by Lane Hart
While I drink my cold glass of lemonade silently, I can’t stop thinking about the sexy, grizzly bear of a man upstairs, or how his gorgeous face fell when Sara physically pushed him away from her. That’s the opposite of what I want to do to him. I would grab him and cling to his thick biceps while I licked every drop of salt water off his body. And I definitely wouldn’t mind tasting something else of his that’s salty…
Oh, thank God!
My libido is back after a worrisome hiatus. I know it hasn’t been all that long, but I was starting to think that those assholes back home had ruined sex for me altogether. I haven’t wanted anything to do with another man, which made me angry, because it meant that they still had some measure of control over me.
Well fuck that!
Even though I know I shouldn’t, I want Sara’s father. And I would bet that an older man would be much more attentive in bed, compared to the selfish college boys I went to school with, who are only concerned with getting what they want as fast as possible. A mature man is exactly what I need; someone gentle and tender, rather than rushed and callous.
I may have a reputation as a slut around campus but mostly I’m just a tease. Good sex is hard to find and it certainly doesn’t come from college boys. Twenty-something men are way too easy to sleep with. They have no restraint or standards and would fuck any female who walks their way. Convincing an older man to give in to his needs, even when he knows he shouldn’t, will be more challenging and definitely worth the effort if I actually succeed.
What I don’t understand is how Mr. Harrington can be old enough to have a twenty-two-year-old daughter? He looks like he’s still in his thirties!
“Come on, I’ll show you the bedrooms so you can each pick one out,” Sara says as we finish our refreshment.
“There are enough bedrooms for all of us?” Cheryl asks as the three of us put our glasses in the sink and follow Sara like good little soldiers down the hallway.
“Yeah, four queen beds on this floor and the master bedroom upstairs,” she tells us.
Oh, yes. I want the man upstairs to be my master. He’s so strong and ruggedly sexy that I can’t help but wonder what he would be like in bed. As nice as he sounded, I’m guessing he would take his time…make love, not fuck…
“Ow!” I exclaim when Cheryl elbows me in my rib cage.
“Which room do you want?” she asks.
“Oh,” I mutter as I pull myself from those dirty thoughts. “Any of the rooms would be great. You all pick and I’ll take what’s leftover.”
“Then you take this one, and I’ll take the one next to it,” Cheryl says as she grabs my shoulders to steer me into a sky-blue room decorated in a beach theme. Of course. Instead of paintings on the walls, though, there are photographs of the ocean.
“Wow, these are gorgeous.” I move forward to look at the framed photo next to the closet, a close-up of an orange starfish washed up on the beach. There’s thick, frothy whitewash behind it and a beach house out of focus in the distance. The blue sky and waves are so serene it makes me feel like I’m right there, out on the sand with it.
“They’re my dad’s,” Sara says when she steps into the bedroom. “He’s like a big deal photographer or something.” Her statement is so casual, almost as if it’s insignificant. But to me it’s pretty damn important. I studied liberal arts with a minor in photography and these are…masterpieces.
“He took all of the photos in the house?” I ask, remembering the lighthouse, palm tree, and sea turtle images in the living room and hallway.
“Yeah,” she answers on a heavy exhale. “Ya’ll ready to go grab our things?”
“Sure, we’ll be right down,” Cheryl tells her.
After Allison and Sara are gone, my roommate turns to me. “Don’t even think about it, Riley,” she whispers, pointing a finger at my chest.
“What?” I ask, batting my blue eyes at her innocently.
“He’s her father!”
“So?” I reply. “I’m a grown woman. He’s a grown man. Can’t we both make our own decisions.”
“Sara’s your friend.”
“No, she’s not. I barely know her and she hates me. You invited me to come on this trip and she didn’t want to piss you off by saying no,” I remind her.
“You can’t sleep with her dad! She’ll never forgive you and you’ll have to bum a ride home.”
“Then I better not get caught,” I tell her with a grin before I step into the hallway and run right into a broad chest; one that smells divine, like sandalwood and masculine soap.
“Oh, sorry,” he harrumphs.
When I force my eyes up, I see Sara’s dad’s strained face with sweat dripping down his forehead. I can’t help but wonder if this is also how he looks when he comes. Unfortunately, he’s now wearing a brown cotton tee and cargo shorts, covering up his sexy chest and abs. He certainly doesn’t dress his age and the clothes make him look even younger.
“Which one of these is yours?” he asks, nodding his head to the four sets of luggage he finally sets down on the hallway floor.
“Oh, well, thank you for bringing those up. And mine is the turquoise one,” I say, pointing it out.
Looking over at the bedroom on the left that I just stepped out of, and where Cheryl is still watching from, he asks, “Is that going to be your room?”
“Sure is,” I answer.
When he picks my suitcase up again, Cheryl scrambles out of his way and I follow him inside the room.
“Thank you so much,” I tell him again when he lifts the heavy rolling suitcase onto the bed. “That was really sweet of you to carry our luggage up all those steps, and at the same time. You must work out a lot.” God, I want to squeeze those bulging biceps.
