by Quell T Fox
Sweet girl
Quell T. Fox
Copyright © 2021 by Quell T. Fox
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Blurb
Thank you
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
The End
Author Notes
Also By Quell
About Quell
He's ruined me for other boys.
I haven’t been able to get Jonathan out of my head for the last three years.
He’s sexy. He’s dirty. He’s everything I want.
He’s the reason I’ve avoided coming home for summer break.
It’s not because I’m scared, or mistreated.
It’s the opposite, actually.
I’ve caught him doing unspeakable things to himself, things I can’t get out of my head. Things I would like to do to him myself.
So, what’s stopping me?
Well, it isn’t the fact he’s old enough to be my father. It’s the fact he’s dating my mom.
Coming home is inevitable, and I’m going to have to face him. I can do this. I can handle one summer, right?
Sweet Girl is a very steamy MF, age gap novel. Some instances in this book may be considered taboo.
Read at your own risk.
There is adult content in this book and it is not meant for readers under the age of 18.
This books ends with a HFN.
Thank you
A huge thank you to my editor, PollyAné. You're an amazing editor and your thirst comments are the best.
Thank you a million times to my proofreader, Dee Leigh. You have some serious skills!
I also want to thank every single person who looked this book over for me when it was just bare bones. I was worried about publishing this story, but thanks to you, I moved forward with it.
I don't regret it for a second.
Chapter 1
Charlotte
I was sixteen the first time I saw my stepdad’s cock. I wasn’t sure how to feel about what I was seeing but I remember how it had started a fire in my belly. One I had never felt before. And one I’ve never been able to forget. Something inside of me changed that day.
I didn’t know how to react, or what to do. So I kept staring. It was long, thick, and hard as steel—I could tell just by looking at it. His hand was slowly running up and down the length, his hips thrusting up just the slightest. I’d never seen anything like that before. Never, but I was mesmerized and couldn’t seem to make myself look away. Watching his fist grip his length roughly, stroking up and down… it was alluring. I watched him through the window like a creep. I watched a man who’s more than twice my age bring himself pleasure. Seeing things I didn’t even know were real. Orgasms. Cum. It was all new to me.
That night, I went upstairs to my room and touched myself for the first time. Thoughts of my mom’s fiancé filled my mind as I pushed my fingers in and out of my pussy. I know how messed up that is, trust me I do, but it isn’t like he’s my real dad. He’s not even technically my stepdad. They aren’t married. Not yet anyway. So really, he was just an older man who happened to be dating my mother.
That was three years ago. Three years of longing after something I couldn’t have. Still, to this day, I wonder what his cock would feel like between my lips, and in my hand, as I stroke him and watch as hot cum spurts out of the tip when he can no longer hold it in. How would his cum feel landing all over my breasts? Is it as warm as I imagine it is? What does it taste like? Is it salty? Tangy? Sweet, maybe?
Later that first night, I found myself embarrassed about the whole ordeal. After I brought myself to my first orgasm, shame fell over me. He’s my mom’s boyfriend, what is wrong with me? But a few days later, I found myself thinking of him again, no longer with shame, but with want. I would venture downstairs to do my laundry—because that’s how I caught him the first time—and hoped I’d catch him in the act again. I needed to see more. To watch him pulse in his hand with his eyes shut, his lips parted on a groan… It was like he was my drug, and I was addicted.
Every time I went down to that laundry room, I hoped I’d see him sitting in his recliner that I had the perfect view of from the window. When he was there, well, my heart raced the entire time I did my laundry. And when he wasn’t, I found myself disappointed, only throwing half of my clothes in—an excuse to come back down later.
It became an obsession. One I couldn’t give up, nor did I want to. I don’t know what it was about him, about that image, but it was forever burned in my mind and I could not let it go.
I found myself suddenly thankful for the quirky laundry room I’d previously hated. It was a last minute, half-assed addition. It isn’t finished, not even having sheetrock up. Bare two by fours shape the room on three sides, while the other is the outside vinyl of the house—windows and screen door too. Even the dirt from the outside is still stuck to the house. I’d always hated how it was so out of place compared to the rest of the house, but Mom never wanted to spend the money to get it finished.
The window beside the washer and dryer has a direct view of the recliner that’s angled towards the TV. That first time I saw him, I was nervous, thinking I’d be caught. Even afterward, I was worried he somehow knew, but I quickly found out he had no idea. Because of the angle of the chair, he wouldn’t know I was here unless I told him, or he turned his head. He had no reason to notice if anyone was watching him when he was focusing on bringing himself to orgasm.
I lost count of the number of times I watched that man’s cum squirt out of his dick, landing all over his bare, six-pack filled abs, wishing I could be there on my knees to lick it off.
