Hot Dad

by Whitley Cox

  My phone buzzed again.

  S: Your body is even more luscious in person than behind the glass. I can’t keep my hands off you. I cup your breasts and let my thumbs graze your nipples. You gasp. I pull on them. You gasp louder. Dipping low, I pull one into my mouth and tug, biting and pulling on the tight little nub.

  H: I drop the pouf and let my hands drift down. I find you hard.

  S: I’m so fucking hard.

  I bet he was. Damn how I wished I wasn’t standing in the kitchen making Saturday morning waffles as my toddler watched television in the living room.

  H: I grip you and start to pump. You’re big.

  S: Damn straight.

  Well, I’d walked into that one. I burst out laughing in the kitchen, nearly burning the waffle. I wiped the tears from my eyes before texting him back.

  H: Water beads on your beard, I lean forward to kiss it off, loving how the bristles scratch my lips and cheeks.

  S: You’ll love it even more when they scratch you elsewhere.

  Yes!

  I squeezed my legs together and let my eyes close for a half a second from the delightful friction and the way the seam of my tight yoga pants brushed my clit. It wasn’t enough to get off, but it still felt pretty good.

  H: I’m sure I will.

  S: I drop to my knee and push your legs apart.

  H: No. Kiss me first.

  S: I will, but I get to pick the lips I kiss.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. This was absolute torture. He was texting back faster than I was and had an answer for everything. I flipped the last waffle onto the plate and shut off the iron, unplugging it while mindlessly gnawing on one of the cooler ones. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could continue with the dirty texting before I had to abandon my child and go take care of business in the bedroom. What on earth was Sam’s end game here?

  S: Slowly, I part your lips and run a finger up through the center. You’re so wet and not just from the shower. Spreading you wide, I let my tongue dart out. I need to taste you, Harper. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since you walked through those playgroup doors six months ago.

  No fucking way! The guy’s had a crush on me for as long as I’ve had one on him? Heat crept up my chest and neck and into my cheeks. I was even more giddy now. Giddy to know that someone had a crush on me. We were back in high school. Unable to act on our urges due to circumstances, and in this case instead of strict parents, curfews and different social circles, it was kids, naptimes, bedtimes and exhaustion that kept us from getting together sooner. I did a little hop where I stood, then took another sip of my coffee.

  “Mummy?”

  Opening my eyes and stopping my happy dance, I glanced down to find Carly standing there, her bucket of dinosaurs in her hand and empty bottle in the other. “Yes, baby?”

  “Why you jumping?”

  I ran my hand over the back of her head and tugged on a defiant curl. “I’m just happy, sweetie pie.”

  Her cherubic face split into the most beautiful grin. “Me too. I jump too?” She put her bucket down and handed me the bottle before swinging her arms into the air, demanding I pick her up. With a shrug and quick look of longing at my flashing and vibrating phone, I scooped her up, and the two of us started dancing and jumping in the kitchen. Her little giggles and childish warbles filled the room and my heart, and soon I had her standing on the kitchen counter, her hands in mine, as we danced to the music in our heads.

  Her little chest heaved with excitement as her smile continued to grow wider. But then suddenly she stopped and looked at me. “I wuv Mummy!” she said, and then she threw her arms around me and leaped off the counter into my arms.

  I dropped my head to the crook of her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. “I love you too, baby.”

  We were sitting on the kitchen floor eating waffles, strawberries and whipped cream when my phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “What happened?” It was Sam. Worry colored his tone.

  I knocked the heel of my palm into my forehead. Oh right, the sexting.

  Crap!

  “Sorry. Impromptu dance party in the kitchen with the toddler took precedent over the sexting. Now we’re eating breakfast on the floor.”

  A warm chuckle rumbled through the phone and sent a tingle of longing through my body that made my toes curl in my slippers. “That’s all right. I’ve been known to bust out into a righteous dance party myself from time to time. Kids at home or not. I thought something had happened.”

  I shoved a mouthful of food into my face and tucked it into my cheek. “Nope. Being a mom happened. Sorry.”

  “No worries. But you enjoyed it, right?”

  I swallowed. “Oh yeah!”

  “Can I call you tonight? We can pick up where we left off.”

  Choking on the food in my mouth and throat, I reached for my coffee and chugged it. He wanted to have phone sex? Where we heard the other person’s voice? Where we heard them come?

  “You still there?” he asked.

  “Yep, sorry. Just nearly died by waffle. I’m all good now.”

  “Does Carly know the Heimlich?”

  “Not sure, but my sister’s a nurse. So worst-case scenario, I run upstairs with a blue face and hope she can save me. Otherwise, please don’t let them print it in my obituary that I died by choking on a waffle. Say something like, ‘after saving a baby seal from a pack of hungry killer whales, Harper Reynolds was pulled into the briny deep by a fearsome Kraken who she fought tirelessly for hours, but in the end was no match for the beast of the sea. She will be greatly missed.’ Also, please delete my browser history.”

