by Ella Brooke
“Too late,” he says in that deep, silky voice I heard down on the verandah. “It’s my house, I go where I like. What are you going to do about it, little girl?” he taunts, his hand wrapping around his erect, magnificent cock, the veins practically popping from it. I stare at it, wanting to reach out and touch it. “The question is, what are you going to do about it,” I tease back. He steps inside the enclosure, his hazel eyes alight with pure lust. “What I do to all little girls who tease me,” he says, his grin a bright white crescent of lascivious intent as he steps close to me, his hairy chest rubbing against my own. “Make you come hard while I fuck you from behind.”
I turn around to face the wall of the shower, imagining him forcing me up against it, his hot, wet cock pressing between my butt cheeks. My breath comes fast and hard, and my pussy aches to be touched. I reach down between my folds, spreading my pussy lips apart so the water can rush down over my throbbing clit. “Yeah, you want me to fuck you, don’t you . . . you want me to make you come, don’t you, little girl. You like being fucked,” his voice rumbles in my ear, his fingers reaching between my legs.
I stroke my clit with one finger, up and back, up and back. “You can’t make me come,” I say. No one makes me come.” He laughs, the sound like a gentle roll of thunder. “No one but me,” he growls. I move my finger faster. “You’re gonna scream for your mama when I’m done,” he says, the delicious, sculpted bulk of his body pinning me to the wall, his big, rough fingers pumping my swollen clit. “And you’re gonna come for Daddy,” he adds as his giant cock parts my cheeks. “Right now.” He thrusts home inside me, again and again, the slow burn of orgasm igniting in my core. “Come on, come for Daddy,” he demands in between each stroke.
I can’t hold back. Water splashes around me as I frantically push myself over the edge, coming harder than I’ve ever made myself come before. A low moan leaves my lips as I rock through waves of pleasure. “That’s a good girl,” he says, releasing a blast of hot cum into me. “That’s Daddy’s good girl.”
As the sensations ebb and fade, I brace myself against the tiles, panting for breath. Wow, where did that come from? my brain whispers. Fantasizing about a man twice your age. Shame on you. I wipe the steam from the glass with my hand, looking out at the bathroom door. Still closed and latched. For a moment I’m disappointed, half-expecting to see Brent standing there. But of course, he isn’t. A flush of embarrassment crawls up from my belly and onto my cheeks. I can’t believe I just did that. Brent Baxter is old enough to be my father. I cringe as the ugly truth rings in my head like a fire alarm. And he’s my boyfriend’s father.
Future Plans
Brent
A wave of heat passes over my face, and not only because of my unusual encounter with Cassidy Keaton. I close the lid on my three-thousand-dollar beast of a barbecue, checking the LED readout that tells me the exact interior temperature. It’s ready.
I lay the steaks and racks of ribs on the hot metal grate, relishing the satisfying sizzle of meat meeting heat. This ought to appease the hungry horde of Ryan’s classmates. I’ve had most of the meal catered, but I really enjoy cooking outdoors on a grill. Besides, it gives me something to do while the youngsters laugh and trash talk each other before dinner—not to mention keeping my mind off a certain sexy girl in a red bikini.
I know I wasn’t imagining the look in Cassie’s eye as we crossed paths earlier, but the point is moot. She’s way too young for me to be entertaining any kind of romantic thoughts, no matter how much my body disagrees. Add to that, she’s dating my son. How could I possibly have any interest in her, or her in me? It’s both ridiculous and ludicrous.
The caterer has set up a big table out on the back verandah for the group’s last night together. In the morning they’ll all be returning to their individual homes, moving on to new jobs or graduate school, or whatever other exciting things await them in their futures. Again, I feel a wistful longing. Oh, to have all those choices ahead of me again, and great things to look forward to.
“Beers in the cooler, guys,” I say over my shoulder as the first of Ryan’s friends join me. “Help yourselves.”
