she’d only see it as a cry for help and double down.

  I sighed, then walked into the kitchen and took the bottle of white wine that I’d been chilling out of the fridge. Maybe I could just stop showing up with gifts ... she’d think it was so rude that she’d never invite me back, I thought hopefully as I left my house, locking the front door behind me, and went down my driveway. The sun was setting, and the air was suddenly, noticeably warm.

  Had summer arrived, and I hadn’t even noticed?

  I had been busy at work ... but it seemed like the last time I’d been outside, there had been snow on the ground. That was an exaggeration, of course, but even so.

  I walked up the driveway of my ever-so-helpful neighbors and knocked on the door.

  What happened next, I couldn’t have predicted – or imagined – in a million years.

  “I’ll get it, Mom!” I heard a voice yell from the other side of the door.

  I blinked and stepped back, frowning as the heavy door swung open with a loud creeeaaaak! sound.

  Standing on the other side was the most delicious-looking woman I’d ever seen in my entire life. She was young – young enough to be my daughter, even – with big, wide innocent blue eyes and a mop of curly blonde hair.

  But there was no mistaking her body. It was the body of a woman, a woman who needed to be worshipped and lusted after all night long. She was spectacularly curvy, from her plump lower lip to her ripe tits to her magnificently round, juicy ass.

  Instantly, I felt myself start to get hard.

  “Hi,” she said breathily. “Who’re you?” Even her voice was luscious – it sounded like it was dripping with honey, like it was sweet enough to catch all the flies in the world. Hot, vicious lust exploded in me. I didn’t just want this girl – I wanted to tear her clothes off, to run my hands over every inch of that creamy, pale skin. To kneel down in front of her and spread her pussy lips with one hand, spread her wide open, and suckle her clit until she screamed with wanton delight.

  When I didn’t answer, she giggled, jarring me out of my terrible, wonderful thoughts.

  “Mom,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s a man here – he brought wine!”

  “Oh, that must be Elliot,” I heard Cynthia coo. She stepped into the foyer, behind the dynamite curvy blonde angel, and smiled when she saw me.

  “Annie, don’t be rude,” Cynthia chastised. “Let him in before all the cold air goes out!”

  “Sorry,” Annie said, her blue eyes flashing with mischief as she stepped back and to the side. As she did, her tits bounced under her dress, and with great difficulty, I tore my eyes away from her.

  “Elliot, I’m so sorry,” Cynthia gushed. She pried the bottle of wine from my hands and cocked her head to the side. “This is our daughter, Annie.”

  I forced a polite smile onto my face – anything to mask the dangerous, dark, lusty wolf that was now prowling inside of me.

  “This is Elliot Pritzker,” Cynthia said, saving me from the trouble of having to speak. “He’s the nice man who lives next door,” she continued, eyeing Annie in a way that made me think they’d discussed me before.

  “Hi,” Annie said. She grinned at me and stuck out her hand. Just like the rest of her, it was plump, pale, and looked soft as rose petals. I clenched my jaw before reaching out and taking her fingers in my hand. When I squeezed her hand, a touch more firm than was polite, Annie blushed.

  That was when I noticed her gaze, licking over me from head to toe. Her tits were heaving like she’d just been running up and down the stairs, and she was breathing hard.

  Did this gorgeous little vixen want me, too?

  “Elliot,” Cynthia said, frowning at me.

  “Sorry,” I said quickly. “Um, yes. What?”

  Cynthia blinked at me, then let out an embarrassed little chuckle.

  “I asked if you wanted white or red,” she said. “I was planning on serving red with dinner, but it’s just so warm outside! White might be more refreshing,” she rambled on. “Oh, or what about rosé? That might be nice. What do you think?”

  Behind Cynthia, Annie was making eyes at me. God, how could someone so young drive me so crazy, all with barely saying a word?

  It’s been too long, I thought immediately. I haven’t gotten laid in years, and she’s gorgeous. It’s definitely that. It has to be that, right?

  “Elliot?” Cynthia asked.

  “Sorry, what?”

  She looked genuinely perplexed, like she’d never even considered the possibility that her daughter was a stunning, radiant goddess.

  “The wine,” Cynthia said patiently. “What would you like?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly. “Whatever you have is fine.”