  His laugh was so long, so loud and so hearty, I could just imagine he was leaning back in whatever chair he was sitting in, his hand on his shaking stomach as his beautiful mouth opened and he closed his eyes.

  “You’re amazing, Harper.”

  I nibbled on my bottom lip for a moment. He was so candid with his compliments, they jarred me.

  “So, can I call you tonight? That is, if you don’t choke on a waffle in the next ten minutes.”

  “You can call me tonight.”

  “Good.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m going to fuck you tonight, Harper. So damn hard.”

  My mouth dropped open. Carly got a mischievous gleam in her eye and took the opportunity of my gaping pie-hole to pop a piece of strawberry into it. “There go, Mummy.”

  More laughter from the sexy beast on the other side of the phone. “You’re wet, aren’t you?’

  I chewed on the strawberry for a second. “Probably.”

  “Excellent. Though not nearly as wet as you will be. Have a good dinner with your family. I’m calling you at ten o’clock, so make sure you’re all tucked into bed and ready for me. I won’t be happy if I have to wait. I might have to punish you if you’re late.”

  Punish me? My mouth lost all of its moisture.

  “Would you like that?”

  I must have been making a weird face, because Carly cocked her head at me.

  “Uh … ”

  “Don’t worry, Harper. My punishment never really feels like a punishment. Especially not when you get an orgasm at the end.”

  Oh my God. He was going to handcuff me to the bed and then spank my ass red. Why wasn’t I scared? I’d never been spanked before, only handcuffed, blindfolded and gagged a handful of times. But never any spanking, at least not any consistent spanking, or with an instrument or toy. Maybe once or twice during doggy-style. It’d never been for punishment, though. But the idea of kneeling on the bed as Sam stood behind me with a riding crop or belt, or lying across his lap as he taught me a lesson, it intrigued me. I wanted to try it. I wanted to let go. I wanted to let loose, and something told me Sam Wright was the right man for the job.

  Determined to not let my voice crack, I took another sip of my coffee and let it slowly slide down my throat, coating the sandpaper and calming my nerves. “I’m sure with you wielding the crop, Mr. Wright, it wil
l be a punishment worth receiving. Kind of makes me want to misbehave.”

  Did he just growl? I think he did.

  “Oh, Harper. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

  “I think so, too.”

  I hope so.

  “I’ll call you at ten. Have a good day.”

  I let out a disappointed sigh. It was going to be more than twelve hours before I heard his voice again. I’d barely had any of him and was already becoming a Sam addict.

  He chuckled again. “I’m disappointed, too. But don’t worry, I’ll make it worth both our while. And just think, when we finally get to have actual sex, it’s going to be explosive. Might set the house on fire.”

  “Ah, good thing I know a super sexy firefighter who can come and put out the flames.”

  “In your case, baby, I just want to stoke them.”

  “Go! Otherwise, I’m going to have to send my kid upstairs and go grab my big blue toy and deal with things here and now.”

  “I’m hard.”

  “Gah!”

  He was laughing again now.

  “I’m going.”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry. Me too. Have a good day, Harper. I’ll call you later.”

  “You too. ‘Kay, bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I hung up then leaned my head back against the dishwasher, letting out a heavy sigh, closing my eyes and squeezing my legs together. I was so damn wet.

  “Mummy? What you doing?”

  I didn’t bother to open my eyes. “Falling hard and fast, sweetie. Falling hard and fast.”

  Chapter 10

  Sam

  Laughing to myself, I hung up the phone. Damn, that was fun. And she was so responsive. I knew from our brief moment on the couch together that Harper wouldn’t be a tough nut to crack, but I could tell even through the phone, the catch of her breath, the change of tone, stalled and paused speech, she was struggling—and I loved it. It’d been fun sexting her, but hearing her voice was a million times better. I wanted to offer up the suggestion of a Skype date, like we had on our first date, only this time we could both be naked and watch as the other person got off. But a part of me wanted to make sure that the first time I saw Harper come was when she was beneath me. I wanted to feel her skin against mine, see her face as she let go and leaped off the cliff. Hearing her climax was one thing, but when I saw it, I wanted her in the flesh.

  Once my chubby went down, I quickly pounded back a banana and chocolate peanut butter protein shake before heading out the door to go meet Ben at the sparring gym downtown.

  “You like?” I heard him say as I entered the gym through the big glass doors, the wind outside battling my biceps for control over the door. It wanted the door to stay open. I knew better.

  “Yeah, they’re really cool. I’d love to get some tattoos one day.”

  I couldn’t put a face to the soft breathy voice but knew it was female. Ben and his entire-back tattoo, done in the traditional French Polynesian tribal style, always drew a lot of attention, both male and female.

  “You’d look great with some,” he said, his smooth, deep voice dripping pheromones and testosterone.

  “Yeah? What do you think I should get?”

  I rounded the corner into the gym after flashing my gym tag under the scanner and found Ben sitting on one of the benches. He rubbed a cooling gel into his bad knee while a waifish little brunette with big boobs and way too much makeup for even a night out at a club, let alone the gym, ogled him as if he were not just half-Samoan, but a Polynesian demigod.