I’ve watched him many, many times, completely unable to help myself. I was so curious, so intrigued. After some time, my own hands were not enough to satisfy my needs. That’s when I lost my virginity. I was smart enough to not sleep with anyone in my school, not wanting the drama amongst peers that went along with it. Instead, I resorted to finding people online—which was a lot easier than it should be for a sixteen-year-old girl. And truthfully, it did me no good. Problem was, no matter how many people I slept with, no matter how many dicks I sucked, how many tongues slid over my throbbing clit, they never scratched the itch Jonathan caused.
I knew nothing could ever happen between us, even though I truly wanted it to. There is nothing I have ever wanted more than him. There were so many reasons why we would never be able to be together. For one, I was only sixteen which is illegal. And for two, he was dating my mother. There was nothing I could do about it, other than to suffer in silence. I had to settle for watching him from a distance and that never got old. Never. The only issue was my need for him, but I kept it in check as best I could, deciding to envision him fucking me w
hen some random guy from the internet was between my legs, unable to tell my ass from my pussy. I’d think about Jonathan there instead, imagining him knowing exactly what he was doing. How hard to push with his tongue, where to put his fingers… the orgasms I had were more from my thoughts than the physicality I was getting from the morons who acted like they were God’s gift to women.
But it was all I had.
Over the years, Jonathan and I have had a mostly normal relationship. It was awkward at first, my cheeks warming those first few times I saw him, flashes of his O-face striking through my mind. But as I realized he knew nothing, that it was my little secret, I acted as if things were normal. Sometimes, when Mom worked late, and it was just him and I, I even went as far as to pretend we were out on a date together. When it was just us enjoying dinner or watching TV in the living room. That my dream finally came true and he was all mine.
Jonathan never acted strangely towards me, he never let on he knew a thing, so I figured it was the truth. Which is why I continued my secret show of watching Jonathan touch himself, up until I moved out when I was eighteen. I left for college right after high school graduation and I haven’t seen him or my mom over this entire last year.
Out of sight, out of mind, right?
The saying is a crock of shit. Sure, the obsession has dwindled, my body settling into what it got instead of what it wanted, but my thoughts were always with Jonathan. The longer I was away, the less I saw him, the easier the thoughts were to manage.
I told myself that when I would be off at college, I would forget about him completely. Even if I have slept with an uncountable number of guys, I could still find that happily ever after I dreamed of as a little girl. I’d find the guy for me… eventually. But something about being eighteen, being free, being an adult… it made me want Jonathan more. It turned my thoughts from this is not okay to this could happen…
And that was dangerous.
Some days were worse than others, and most nights were rough. I thought of Jonathan a lot, especially when I was alone and craved for a man’s touch. I wondered what it was he was doing and if, for some crazy reason, he was thinking of me. I’m not sure if it’s his fault, or just how I was born, but I find myself in need of an older man. One who knows what he’s doing in life and with a woman. My dad was never around, so maybe it’s just daddy issues. Whatever the cause, it doesn’t matter… because this is me.
The thought of an awkward teenager between my legs is less than satisfying, drying up my pussy faster than the Nevada heat ever could. And unfortunately, those thoughts were a reality more than I’d like to admit.
There are hundreds of guys at school. Plenty who are drop dead gorgeous, but even at this point, they’re just not enough. I’ve had my fair share of dates and one night stands, but none of them have ever ended with satisfaction on my end. Not a single one. Not unless I thought of Jonathan. For a while, I thought there was something wrong with me. Something wrong with my body, a hormone imbalance, or maybe a mental issue. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was simply because I needed Jonathan.
Chapter 2
Charlotte
My plane lands twenty minutes behind schedule, but I know Mom will still be waiting for me. I’ve talked to her consistently since I’ve left, some conversations have only been a minute long, but at least I’m doing my part of staying in touch. She’s really excited for me to be coming home for the summer, considering I haven’t been home for any of the holidays or vacations, spending my entire freshman year at school. I wanted to stay over the summer to take some extra classes, but Mom kept saying how much she missed me so I couldn’t say no.
We’ve never had the best relationship, mostly because my mother’s number one priority will always be work. She’s a nurse and is at the hospital more than she’s at her own home. The fact she’s had a boyfriend for this long is mind blowing. I felt like I’d spent most of my childhood with sitters, until I was old enough to stay alone. Then it was just me.
Before Jonathan, there was a revolving door of men. She had no want to settle down, but a high sex drive. Something I should probably not know about my mother but lines with her have always been blurred. And with our rooms being only down the hall from one another and a mother with no shame, it’s no surprise I’ve heard certain things that I shouldn’t have. The only saving grace for me was that when I was little, I really had no idea what was going on. I was particularly naive until Jonathan came along.
My mother has always treated me more like a younger roommate than someone she carried around for nine months and pushed out of her vagina. She’s never been affectionate and we never did mommy/daughter things. I stayed home and cleaned up, prepared meals, while she went to work and paid bills.