“Right on,” one of them says, flipping open the cooler. “Thanks, Mr. Baxter,” says another. The clink of glass against ice is yet another note in the symphony of summer sounds, along with the birds in the trees and the slapping of gentle waves on the lakeshore. All of it is music to my ears and never fails to bring a smile to my face.
“My pleasure, boys.” As the seats at the table start to fill, I wonder where Cassie is. Ryan is already here, beer in hand and chatting with his pals. Not my place to know or care, so I turn my attention back to the grill, giving the steaks a quarter turn and slathering the ribs with more barbecue sauce.
The catering staff begins setting out tableware and large tubs of various salads and sides, much to the delight of the hungry crew. “How’re the steaks coming, Dad?” Ryan asks.
“A few more minutes, Ry. Try to keep the carnivores at bay, will you?”
Ryan laughs and nods, his friends already queueing up at the end of the buffet line. Amid the shuffle of bodies, plates and drinks I notice a lone figure hovering at the patio doors. She’s wearing a white sundress that accentuates the deep tan of her flawless skin. The tight-fitting bodice hugs her perfect tits. I watch her step daintily over the threshold, a brief silhouette of shapely legs revealed through her flared skirt as she passes through a beam of sunlight on her way across the deck. My wayward cock twitches once again.
A wisp of hot smoke under my nostrils rouses me back to the task at hand. Shit. The last thing I need is charred meat for a send-off on the kids’ last night here. For some reason I feel a need to impress my young guests with my culinary skills. Or, maybe just one particular guest wearing a gauzy sundress.
I flip the steaks and ribs and turn the grill off. I take a sip of my Long Island iced tea and look out toward the lake. The sweating glass is slippery in my hand, and for a crazy second I find myself wondering if Cassie is just as wet between her legs, imagining her sweet, no-doubt-shaved-smooth pussy against my hot hand. What would turn on a twenty-year-old stunner like her? Does she like getting fingered? Does she like it on top, or doggie style? Does she go down like a kid on a popsicle?
“Hey Dad, is it ready yet? Kinda hungry here.”
Nothing kills a lusty thought faster than the sound of your child’s voice, no matter how old or young they are. “Yeah. Hold on.” I transfer all the meat to a platter and set it at the end of the buffet spread. “Dig in, folks.” The food looks and smells great, if I do say so myself. I step back to let them enjoy their last meal of this mini-vacation together and head into the house.
“Aren’t you joining us, Mr. Baxter?” one of Ryan’s classmates asks.
I turn and flash them a smile. “Out here I’m just Brent. ‘Mr. Baxter’ makes me sound ancient. No, you go on and enjoy. You don’t need an old man crashing your party.”
“You’re not old,” comments one of the girls with a coquettish smile and a dismissive wave of her hand. Hmmm. Maybe the old man’s still got it going on.
“C’mon, Dad,” Ryan says. You’ve put all this on for us, let us hang out here for two weeks. Pull up a chair.”
My eyes scan the collection of college kids, trying not to linger on Ryan’s delectable little girlfriend for too long. I should bug off and disappear immediately. But if I stay, I can enjoy the view with impunity.
“If you insist. But I warn you, I’m social-media-challenged. If the conversation turns to Snapchat I’m leaving.” This garners a laugh from the group as a few of them shuffle over to make room. I grab a plate and dig in before settling down opposite Ryan and Cassie.
The conversation stills as people fill their mouths with food. Like a good host should, I decide to kick off some lively after-dinner discussion with a cliché but nonetheless important question. “So, what are all of you going to do now? Any hot job prospects?”
“Not really,” says o
ne of the boys. “Unless the qualifications call for a killer tan. Then I’m their man,” he laughs.
“I’m going on to graduate school,” one of the girls says.
“And I’m opening my own business,” says the slim brunette next to her. “I’ve made a deal for some shop space where I can design and sell my own line of clothing.”
“Fantastic,” I say.
“I’m joining the family business,” Ryan’s friend says. Jordan, I think his name is. “I still can’t figure why you’re not joining forces with your Dad,” Jordan says to Ryan. “Built-in success with a big Wall Street investment firm, and what does he do?” Jordan punches Ryan in the shoulder. “Goes into law, of all things. Man, you do like to do things the hard way.”
