by Katie Ford
“No worries, we buy it from Costco,” I said smoothly. “How was Violet tonight?”
And the girl colored before beginning to speak. Because oh yeah, that’s why she was here allegedly. To watch over my daughter.
“Vi was good,” she said slowly, “We had dinner together, roasted veggies and a little chicken, and then I got her into the bath. She went to sleep afterwards, but yeah, I had to read her a couple stories.”
I grinned wryly.
“You mean Goodnight Moon five times in a row?” I rumbled. I swear, I hate that book, I could recite it line for line, cover to cover, that damned little rabbit and his mittens.
But Mandy shook her head.
“No, not that one, The Hungry Caterpillar,” she said with a smile. “Vi likes sticking her fingers into all the holes.”
And I shook my head. That was another one of my daughter’s favorites, and just like Goodnight Moon, I’d come to hate the book with a passion. But Amanda’s goodness, her patience, was clear.
“How many times?” I asked wryly, “Five? Six?”
And she bit her lip before nodding.
“Seven,” she confessed. “I had to. Vi wouldn’t let me stop, she’d start crying whenever I got to the end.”
That sounded all too familiar.
“Yeah, she’s got some attachment issues what with her mom leaving and all,” I rumbled again. “But she’ll be okay soon enough, kids forget easy.” God, that sounded awful and Mandy was silent for a moment, the kitchen space empty yet loud at once. So I spoke again, more to keep the conversation going than anything. “My ex was a bitch, this is all for the better.”
And the brunette flushed, nodding, but chose not to speak. I admit that I admired her for it, her tact, her decision to hold back. Because this was the perfect opening to ask about my divorce, sate her curiosity on all the dirty details of the separation. But the teen had the good sense to mind her own business, not to go where the footing might be slippery, and it was the right thing to do. God, Mandy was so different from when I was her age, about ten times more mature and with a real, functioning brain, whereas I’d been a giant penis, my dick my only guide.
“So,” I rumbled. “What’s next?”
And Mandy bit her lip then. But the little girl didn’t play games, didn’t pretend not to know what I was talking about.
“Well Mr. Parker,” she began slowly. “I’d like to see you again.”
I nodded. I had to see her again, had to get into that body asap. But there was no reason to lay out all the cards now. So I nodded sagely.
“How about tomorrow?” I ground out. Oh fuck, so much for being smooth, the man in charge. I was more like an adolescent boy, panting, no, begging for attention.
And the girl laughed throatily then.
“Sure Mr. Parker, would love to. Eight okay?” she murmured. I found her shyness adorable after what we’d just done in the bathroom, this girl had so many facets to her personality, so many amazing sides to be discovered. “I’ll come by and put Vi to sleep and then we can, we can …” her voice trailed off.
I grinned internally. So the girl wasn’t exactly the vixen she made herself out to be, she was still an eighteen year-old naïf, unable to say the words. But no worries, I’d teach her to say the dirty words, to say all the dirty words and love them, her mouth spewing filth only for my ears.
“That works,” I rumbled. “Another cup of tea?”
And the girl looked down at the empty mug.
“I drank all that?” she murmured quizzically. “I really do drink a lot of tea, but no thanks,” she said throwing me another dazzling smile. “It’s almost ten and I better get back, otherwise my parents are gonna call the cops.”
I grunted then. Trish and Jim absolutely should be calling the cops with what happened upstairs tonight, and the sexy things I planned on doing to their daughter tomorrow. But for now, there was a pause, a much-needed intermission until our next session. Because Mandy was smart, that much was obvious. The brunette had a good head on her shoulders and I wanted her to be ready for what was coming next, to have some time to think things through. Because once I started … there would be no going back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mandy
“Mom, Dad,” I called from the foyer, purse already slung over my shoulder. “I’m headed over to Mr. Parker’s place.”
My mom tottered over with an apron still on, patting her hands dry on the floral print. Oh Trish. She was cute, looking more like Mrs. Claus each year, and had insisted on spending the entire evening baking batch after batch of Christmas cookies. How in the world we were going to eat all those cookies, I had no idea, but it’d been fun helping her, icing dozens of reindeer, trees and candy canes, making idle chit chat as we worked.
“Again?” she asked plaintively. “I thought Pete Parker had a number of girls who sat for his daughter.”
I frowned slightly. What? That was the first I’d heard of a potential stable of women going by the Parker place. But I just shrugged on the outside, expression smooth.
“Maybe, but maybe they’re visiting their families for the holidays. It is December,” I said pointedly.
And my mom sighed again.
“You’re so nice honey,” she said. “Such a good heart, taking time from your vacation to help a single dad, and going over there last minute too. How is that little girl doing, by the way? Does Miss Violet miss her mom? Poor thing.”
And here I could tell the truth.
“I’m not sure,” I said, biting my lip, my concern evident. “I think she does, but Violet doesn’t say anything and I don’t ask. I just play with her a lot and cover her in hugs and kisses as much as possible.”