  “Okay,” Cynthia said. She sounded unsure, and her glance lingered on me before she turned and went into the kitchen. I heard the sound of a cork bei
ng popped, and Annie turned to me.

  “So,” Annie said, raising an eyebrow and stepping closer. There was a little sweat on her face, making her glow in the late-afternoon sun that filtered in through the windows. The dress she wore was thin – I could see the outline of her bra and panties – and I had to take deep breaths and keep my arms rail-straight at my sides. The chemistry between us was palpable: I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt anything like it before in my entire life.

  Not even when I met my now ex-wife, Tamara.

  “So?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you ... visiting?”

  Annie let out another golden giggle.

  “I wish,” she said smirking. She took another step closer, and her scent washed over me – vanilla and honeysuckle. Inwardly, I groaned with desire. Whenever she tossed her curls, her scent came rushing over me anew, and I swallowed hard.

  “I just graduated,” she added, with a touch of self-consciousness. “Last week. And now, I’m back here, with Mom and Dad,” she said with a touch of irony. “I’m looking for a job, but there’s not really much that I’m qualified for ... but as soon as I find something, I’m moving out. With my best friend, Beth,” she continued, nodding as she talked. Something about the look on my face made her stop, and she blushed.

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said. “I was like, totally rambling, wasn’t I?”

  I didn’t have a chance to reply – Cynthia was back with two glasses of wine, one of which she handed to me, and Rob came downstairs, nodding and smiling when he saw me.

  “He made it,” Rob said as he clapped me on the shoulder.

  Now, more than ever, I wished that I’d managed to terminate my ... friendship with the Brownes before I’d ever had the chance to learn of their delectably curvy daughter’s existence. I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on the conversation or shoot the shit with Rob like usual – my mind was clearly going to stay planted on Annie until I did something that I would, no doubt, bitterly regret.

  There was no reason, no logical reason on earth, why I should be lusting over Annie the way that I was. Given what she’d told me about graduating and trying to find a job, I guessed that she was no older than twenty-two or twenty-three at the most. She was an innocent, fresh-faced curvy thing – the kind of woman who would never, ever be interested in me. I had to have been mistaken when I thought she was checking me out. Shit, she probably thought I reminded her of her dad.

  The thought was almost nauseating.

  “Cynthia, I’m so sorry,” I said, feigning a cough. “I’m not feeling well this evening – I think I should probably go home.”

  “But you just got here,” Cynthia said, frowning at me. She sipped her wine. “And I made a roast, your favorite!”

  “It might be contagious,” I lied. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to get anyone here sick.”

  “Elliot, come on,” Rob said, clapping a hand down on my shoulder.

  If he knew what I wanted to do to his daughter, he’d rip me limb from limb.

  “Really,” I said. “I’m sorry – I know you went to a lot of trouble on my account. But I should go, before this gets worse.”

  The only person who wasn’t talking was Annie – she was standing in the corner of the room, staring at me with the tips of her fingers bouncing along her lower lip and her blue eyes, wider than ever.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “Really. I’ll see if I’m feeling better next week. Maybe then.”

  More like, maybe never again, I told myself as I opened the door and let myself out, Cynthia squawking in protest all the while.

  It was clear to me that now my place at the Browne family dinner table had to be gone forever.

  Or else, I couldn’t trust myself to keep from fucking that sweet little girl.

  And likely, ruining her life.

  3

  Annie

  “How could he just leave like that,” my mother said as the door closed behind Elliot Pritzker.

  Elliot Pritzker, aka the sexiest man I had ever seen.

  I couldn’t believe it – I’d been so dumb, picturing him as an actual old man.

  Nothing about Elliot had screamed ‘old’.

  Or even whispered it. There was nothing about him that resembled the picture my mother had painted for me: sad, divorced, pathetic.

  Elliot wasn’t pathetic – he was perfect.

  His thick, dark brown hair was just a touch longer than social mores permitted, and the salt-and-pepper touches at his temples only made him look sexier. His body was sculpted – not over-the-top muscular, but very toned and lean – and his cheekbones and jawline could’ve cut glass.

  Most of all, his eyes. His brilliant, emerald-green eyes that seemed to see right through my clothes, right through my skin, right through me. When we’d locked eyes for the first time, I’d felt a sharp electric jolt to my gut. It had been almost painful at first, like that time I accidentally shocked myself by trying to pry an outlet wall plate off the wall with a fork.