“So I don’t take the easy road,” Ryan says. “I like challenges. Anything wrong with that?”
“Not when he’s already lined up an internship at the most prestigious law firm in New York,” scoffs one of the other guys.
It’s true. Ryan had little interest in the financial industry, despite it providing him with a pampered lifestyle and an elite education his whole life. He decided early on he wanted to study law, and as much as I wanted to have him at my firm, at least my business connections allowed me to help him land a plum assignment in his chosen field.
As the others chime in on the topic, my eyes inevitably stray to the quiet blonde at Ryan’s side. She listens attentively but says nothing, pushing the food around on her plate. She’s either not a big eater by nature or something’s affecting her appetite. I’m curious as to her future plans, so I decide to draw her into the conversation.
“You’re awfully quiet, Cassie. What are your plans after school? Do you have a job lined up?”
Cassie looks up, her ocean-blue eyes popping wide, as though I’ve startled her with my query. She glances left and right. I’ve put her on the spot, and I immediately regret calling her out. The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable. Ryan turns his head expectantly toward her.
“Well,” she begins, “I work part-time right now. As a fine arts major, there aren’t a lot of ‘big salary’ positions out there, but I’m having my first art exhibition next month at the gallery I did my practicum with. They’re going to showcase four of my sculptures, with an opening night event and everything. I’m hoping it will lead to bigger things, and to someday making a living as an artist.”
Ryan nudges her arm gently. “You will,” he says. “You’re a born artist.” The gesture somehow makes me uncomfortable; reminding me all-too-clearly that this girl is off-limits. But it doesn’t mean I can’t encourage her, maybe even help her out in some way.
Cassie nods her head aside in that adorable tilt I noted earlier and gives a short laugh. “I may be a born artist, but right now I’m a career waitress.”
“That’s okay,” Ryan assures her. “Marco’s is a great place.” He turns his gaze toward me. “It’s family-run, and they treat her really well. Sometimes I think they want to adopt her,” he chuckles.
“They might as well, I’ve been there five years,” Cassie says with a sigh. “They’re good people, and I wouldn’t quit unless I found something better. Just not really the kind of job I thought I’d be doing after university.”
The wheels in my business head start turning. I didn’t get where I am today without knowing a good investment when I see one—especially those with a potentially high ROI. “I can understand that,” I say. “Loyalty’s great, but you have to consider your career, and your future. Have you been looking for something else?”
“Not yet, I . . .” Cassie looks around a bit nervously. “I haven’t really had time, and I don’t have much experience.”
“There’s the old catch-22, right? You need a job to get experience, and experience to get a job,” I say, quoting an old axiom my own father used to say. I wince inwardly at the sound of his words coming out of my own mouth. “I have an idea. My office needs a new personal assistant. Someone we can train; no experience necessary. Would you consider working in the financial industry?”
I hear excited gasps from around the table, but I only have eyes for Cassie. She’s an artist, a free spirit, and free to choose her own path. She might say no . . . but as our eyes make contact, I already know her answer.
Don’t Look a Gift Horse in His Sexy Mouth
Cassidy
I’m stunned, and everyone knows it by the look on my face. The opportunity of a lifetime has just dropped in my lap like a spilled plate of lasagne in Marco’s Italian Restaurant—and in front of Ryan and all my peers, too. How can I answer him under these circumstances?
“You should do it,” Ryan says, licking barbecue sauce off his fingers. You’d think the pampered son of a billionaire would have better table manners. He doesn’t seem surprised that his father would make such an offer. Doesn’t this bother him at all?
“Cassie, that’s brilliant,” says Julie, one of the other two girls on the trip. “I’ll bet it pays a lot more than Marco’s.”
“No shit,” comments one of the boys.
I’ve got to say something, not just sit here like a deer caught in the headlights. “I . . . I don’t know,” I stammer. “That’s very kind of you, but I feel like I owe the folks at Marco’s. They really have been just like family.”