“Oh good,” said my mom, patting my arm. “I’m proud of you honey, taking care of a down-on-her-luck little girl like that, one with a missing mama. You have such a great maternal instinct, I hope you get it from me,” said my mom with a sweet smile. “Just like your mama,” she repeated again.
And I had to laugh then, even though the play on words wasn’t that funny. Because Trish was a good mom, no she was great, she’d given up her career as an executive secretary to stay home with us, and my brother and I had benefitted hugely from her presence, showering us with her love every minute of every day. My mom had baked countless birthday cakes, hand-sewn all sorts of Halloween costumes, and more than that, had been with us through the thick and thin, the daily tedium that makes up life. So I was grateful to Trish and only hoped I could be half as good when the time came.
“You’re an amazing mom, Mom,” I said, leaning in for a hug. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
And Trish was visibly tearing when I stepped back, blue eyes watery as she patted her nose.
“Oh you!” she exclaimed, waving a hand my way. “It’s just the holidays making me nostalgic, my baby girl is back in town again. I love you so much, Mandy. Now you better get on, that dear child is waiting.”
I gave Trish another quick hug again before getting into my car and pulling it onto the snowy street. But as I drove, the warm feeling of happiness, of utter belonging, melted a bit, turning into confusion. Because that was the thing. I did have a strong maternal instinct and it blasted to the fore when I was taking care of kids, whenever I was around Violet. On the one hand, I was pre-law at Evergreen, the pride and joy of my parents, slogging through rhetoric classes and all those things budding lawyers need to learn. But the thing is, it paled compared to when I was at home, feeling useful, doing things like helping my mom bake cookies and taking care of kids. Because what the hell was “rhetoric” anyways? Even though I’d just finished the class, for the life of me I still wasn’t sure. Instead, I’d regurgitated answers like a bird, spitting out whatever I thought the professor wanted to see on exams, with no deeper understanding of the world or what I was doing in school.
So I sighed again, shaking my head as my car pulled into the Parkers’ driveway. Crossed wires was a good metaphor to describe me, without a clear idea
of where I was going or even what I wanted. Sure, on the outside I looked like a winner, graduating at the top of my class, Miss Wall Street all the way. But inside … I dunno. I felt like a mass of contradictions with no clear path, no clear meaning in life. So I sighed again, frustrated. Maybe this is what it meant to be a teen. I wanted direction, focus, but instead was fumbling, flailing wildly, trying to keep it together as I spiraled out of control internally.
But first things first. Straightening my shoulders, I mounted the steps to the mansion, and as if on cue, the double doors swung open, Mr. Parker with Violet in his arms.
“Mandy!” cried the child joyfully. “You’re here, you’re here!”
And I reached out to hug her, her little arms closing tight around my neck. For a moment, peace descended on me once more, standing here in a triumvirate with Pete and Violet. A sense of calm pervaded my being, it was like I’d been swimming in rocky waters and suddenly the waves had stilled, leading to a smooth, soothing ride. A warm glow descended and it felt so right, so amazing, that I hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do next.
But Violet never fails to surprise.
“Mandy!” she cried again. “I have something for you!”
And Mr. Parker grinned at me, his handsome profile so close to mine, our heads bowed over our precious charge.
“Come on Vi,” he said, “Let’s go into the kitchen and you can show Mandy what you made her.”
I beamed at the big man deliriously before catching myself. What was wrong with me? I was positively soaring on Cloud Nine, acting like I was part of this family unit, spending quality time with Pete and his daughter. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I was just a babysitter for hire, someone paid with money. A beloved sitter, sure, but still. The job was temporary, I wasn’t here for the long haul or anything, there was still school and my fancy future career waiting.
So I forced myself back to reality, trailing Pete’s broad back into the kitchen, Violet giggling all the way. I really was losing it, I was letting my mind go wild, sinking into a comfortable goo. Oh shit, oh shit. I didn’t even want to think about what that meant, so I slogged on ahead.
Besides, the cookie that Violet had made me was so cute. The little blonde girl held it up to me, beaming with pride.
“For you, Man-man,” she babbled.
And I crouched down so I was eye level with the tot.
“Thank you,” I said, giving her a hug. “Can I eat it? What is it?”
And Violet giggled then.
“It’s you!” she said excitedly. “Can’t you tell? It’s Man-man and Vi-let!”
To be honest, no I couldn’t tell, not at all. The blob I held in my hands was just that, a blob. Although if I squinted and used my imagination, I suppose the brown blob on the left could be my eye, and the red blob on my right could be my nose maybe? Mouth? I wasn’t sure.
But Violet was ecstatic.
“Eat, eat!” she commanded. And closing my eyes, I did as she asked, taking a big bite of gingerbread.
“Mmmm, delicious!” I praised, giving her a big smile. “That was so good! You did such a good job!”
“Mmm-hmmm,” said the tot. “Now bed!”