  But the pain hadn’t lasted. It had transformed, into something warm and liquid and delicious, like hot chocolate, that had seeped through me from the tips of my fingers all the way down to my toes. My stomach had twisted, and my heart had started thudding.

  I’d never seen a man like Elliot before. He reminded me of one of my professors, but sexier. And none of my professors had ever looked at me like that before. The way Elliot had been staring at me made me think that he wanted to rip my clothes off and have me right there, in the foyer, while my mom went to fetch wine.

  All kinds of strange feelings were rushing through me. I suddenly, desperately wanted to call Beth and tell her about what had happened even though it occurred to me belatedly that nothing had really happened. He’d come over, locked eyes with me, then made up an obvious lie and dipped out before my mother could serve the pride and joy of her culinary talents: her roast.

  Had it been because of me? I frowned as I watched my mother step to the window and pull the curtain back.

  “I thought he was going to leave,” she commented as she pushed the curtain back into place and turned to face my father and me.

  My father looked equally confused.

  “He certainly was acting strange,” he said. “Maybe he really did get sick, Carolyn.” My father chuckled to himself. “The man works so hard – his immune system is probably terrible.”

  My mother put her hands on her hips and sighed.

  “Well, the food shouldn’t go to waste just because he was a rude guest,” she said, more to herself than my father and I. “Shall we?”

  I didn’t feel like eating – my stomach was still jittery, and my heart was racing in my chest. My palms were sweaty – actually, I was sweaty all over, and I didn’t think it was from the insanely warm day that we were having.

  We had only been in the same room for a few moments, but those moments had been so powerful. Now, when I closed my eyes, I saw Elliot lingering there, right at the front of my mind, like I had been born to meet him.

  I wanted to tell myself that I had imagined the whole thing – that there was no way a guy like Elliot would want a curvy thing like me. But I couldn’t quite force myself to believe it. The lust in Elliot’s eyes had been real, and thinking about it now sent a wicked shiver down my spine. Despite the heat, goosebumps broke out over my skin, and I bit the inside of my lower lip.

  He had definitely wanted me, and it had almost seemed like he wouldn’t have been able to control himself if he’d chosen to stay.

  Was I the real reason Elliot had left?

  The thought made me gulp anxiously.

  “Annie?” My mother asked. “Are you listening to me?”

  “What? Sorry, Mom,” I said hastily. “Dinner sounds great.”

  I followed my parents into their massive dining room – a room we had barely used when I was growing up. Back before I’d gone off to college, we’d always eaten dinner at the smaller kitchen table, usually with the TV on and the news or a football game pl
aying. The dining room had been reserved for special occasions, like Thanksgiving or Christmas, or the one time when my mother had hosted a wake after my uncle’s boyfriend had died.

  Now, sitting there with my parents on an ordinary Sunday evening, it felt strange, almost like I was trespassing on someone else’s property. Living at home over the past few days hadn’t been much fun – I had felt like I was back in high school, eating every meal with Mom and Dad and going to bed at ten-thirty, then quietly watching the TV in my bedroom until I fell asleep a few hours later. Mom started chores around nine, so it wasn’t like I could lie around and sleep in.

  More than ever, it had made me determined to get a job so that I could move out and get an apartment with Beth.

  For once, though, I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about Elliot, and the powerful, electric spark that had leapt between our bodies when we’d shaken hands. Such an informal, everyday gesture had left me reeling, and I’d had to purposefully step back so that I wouldn’t launch myself into his arms and kiss him.

  I’d never felt like this before, not in my entire life. I felt like every cell, every nerve, every capillary in my body was tingling and singing. My panties were soaking wet, and every time I shifted in my chair, my thighs rubbed together, and a delicious sensation went soaring through my body. My nipples were so hard that they almost ached, and everything I touched felt sensual and new.

  Was this what it was like to want something, to want someone? I’d always kind of giggled at Beth and the way she’d moan and throw herself down on her bed after coming home from a date with a guy whom she really liked. I’d thought she was being silly and dramatic, that there was no way her hormones could be driving her as crazy as she said.

  Now, I felt a little guilty for having done that. I wanted to call her and have her walk me through everything, ask her what it was like to really want a hot guy.

  “Annie, you can’t be finished already,” my mother said.