“I’m sure they’d understand,” Brent says. “Family would always want what’s best for you, don’t you think?”
“Besides, you’re already part of our family,” Ryan says, reaching for my hand under the table.
Dear God, he doesn’t know I’ve been wanting to break up with him for weeks now. I can’t get out of this situation without embarrassing somebody—either Ryan, or Brent, or myself. I’m in big trouble; especially as I look into the eyes of the man staring me down from the other end of the table in all his irresistible manly glory. Flashes of my fantasy vision in the shower make my stomach do another unwelcome somersault. “I’d really have to give some notice, a few weeks at least,” I manage to say.
“If you don’t want to break ties with the restaurant, that’s okay. Think of this job as a leave of absence; a temp position. Just until your art career takes off. You could always go back to waiting tables later, if you like.”
With that statement, turning down his offer makes me look like a complete idiot. But I have principles; at least I did until today. I muster the will to say so. “Thank you, but I can get by on my current job. I make really good tips there.”
Brent’s exquisitely shaped lips curl into a teasing grin. “I’m sure you do.”
What did that mean? That he thinks I use my looks to make better tips? A hot wave of something starts in my gut and flares upward, threatening to blossom into flaming roses on my cheeks. I’m capable of a lot more than that.
“Whatever you make in a month, I’ll triple it,” Brent says, tapping his palm on the table top. “We can start with the standard three-month probation period. Consider it a test drive. Totally open door.”
“What have you got to lose? You should totally take the job, Cassie,” Julie urges, casting a glance toward Brent. “Before someone else does.”
“It would look really good on your resume,” Brent adds. “Working closely with senior management at a top investment firm like Baxter Securities. You know, I have a number of clients who deal in art, too. I could introduce you. Might lead to some sales, or maybe a major exhibition. It could be a wonderful leg up for you.”
With everyone staring and urging me on, I’d totally feel like a moron if I said no. I don’t want to work at Marco’s forever, and the prospect of making connections with art dealers is just too good to resist. I know I’m beaten. “Alright,” I say. It really is a generous gesture. I should be grateful. “Thank you, Mr. Baxter. I will take the job.”
“Brent, please,” he says, his finely chiseled face transforming into a thing of beauty with his smile. There’s no getting around it: middle-aged or not, the man is insanely handsome. “Now that’s settled, who’s
up for dessert?”
To unanimous approval, Brent rises from the table and turns toward the house . . . but not before throwing a lingering gaze my way. I can’t help feeling there’s more to this offer than just trying to help out a struggling artist. As he disappears into the house, I let out a breath. Perhaps I’m overreacting.
“I’m glad you said yes,” Ryan says, interrupting my thoughts. “He’s been dying to take someone under his wing, ever since I decided to pursue a career outside of the investment business. Now he’ll finally have his protégé.”
“Protégé?” I repeat, turning to face Ryan. “It’s a big office. I probably won’t even see your dad during the course of a day.”
He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. I see it now, the resemblance. His nose and forehead, his jawline. His hair, though much longer and of course without those wisps of gray, is the same thick texture as his father’s. I should be in love with him . . . but I’m not. If the two men were beers, Ryan would be Brent Baxter Light. Clear and bubbly, but lacking the true flavor or substance of the original.
“That may be; but it never hurts to know someone in the C-Suite. I’m sure he’ll treat you to lunch once or twice, try and talk you into becoming a junior analyst or something,” Ryan chuckles. “He’s pretty difficult to say no to, as you’ve noticed. It took a lot of negotiating for me to switch to law school.”
I shake my head firmly. “It’s awfully nice of him to offer me this job, but it’s only a means to an end. Until I get established as an artist, like he said. Just temporary.” Just like our relationship, my inner voice whispers. I shrink a little at the feel of his arms around me. I can’t pretend any more. I have to find the right time to tell him it’s over, and soon. But what if his Dad is only offering me the job because I’m Ryan’s girlfriend? If we break up, will it change things? The whole situation makes me uneasy.