I don’t hate her though, not at all. I don’t even dislike her. All in all, my mom is a great person. She’s hard working, driven, and stubborn as hell. But even with all the positive things I can say about her, I vowed to never be like her. A promise I made to myself at a very young age. I wanted to find one man, get married, have lots of babies, and live in our dream house where we can walk out the back door and end up on the beach. I did not want to have a mile long list of dicks I’ve ridden. But like I said, I changed that day I saw Jonathan.
The moment I knew I would be coming home, butterflies took up residence in my belly, and have overstayed their welcome.
I’m worried, anxious, and way too thrilled to set eyes on my stepfather again.
I’m an adult. Legal.
The only thing stopping me now, are my morals… which, I’m not even sure I have anymore. Or maybe I never had them at all.
I pull my bag from the overhead compartment and wait in line to exit the plane. It begins to get hot with all the people pressed back to back. Getting on and off the plane has always been my least favorite part of the whole trip. The thought of seeing my mother makes me happy, though. In a way I’ve missed her, and it will be nice to catch up.
When I exit the boarding bridge and emerge into the building, I start immediately looking around for Mom. Her bright red hair will be a dead giveaway. A lot of people don’t think we’re related, let alone mother and daughter, because we look so different. I’m told I look just like my father. Dark hair and eyes, and light skin. Mom has the same skin tone as me but her eyes are as blue as they can get, and her hair is that beautiful shade of red. It always reminded me of the Disney Princess when I was little, but as I got older I realized it was off. My mother’s hair is much lighter with a tinge of brown. We have the same heart shaped face, but that’s where our resemblance ends. I’ve never met my father, never even seen a photo, so I just take my mother’s word for it. I’ve never had any interest in knowing who he is, since he clearly didn’t care enough to be in my life.
As I look out into the sea of people, I see no bright hair anywhere. I walk further out as the crowd starts to dissipate, people finding their family members and friends and taking off, but I still don’t see her.
Was I wrong about her waiting for me? Did she forget? No, she wouldn’t do that. She’s been wanting me to come home, this was her idea. Maybe she’s at the wrong terminal, or just running late. Got stuck in traffic or held behind at work.
Just as I pull my phone from my pocket to call her, I spot him.
My entire body tenses as I set eyes on the most alluring man I have ever seen.
He looks the same… just better. So much fucking better. His hair is a little longer and messier, like he hasn’t bothered to do a thing with it since whenever it was he last washed it, but it’s just as dark as I remember. His jaw is covered in a short but scruffy beard, one that is new. Like clockwork, each and every morning that razor would be going off, ensuring he had a clean, smooth face. Not anymore though, and I think I prefer him like this. And his body… wow, his body. He clearly has spent some time at the gym. His arms are more toned than I remember, his shoulders wider. Even his legs look thicker. I watch from a distance, still hidden by th
e number of people walking around, trying to get to where they need to go.
I squeeze the phone in my hand, my belly warming at the sight.
My feet are planted to the ground, my mouth filled with cotton balls. I can’t breathe and my heart is hammering behind my ribcage.
Jonathan.
He was always a good looking guy. It’s one of the things that made it so hard to ignore him. Well built, dark hair, light eyes, and this beautiful tan that I’d kill for. Even though he’s dating my mom, he’s only nineteen years older than me. It may seem like a lot but… it could be worse.
Mom had me when she was young, only sixteen. She’s been on her own ever since. Her own parents were furious when they found out she was pregnant and basically disowned her. Mom has always been a carefree spirit, going with the flow and doing whatever makes her happy. She didn’t get to experience her younger years like most teens did because she was working to pay rent and daycare bills while her friends were partying at the beach and getting drunk. As I got older and Mom realized she had some freedom… she really started to enjoy it. Like I said… revolving door of men. And I got really used to being alone.
Knowing he is my only way home, I shake my head of my dirty thoughts, and remind myself he’s taken before heading towards him. He’s looking down at his phone, completely engrossed, so he doesn’t notice me when I reach him.
“Hey,” I say, practically choking on my words.
He glances up, something passing in his eyes that I can’t place. A smile spreads across his lips before he speaks. “Charlotte, how are you?” His voice is husky and it sounds smoother than I remember. I haven’t talked to him once since I’ve been gone. A shiver races up my spine at his use of my full name. He’s the only one who has ever called me that, everyone else opting to call me Charlie. I missed it. His arms reach around me as he pulls me in for a hug. I freeze again, unable to hug him back. This isn’t a normal occurrence and I’m not sure how to take it. His musky scent fills my nose, the one I remember all too well, and my belly does a little flip. Everything about this feels more right than it should. Being in his arms… I’ve forgotten where we even are. The only other times I remember any type of physical affection from him was on birthdays or big events, like my high school graduation. Those were always sweet, innocent. A stepfather proud of his stepdaughter.