Lure

by Maya Sliver

  A winning smile runs across my lips as I brush my hair, looking in the plastic-framed tiny mirror of the dorm restroom. How easy it is to fake symptoms of being terribly sick and making it a convenient excuse. Okay, I’m sick but not as much as I pretended to be. Yet, I feel bad for Caroline. I feel bad for lying to her about my severe sickness, but then there wasn’t any way out to douse the fire that has been burning my whole body since the day I’ve laid my eyes on her dad. The hot brooding single father in the neighborhood.

  Coming out of the restroom, I quickly stuff my things in the duffel bag and rush out of the dormitory. A few minutes’ walk and I’m at my music teacher’s door.

  I push the bell of the serene house, enjoying the cool fragrant breeze and mild chatter of the sparrows when the door in front of me flings open.

  “You?”

  Oh, come on, Will. Stop surprising me with this haughty look of yours. I know how much you want me. Your insane kisses that you rained on me a few days ago are the living proof of your passion for me.

  “Yeah.” I smile

  “I thought you’re off to the trip.” He narrows his eyes, faking scorn, miserably failing in doing so because I’ve already caught the flash of happiness, an excitement that lit deep in his gaze the moment he saw me at his door. Perhaps, he’s fighting with two contrasting emotions. Perhaps, he’s happy seeing me at his door, especially when he wasn’t expecting me at all. Yet, at the same time, he feels apprehensive about letting me in, especially after the kisses he showered upon me in his kitchen. Whatever it is, I’m here to take away his pain and worry rather than making him more anxious.

  “I can’t miss the piano classes.” I step inside through the open door.

  “But can you miss the important study trip?” He closes the door and gazes at me with investigating eyes, perhaps trying to figure out the reason of me reaching his house with all my bags and baggage.

  Instead of answering, I drop my bags to the floor. My jeans are way too tight, and I want to get rid of them as soon as I can. “Can I stay here for the next few weeks. Please?” I wear one of my most helpless smiles, like I have no other place to stay than his house.

  “What?”

  “Our dormitory is getting renovated, and I’m allergic to the smell of cement and paint. Most of my friends are away on the trip. Ben lives quite far away from here. If you let me stay in your house, it would help me save money I would spend doing any living arrangement,” I speak trying to mimic urgency in my voice.

  He keeps silent and paces the living room, going back and forth, his gaze darting between me and the luggage lying on the carpet. He halts, pinches the bridge of his nose and then sags down in the couch.

  “Okay. You can stay in Carrie’s room or here in the foyer if you prefer. It’s up to you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll set my luggage in Caroline’s room.”

  I pick the bags up from the floor and march to the staircase. Near the stairs, I look back and find him still on the sofa. Our eyes meet and I smile. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  I’ve been to Caroline’s room quite a number of times in the past, but today, it’s an entirely new feeling to be in there.

  My eyes wander across the walls and shelves. The baby pink walls have numerous paintings and photographs. There’s a family collage as well. I see Stella in it. She’s a graceful lady with auburn hair and a face full of sexy freckles. No wonder William must still feel bewitched by his ex-wife’s charm. It could be he’s still in love with her but pretends he has moved on. Perhaps, he’s still so entangled in his past life he fails to find happiness around him.

  I walk to the bed and plop myself down on the cozy mattress facing the intricately carved ceiling. There are patterns of animals and flowers and fish. For a moment, all designs seem abstract. Nothing is defined because the lines are purposely blurred as my thoughts wander aimless. Life is abstract too. Feelings are also messy. I don’t know what I feel for William. I cannot express them or define them. Like the designs on the ceiling, my feelings for William are also abstract, undefined, and forbidden.

  I rise from the bed and reach my luggage. Fishing out a pair of lounge pants and a tee, I come back to bed, take off my jeans and hoodie and get into my comfy casuals. Once done, I tie up my hair into a loose bun on the top of my head.