“Ah, yeah. I do some running and lifting in my home gym. Not much else to do around here in the winter,” he replies when he faces me again, hands on his hips as he catches his breath. I can’t tell if his face is red from exertion or if he’s blushing from my compliment.
“It apparently keeps you young,” I tell him with a smile. “How old are you? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m forty-two,” he answers quietly.
“Wow, so you were just twenty when Sara was born? I knew you had to be young.”
When the silence between us becomes awkward, he says, “I better get the other girls their luggage,” before he squeezes past me to get out the door. Our chests barely brush but it’s enough contact to send chills down my arms and bead my nipples.
“Thanks again,” I tell him as he leaves, admiring his tight, bubbly backside in his shorts.
I think this is going to be a great week.
…
Brody
While the girls are getting ready to go out, I offer them my shower upstairs and then stay out of the house to give them some privacy. As I walk down the beach, I notice that the waves are calm today; almost too calm, like right before a brutal storm hits. Isn’t that how life usually works too?
Twenty years ago, after Holly had Sara, life was great. I married my high school sweetheart as soon as we graduated. Her parents had to move to California for her dad’s job and Holly wanted to stay here with me. Neither of us went to college, so both of us worked odd jobs to pay the bills until Sara was born. We had a rocky start, not planning the pregnancy so early in our marriage when we weren’t quite ready for children financially, but both of us happy to start a family all the same.
The first two years with Sara and her mother were wonderful with so much love between the three of us.
And then the storm hit.
Out of nowhere, Holly told me she was leaving and taking my baby girl with her. She said that while she loved me, there was no passion between us anymore. I knew what she meant. We rarely had sex and when we did, it was…unsatisfying. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Holly told me she only thought of me as a good friend, no longer a lover, and therefore not a husband. She said she needed more and I cou
ldn’t give it to her.
Just like that, our marriage ended. I lost my wife and daughter because Holly moved across the country to live with her family.
At the time, I couldn’t afford child support and plane tickets to California, so I sent them money and made do with talking to them on the phone whenever I could.
Those first few months that I was all alone, I threw myself into photography. Without my family, I suddenly had free time after my hours bartending at the local watering hole, so I spent it wisely. And then, about nine years ago, I sold a few photographs to a couple of newspapers and magazines. With the internet boom, my work spread across the world, garnering me attention that I never expected, especially since I didn’t have any formal training. Before long, I was making more than enough to quit working at the bar and photography became my life. The only life I had.
By the time I could afford to visit Sara or pay for her plane tickets here, it was too late. She was a moody pre-teen who thought I had abandoned her. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me, nor will I forgive myself for not being there during her childhood. She still hates me and I deserve no less. It was my fault Holly left, because I couldn’t be the man she needed me to be to make her happy.
I thought this week might be a chance at a reconciliation with Sara, to tell her I was sorry, and explain how things were back then. Now that she’s an adult, she may even understand that money doesn’t grow on trees and doesn’t come in an endless supply. Based on the way she acted tonight though, Sara doesn’t plan to make it easy on me to even get time alone to talk to her. I’ll just have to keep trying.
When the sun begins to lower in the west over the sound side of the island, I turn around and walk back to the house, figuring the girls have gone out for the night by now. Standing in front of the house, I glance up and find out I was wrong. Very, very wrong.
They’re still here, and one of the bedroom shades are open to the private sliding glass door, the light inside illuminating it in the darkness for all to see. And what anyone walking by can see is the backside of a naked girl pulling her red dress over her head and smoothing it down her curves. She then lifts her long, chocolate waves out of the neckline to let them flow over her shoulders and down her spine.
My conscience tells me that I should look away but I tell it to go to hell. She’s dressed now, there’s nothing more to see…at least not until she bends down and slips a pair of black panties up her legs and underneath the dress. Running her fingers through her locks, she walks over to the door and looks out. Before I can make my feet move, her eyes lock with mine. She smiles and then lifts her hand to wave at me.
Ashamed of myself for peeping at her and getting caught, I quickly wave back and then put my head down to turn around and keep walking rather than go inside and possibly face her while the image of her firm, round ass is still fresh on my mind.
Unless…did she want me to see her?
If she didn’t, she would’ve pulled the blackout shades across the door like any other reasonable person.
No, I know exactly what she’s doing! She’s being a slutty little cocktease on purpose, making it pretty damn obvious that she would spread her legs for me if I asked.
That girl is going to be trouble, I can already tell, based on the way she was flirting with me earlier. But it doesn’t matter if it’s been years since I’ve gotten laid or if she’s sexy as fuck with the perfect curves of a pinup girl. My dick is staying in my pants this week. She’s too young for me, and she’s my daughter’s friend.
Although, I am starting to think it’s well past time for my drought to end. After the girls leave next Saturday, I may have to go out to one of the bars in town. While I’m not a fan of one-night stands and I prefer to get to know a woman first, as hard as my cock is right now, in a week’s time, after enduring that little tease’s temptation, I know I’ll be begging for a release.