And I glanced up at Mr. Parker then, seeking his approval to spirit his daughter upstairs. But what I saw took me aback, made me freeze for a moment. Because I hadn’t looked at him since entering the kitchen, and the expression on his face was possessive. Not possessive in a sexual way, but rather like a man looking at his girls, knowing that these two females were his to take care of, his responsibility, his entire life. Pete’s blue eyes were warm as he took in our heads bent over the cookie, the conspiratorial way we huddled like we were sharing a secret.
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat roughly. “Right. Violet, it’s your bedtime, Mandy will take you upstairs. Beddy-bye bedbug, love you lots,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
But Violet was already focused on me again.
“Bye Daddy,” she said carelessly, not even glancing his way. “Now you, Mandy!” she finished imperiously, holding her arms up to be carried.
And all three of us laughed then. My bond with the little girl was so strong that she’d even ignore her beloved father in my presence. So I picked Violet up and smiled over her shoulder at Pete, mouthing “just five minutes” before carrying my small charge up the marble staircase and into her room.
I wish it had been only five minutes, that it only took five minutes to get Violet to sleep, but it was more like half an hour of singing, humming, another story, then some more singing, before the little girl dropped off, exhausted. And by the time I was done, I was pretty tired myself. That’s something they don’t tell you about child-rearing. It’s effing bone-wearying even if you adore the kid, love them like your own.
So I trudged downstairs, taking deep breaths. Oh god, it was time to see Peter, to start up again where we’d left off. And even the split second I had to prepare myself was enough to get my heart racing, my blood pumping. Because the big man was waiting, with the broad chest, the thick thighs, and even thicker …. My breath caught. Was it really going to happen tonight? Oh my god, really, I was going to lose my virginity? My pussy gushed, nipples going hard. I certainly hoped so because I couldn’t wait a second longer.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pete
Mandy came downstairs looking a little tired but still so beautiful, so desirable, that sweet figure inviting, plump and delicious.
“How goes?” I asked eyebrow arched.
And she sighed before plopping onto a stool.
“It goes,” she said wryly. “Your daughter can be a handful.”
I nodded knowingly. No one knew better than me what Violet could be like, good moods, bad moods, sick, healthy, the whims and idiosyncrasies of a five year-old.
“Wore you out, huh?” I asked sympathetically, pushing a mug of tea her way once more.
Mandy looked up at me then, turning those caramel eyes to mine.
“Um, yes,” she said biting her lip, “but not so much that … that …”
I chuckled throatily then.
“Not so much not to get down?” I rumbled deep in my throat. “You wanna take up where we left off last night?”
And the brunette blushed then, it was so cute seeing how her cheeks went pink, the hue descending all the way down to her boobs. Oh shit, those boobs. She was wearing a women’s t-shirt, the kind that hugs the figure and her tits were ginormous, outlined in the soft cotton, ready to be touched and caressed.
But I wanted to hear her say it, I wanted the girl to say that she wanted me. So I fixed her with a gaze.
“You ready?” I rumbled throatily.
The girl licked her lips as though they were dry, although she’d just taken a sip of tea.
“Yes, Mr. Parker,” she swallowed, still unused to being so forward. “Please.”
And that was all I needed to hear. I descended on the female like a lion, seizing her mouth in a kiss, tasting that plush pink pout, savoring her feminine energy. Because she was so generous, so giving, so loving even though all we’d done was kiss. Mandy opened her mouth immediately, parting those sweet lips so I could delve inside, taste her inner honey, swallow all her gasps.
“Oh Pete,” she moaned breathily into my mouth. “Oh!”
And hearing my name on her lips only cranked up my arousal, put the burn on max. Because there was something so right about it, even though I was twenty years her senior and technically her employer. Hearing Mandy murmur my name in the throes of arousal was absolutely right, and I wanted to hear it again and again.
But this wasn’t the place, not among the pots and pans, on top of a cold granite countertop. So I swept the girl’s curvy form into my arms, huge breasts pressed against my chest, never taking my mouth off hers, and went up the stairs two at a time, legs eating up the distance.
“Fuck baby girl, you’re gonna be the death of me,” I growled, dropping her onto the bedspread.
And she lifted her head, a little dazed, curves bouncing, swaying.
“Pete, are we …?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I grunted. “We’re in my bedroom and I’m gonna take you until you scream my name again and again, make that sweet body orgasm until you’re hoarse from coming so hard.”
Mandy flushed then, partly from arousal but partly from something else as well.
“Pete, before we start, I want to tell you …,” she began slowly.
I was only half-listening, so intent on getting her naked that I could barely hear the words. That tee was off in a New York second, her jeans pulled down her legs until the brunette was clad in nothing but a pink bra and matching panties. And oh fuck, I definitely couldn’t hear then because she was so fucking luscious, huge breasts overfilling the tiny lace cups, the outline of her pussy visible under the mesh material. I could literally see her clit throbbing and barely stopped myself from pressing my lips to the aching nub, pinching and toying with it before going in for a solid rub.
But Mandy’s hands on my body stopped me, forced me to look up for a moment, jolting. Because I’d shed my clothes as well and she’d reached for my dick, her small hand squeezing the hard shaft.
“Pete,” she said urgently again, “please listen.”