  William must be in the patio for it’s time for the piano class. Coming out of the room, I enter the patio and see him sitting at the instrument. His fingers float on the ivories and ebonies of the giant piano. Music fills the patio and slowly diffuses into the atmosphere. It travels through the doors and windows and chinks and creaks of the house transforming the entire thing into some sort of a musical fountain.

  I stand near the piano, looking at him. Soon, my eyes flicker close as I find myself fluttering in rapture, soaring, blooming, in a state of bliss.

  His music has the effect of taking me to places where I’ve never been to. Soon, the music ceases and I nosedive into reality. When I open my eyes, I find him staring at me. “You stopped midway?” I blurt with curiosity.

  “Now you take charge,” he smiles. A genuine smile. A smile free of any apprehension, anxiety, or guilt. Perhaps, he’s feeling happy to have me in his house, around him.

  He rises from the stool, goes to the other end of the instrument and looks at me from there. His eyes never leave mine as I occupy the empty stool and caress the keys.

  I’m no connoisseur, nor have I yet perfected the art of playing, I need to look at the notes. My eyes travel from his face to the music stand in front of me. Studying the notes, I begin playing, trying to reach his level of perfection.

  ***

  “What are you doing?” I ask walking into the kitchen.

  “Cooking dinner for us,” replies he, stirring something, I believe a steaming pot full of rice and spinach.

  “What’s that?” I raise myself up to the kitchen island and sit on it, staring at him, his back covered in a white cotton tee, his hips, his muscular thighs and his toned legs clad in blue denim.

  “It’s spinach rice with mushroom and chili.” He puts the ladle aside, takes some spice bottle off the shelf and sprinkles some, I believe, paprika over the dish.

  “It’s done.” He holds the pot with oven gloves on his hands. “Ready?”

  The aroma of the dish is strong enough to make my stomach growl. I yell, “Hell, yes.”

  We walk to the dining table which has been already set for two.

  “Lets.” He smiles, depositing the pot on the wooden table.

  “Yeah, lets.”

  I pull a chair and slide into it. He serves me with two ladles full of rice and a generous serving of mushroom-chili before serving himself.

  Once done with following the etiquette of being a polite host, he slides into his chair at the head of the rectangular table.

  Flavors explode in my tongue the moment I put a forkful of rice and mushroom in my mouth. The ingredients make a bursting combination. Nothing comes to my mind except enjoying a hearty meal with the man I’ve been lusting for the past several weeks or should I say months?

  I enjoy the dinner till my stomach fills up and till my tongue and cheeks and teeth get tired of gobbling.

  “Wow! That was awesome.” A satisfying grunt escapes my lips as I finish eating.

  “If you want some dessert, there’s ice cream in the freezer.”

  “Ice cream would be great but…” I let my words trail as I rise from my chair and reach out to him. He looks at me with suspicion, furrowing his brow when I stoop down to his sitting level, bring my face to his, and plant a kiss on his lips. “A kiss is the sweetest of all the desserts,” I speak, pulling back.

  He looks amazed at my gesture. Perhaps, the kiss was unexpected. Then again where’s the fun when something expected happens. It’s always the surprising moments that bring excitement in our lives.

  “Sorry for the chili,” I chirp swaggering past him and sauntering back to the kitchen. Next moment, I’m taking out the chocol
ate ice cream from the big black refrigerator.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  William

  The mattress dips and a body slides next to me under the blanket. Next, a warm arm snakes around my waist. A subtle whiff of jasmine wafts into my nose when I turn around. The room is dark, too dark, but despite the darkness, I can see a silvery face materializing next to me.

  What the hell is she doing in my bed?

  Before I can say anything or switch on the bedside lamp or my mind registers the shock of seeing her in my bed, she whispers, “I had a very bad dream. Please let me stay, Will. I won’t disturb you.”

  For a breath or two, it feels like I’ve lost my tongue. I couldn’t speak or react and acted like a deaf and mute person. I want her but I don’t want her. I can’t work out what to do. It feels like my senses are all under her control, all governed by the siren lying next to me.

  Not speaking anything, I turn to the side. She sneaks closer and clings to me, her hand still wrapped around my abs, breasts pressed against my naked back. Her nearness is threatening yet at the same time mysteriously powerful. I can’t get myself away from her, not even by an inch.