Chapter Three
Riley
“He watched me,” I lean over to whisper into Cheryl’s ear while Sara and Allison are at the bar getting another round of drinks.
“Who watched you?” my roommate asks, while her golden eyes continue to roam around the room looking for available men.
“Sara’s dad. He watched me when I was changing.”
“Riley, no!” Cheryl exclaims, facing me again with her jaw hanging open in disbelief. “Leave the man alone! You could have any guy in here, so why do you want him?”
I give a quick glance around the old, rundown beach bar with rickety high-top tables and chairs, a classic jukebox, and peanuts crushed into the wooden planks. There are several young guys sitting around, a few older ones, but none even half as hot as Mr. Harrington.
“I don’t want any of these guys, Cher. I want him,” I tell her.
“He’s off limits!” she exclaims. Rather than serving as a deterrent, her words just amp up the naughty factor, making me want him even more.
“We’ll see. He may not even cave,” I reply with a shrug.
“Yeah, he will. And then Sara will lose her shit,” Cheryl whispers.
“You think so?” I ask with an excited smile.
“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?” she replies on a sigh.
I shake my head before taking a sip of water from my bottle. Lesson learned in bars and parties; I now only drink from bottles I bring in, and I never set it down. Being drunk and acting slutty doesn’t mix, and I refuse to combine the two ever again. Now that I’ve been labeled a slut, thanks to the rumors that quickly spread around campus, I can’t shake it. I have stopped drinking, though. Complete teetotaler from here on out.
Before the night on the baseball field, I had only slept with four guys, but because of my stupidity, and a bunch of assholes who preyed on drunken girls like me, I don’t know what my number is anymore. I hate myself for not remembering, but I also hate those bastards for ripping those memories from me.
Since that night I haven’t been with anyone, not because of what they did but because of why they did it. They made me painfully aware of the fact that being used and thrown away is apparently all I’m good for.
And I wish I could prove them wrong.
That’s why I think I’m so set on trying to make Sara’s father cave.
“He just seems so…serious and, I dunno, caring,” I explain to Cheryl. “If anyone would want to be with me for more than one night, it would be him.”
She stares at me in contemplation before she finally sighs in defeat. “Then fine, but you better be careful, Riles,” she warns.
“I will,” I promise her with a smile.
“And he is really fucking hot,” she admits with a grin.
“I know!” I reply with a laugh. “How could any single woman possibly resist?”
“You’re right,” Cheryl agrees. “I don’t take him for the one and done, either. Which is good, because once with him could never be enough.”
No, it certainly would not.
…
Brody
The sound of movement from downstairs pulls me out of bed. It’s after three a.m. and the girls got home over an hour ago. They should all be passed out by now…unless something is wrong.
Dressed decently in a pair of athletic shorts and white tee that I’m sleeping in only because I have guests, I take the stairs down to the first floor and find the living room empty. There’s no one in the kitchen either. The sliding glass door leading to the deck is cracked open a few inches, so I go over and slip out of it to see who’s awake.
I should’ve known.
The cocktease has her forearms crossed on the balcony rail, making her ass that’s only covered by a pair of tiny white shorts hang out. I stare at her ass cheeks and tan, lean legs for a good long while before I realize that she didn’t turn around when she heard me come out, or jump in surprise. When her bottom starts shaking to a rhythm only she can obviously hear, I realize why. She’s apparently wearing earbuds and listening to music.
I sh
ould leave her alone, go back to bed, and try to get some sleep. But I know that if I do, that ass will refuse to let me rest. It’s been haunting me since earlier tonight when she revealed it to me intentionally. So, I walk up beside her and lean on the rails, waiting for her to notice me.
After a few seconds, she does, and she startles, nearly knocking off the cell phone that her earbuds are plugged into from the rail before she gets a good grip on it.
“Shit, dude. Give a girl a heads up,” she says, pulling out the earbud in her left ear, that’s closest to me.
“How would I do that if you can’t hear me?” I ask her with a grin, enjoying how flustered she looks.
“Guess that’s true,” she agrees with her own smile that’s so stunning it lights up the night brighter than the moonlight shining down from above.
“What are you listening to?” I ask curiously, reaching for her device so that I’ll stop staring at her. I figure it’s some hip new pop song by a group I’ve never heard of and don’t want to know. Instead, I’m surprised to see just how familiar the song is.
“Tom Petty,” she replies.
“‘You Wreck Me,’” I say, knowing the song well. “One of my favorites.”
“Really?” she says with another grin.
I start to ask if Sara told her how much I love Tom Petty, with or without The Heartbreakers, before I realize that my daughter probably doesn’t even know that detail about me.
“So how long have you been a fan?” I ask.
“Honestly, only a few years,” she answers, brushing her hair behind her ear. “He was so amazing during his Super Bowl performance and that’s when I finally realized how many songs of his I’ve loved over the years.”
“I hate I missed that, but I have to confess that I’m not a huge football fan.”
“What? Are you kidding? How can you not be a fan of American’s favorite pastime?” she teases.
“I thought American’s favorite pastime was baseball,” I reply with a chuckle.