  He lifted one shoulder lazily. “Dunno. It has to speak to you. Has to be personal. Took me years to decide on what I wanted to get. Had my uncle design it. Each piece represents a part of me, a part of my family and our heritage.”

  She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and batted heavily mascaraed lashes at him. “I like butterflies. They could symbolize freedom or beauty.”

  Ben’s eyes triggered on mine, and we shared a wordless conversation. All I did was snort and roll my eyes as I headed in the direction of the locker room.

  “Yeah,” Ben said absently. He was already growing bored with this girl. “And where would you get it?”

  “Ummm, my lower back?”

  Shaking my head, I opened the door to the locker room. One of the many things I liked about my best friend was as much as he came across as a ladies’ man, he wasn’t a player. Ben was a serial monogamist. We’d had many a conversation over the past years about how all he wanted to do was find a nice woman, a strong woman, one who was into the same stuff as him, like health and fitness, the outdoors and cooking, whom he could settle down with. He hated dating. Though, don’t we all?

  In my opinion, dating sucked. I’d much rather just skip all the awkwardness and discomfort and jump right into a relationship, a friendship with someone I also enjoyed having sex with.

  My sister, Daisy, ran a very successful matchmaking service down in Seattle. She said that people’s number one complaint these days about the dating scene was that it felt more like a job interview than a date. You were expected to tell the person all your qualifications, your weaknesses, your strengths and why you’d be a good fit, and if they agreed (and you put out on the first date), then they might text you (yes text, not call, because hardly anyone actually picked up a goddamn phone these days and spoke to an actual person) and invite you to come back for a second interview. But it took forever to get “hired.” You were kept in the “hiring” or “dating” pool for ages as the person waited for a better applicant to come along.

  No, thanks! Not for me.

  I’d met Meegan at a pub. She’d been cute, happy and incredibly eager to go out for dinner the next night. And despite the age difference, we’d worked well for a while. We were pretty much together since the first date. There was no “dating.” Then she’d found out she was pregnant three months into the relationship, and things started to go a little wonky. But I wanted to give the family thing a shot and make it work. I’d grown up with both parents in the picture, and even though at the time when the test had been positive I hadn’t been excited to be a dad, like hell was I going to be a weekend or part-time parent. My parents had knocked some sense into me the moment I’d broken the news to them, saying that it was fate telling me to man up, be responsible and grow the fuck up.

  And I had.

  The moment the doctor put Gemma into my arms for the first time, I was a goner. My life suddenly made sense, the planets aligned, and I was a dad. One hundred percent committed to protecting the tiny human who had my red hair and dimple with every fiber of my being. I would lay down my life for her and never give her a reason to doubt my love or devotion.

  I was just pulling off my socks when the locker door opened and Ben stalked in.

  “Date tonight?” I asked wryly.

  He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, no.”

  “Not your type?” I was just giving him a hard time; I knew the woman didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with him.

  He shook his head and opened his locker. Ben usually came to the gym ahead of me and lifted weights for a bit before we sparred. He tugged off his socks and shoes and stowed them in his locker. “Uh, nope,” he finally said. “I like ’em with more brains than that. Nice rack, though. Shame it wasn’t real.”

  I snorted. Ben was very upfront that he liked the natural look, to the point when women would hit on him at the bar he’d actually say to them, “You know you don’t need to wear so much makeup, right?” It usually didn’t end well. And depending on the time of night and how many drinks the woman had down the hatch, he would often end up with one in his face.

  “I didn’t think you’d be coming in here announcing you’d found your soulmate.”

  “What about you? How are things going with the chick you sent the dorky picture to?”

  The thought of Harper and her ragged breathing this morning as I described the things I wanted to do to her in bed made
me smile as I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it into my locker. “Good. Got cock-blocked by her kid. But such is life with having children.”

  “Oh, she’s a single-mom?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, little girl between Gem and Lando.”

  “Nice. Hot?”

  I ditched my watch. “Smokin’.”

  He cupped his pecks before letting go and twitching them back and forth in a dance he loved to do. “What about these?”

  “Real.”

  “Nice. Name?”

  “Harper.”

  “Cute. I like girls’ names that end in -er. It’s strong. I always pictured myself with a chick named Summer or Skyler or something.”

  As I stepped out of my jeans and into my shorts, I gave him a lone raised eyebrow.

  “What?” he asked. “I’m allowed to think about these things.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t. It’s just a little weird hearing this from you.”

  He rolled his eyes and took a sip of water. “I have my moments.”

  “You certainly do.”

  “You seeing her again?”

  I began to tape up my left hand. “Yeah, hopefully. It’s tough with the kids though. It’s still so new, neither of us are ready to let the kids in on it. Don’t want to get their hopes up.”

  Ben nodded solemnly. He was a child of divorce, and apparently it’d been an ugly one. He’d had sympathy and compassion by the armload for my kids when Meegan left. He’d been the uncle and extra parent they’d desperately needed during those first few months, as well as an amazing friend.