  I lay still, waiting for the morning, hoping, wishing, praying not to get hexed by her bewitching charm. I’ve crossed my prime, but I’m not a saint. Being in bed with a woman wrapped around me is like setting my member on alert. It’s like setting myself on fire but begging the flames not to burn me down to ashes. Our age-gap doesn’t matter at the moment. It doesn’t matter she’s half my age. It doesn’t matter she’s my daughter’s friend. I have a mindless organ down there which is hard and thick, ready to burst open the fabric of my boxer shorts and spring out eagerly. Primitive instincts dominate my entire being.

  Damn! I can’t even jerk off with her lying next to me. I need to get out of here. Right now. Right at this moment.

  The bulge in my shorts is getting bigger and harder, tenting the cotton, making it difficult to stay still. I slowly slither away and climb out of the bed. She doesn’t move except letting out a sleepy moan. Is she having a wet dream?

  The mere thought of Blake having a nocturnal release makes my organ twitch with desperation. Without waiting another moment, I impatiently scramble to the en-suite.

  Inside, I launch myself on the shower floor. In one crazy movement, I get out of my shorts and palm the organ. Blake’s images cluster my head as I rub and stroke that hardened member of mine. Her touch, her fragrance, the sensation of her lips, her sweet breath, her presence in my house, in my bed all work like an aphrodisiac. Soon, I find myself reaching the edge of my arousal. I move my hips back and forth to juice out more milky pleasure. I’m stroking, rubbing, thrusting my hips when I hear the door to the en-suite click open.

  Shit! I forgot to lock it from inside.

  A silvery figure makes its appearance on the shower floor. Blake gazes at me. Her gaze travels from my face to my hand wrapped around my erect penis. She stares at me with her big green eyes, pinning me still with her sensual gaze, not flinching, not speaking, not bothering to take her eyes off me.

  Why is she doing all this? Does she want to see me masturbate? Will it allure her in any way?

  Before I could understand her purpose of encroaching my privacy for the second time in the past twelve hours, I notice her hands working on her T-shirt. She pulls it over her head and then discards it on the tiled floor. Round white breasts spill out eagerly as she unhooks the black lacy bra and tosses it away. The sight of her milky tits with peaking peach nipples is wreaking havoc on my member when she pulls down her flimsy pink panties and reveals a bushy triangle of golden hair at the junction of her silky thighs.

  I’m a goner the moment her hand roams between her creamy thighs and a thin long finger begins brushing the moist slit. She presses a finger over her wet orifice, takes it to her lips and sucks it deep.

  Fuck! I’m going to explode.

  I’m having a hard time controlling myself. When I feel like squirting and spurting all over the shower floor, I’m torturing myself enough to let her finish what she has started. I want to see her cum first or perhaps I want both of us to reach the cliff together, looking at each other from afar.

  Her eyes flutter closed. Her head falls back. Her finger never stops working. Another finger joins the game. Two silky fingers enter the juicy pussy, moving back and forth. Her other hand cups her breast, squeezing, teasing, pinching the rosebuds. She breathes heavily as her thighs jerk, body twitches. She moans and whines. Her body spasms. She looks like a woman on the edge, like she’s reaching the final stage. And just as she lets out a throaty moan, my eyes sew down magically, on her own. A rib-twisting orgasm rips through my body. Our moans fill the silent air of the bathroom as our orgasms run their courses.

  When I regain my senses, I see her swaggering toward me. Damn! What have I done? I’ve masturbated in front of a teenage girl, a girl half of my age. Nothing worse could have happened than jacking off in front of the vixen whom I’m trying to get away from.

  Regaining my composure, I quickly grab the towel from the shelf, wrap it around my waist, and before she can say anything, I scurry past her without meeting her eyes.

  ***

  She saunters into the kitchen like a fearless queen, like a witch, ready to swish her wand and rob me of my senses. But I’m no boy, nor am I a subject of her kingdom. I’m a man, a father, a responsible human being. I’m not going to succumb to her lethal charms. No matter how hard she tries, I’m not going to let her seduce me anymore. If she wants to stay in this house, she must behave properly. She must know her limits. Why the hell did I let her sleep in my bed?

  “Good morning.” A husky voice enters my ears as two silky arms hug me from behind. Warm lips kiss my shoulder blade. Wet locks of hair brush my naked back, and I find my strength fleeing like a herd of horses in a stampede.

  Without speaking anything, I keep myself busy preparing the breakfast feigning indifference at her fragrant nearness and that her tender erotic touches are not causing me any trouble. When in reality, I’m having a hard time keeping my dude under control.

  Her hands never stop, reaching over to my abs, tracing the curves and chisels of my body.

  Anticipating the movement of her fingers, traveling from north to south and finally settling at my groin, I quickly free myself from her arms.

  “I’ve made some scrambled eggs and carrot juice for breakfast,” I fumble at my words, walking away from her, out of the kitchen. Next, I’m climbing the stairs to my bedroom.

  Opening the closet, I take out my formals and lay them on the bed.

  The air stirs with waves of awareness. I feel her standing at the threshold. Without looking at her, I keep myself busy mixing and matching the shirts and pants, pretending I’m least bothered by her presence in the house, around me. When in reality, I’m fighting an inner war with my own selfish desires and primitive instincts.

  “Where are you going?” she speaks, and I reply almost immediately, “To work.”

  I want to communicate I’ve things to look after rather than succumb to temptation.

  A frustrated sigh escapes her lips. She groans. Yes. Blake groans and walks out of the room slamming her feet against the wooden floor.

  Is she angry? Why? Who cares? She’s here as an unexpected guest yet I’m behaving like a polite host. What else does she expect? Does she expect me to welcome her advances? Does she expect me to have sex with her? If she does, she’s expecting something very unrealistic and unpractical, something which doesn’t have any place in the real world. Something which isn’t only forbidden but immoral, unethical, insane. If she’s living in some kind of an imaginary world, let her be there. It’s not my duty to teach her about the rights and wrongs, about the real and imaginary. My task completes as soon as she leaves this house and goes back to her dormitory.

  For a moment, this seems like the best possible solution. Yet, I don’t know how far I can travel with this plan of mine. With Blake wandering around my hou
se like a gusty wild wind, there are sufficient chances of me succumbing to the cyclonic disruption lurking around the corner.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Blake

  William is gone. After breakfast, I settle with a cup of coffee and sit on the couch. Classes are suspended until Miss Maurice and the students come back from the study trip. I don’t have any nanny or babysitting job in my hands right now. Right now, I’m a slothful person who doesn’t have any agenda other than to woo the single brooding Dad.

  William has been avoiding me since I’ve unexpectedly arrived in his house and unabashedly declared that I’m going to stay here for the next few weeks. The renovation at the dormitory is a fake thing, a cooked-up idea of mine. I want to stay with him while his daughter is away. For that, I’d come up with something genuine, something that doesn’t sound fake or manipulative.

  Okay, I lied about the revamping thing, but I didn’t lie about the nightmare. In fact, nightmares are pretty common for me. I often have bad dreams, but the last night’s dream was horrible enough, it forced me to seek refuge in William’s room, in his bed, next to him.

  But I don’t have any idea when he started feeling horny. When he slipped out of the bed and sought privacy in the bathroom.

  Is my close proximity causing him trouble in his pants? Then why is he avoiding me? Why is he yet not ready to shed the inhibitions and come forward and ask me to give him a blow job or command me to go on all fours. Instead, he went to the bathroom to jerk off.

  I can’t forget the look of rapture that painted his masculine face when I encroached his privacy and undressed myself in front of him. But, it was mind-blowing. I’d never had such an intense release in my entire life. His penis is huge. His big hands wrapped around his erect member gave my vagina all reasons to leak juices. I couldn’t think of anything other than touching myself and then we both came together. His moans still linger in my head. I still hear him groaning with sheer ecstasy.