Next Door Daddy

by Amy Brent

  And now that she was an attractive young woman – a young lady of legal age, intent on getting me into bed – there was a big part of me that didn't trust myself around her. I was, after all, a newly divorced, warm-blooded man with needs and desires. And she was a curvy, attractive young woman who was literally throwing herself at me. I would be lying if I said there hadn't been a fantasy or two floating around my mind about bending her over my desk and fucking her good and hard. I'd be lying if I said that there hadn't been a time or two I hadn't jerked off thinking about having those big, beautiful eyes looking up at me as those soft lips were wrapped around my cock.

  Which was why it was better to keep my distance, lest I do something stupid. Something that I'd regret. And something that would most assuredly, impact my relationship with Dave.

  I didn't hear her at first as I was busy peering down the steps, hoping Dave and Miranda had come home, but I turned when I heard Sabrina's soft footsteps on the floor behind me. She moved like a cat, that one. I hadn't heard her step out of her room. Dammit.

  “Dad just called,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Said they're almost home now. Should be here any moment.”

  “Thanks, Sabrina,” I said.

  My eyes fell upon her lips, which were a soft pink and oh so plump and felt the familiar stirrings below my belt. The last thing I wanted was to get hard standing in front of her. She had her mother's perfect cupid's bow pout. She could have easily followed in her mother's footsteps and tried her hand at modeling. But instead, she'd gone to college and had gotten her degree. Wanted to do something different and something with a little more substance with her life, she'd once said. Smart girl, that one.

  She was curvier than the last time I'd seen her – which only added to her appeal. She'd never been a stick thin girl, but she'd always been blessed with a womanly body. And now that she was older, it was even more pronounced and more – alluring.

  I cleared my throat and tried to focus on something else. The last time I'd seen her – yes, when had that been? Christmas, almost a year ago? But I couldn't keep my mind from straying and cataloging the changes I could see in her. Her hips were fuller, her breasts were larger – and yes, I mentally kicked myself for thinking of my best friend's daughter's breasts. But how could I stop it? I was a man – she was a gorgeous woman.

  I tried to tear my focus away again, think of something else, but it was too late and I felt a bulge growing in my slacks. As soon as I realized I was looking and felt myself getting stiffer because of it, I tore my gaze away, turned, and walked down the stairs. Sabrina, of course, fell into step beside me. It was almost as if she knew she was having this effect on me and was enjoying herself. Enjoying teasing me, flirting with me – enjoying the fact that I was quite obviously noticing the beautiful woman she'd grown into.

  “How's work these days? Dad said you recently expanded into France?” she said, her tone light and conversational.

  “Uhh, yes. We have a few hotels over there now too – mostly in Paris for now, but we're looking at other sites around the country.”

  “That's fantastic,” she said. “Have you ever considered expanding into the Asian markets? My understanding is that they are very easy to work with and actually provide incentives for Western companies to set up shop over there.”

  “It's something we're considering, actually,” I said. “But we're leary of expanding too fast. We want to be deliberate and smart about it.”

  She nodded as if she understood. Perhaps she did. “That's probably a good idea,” she said. “Make sure the brand takes hold before growing it too much.”

  It was surprising to have such a grown up conversation with her – which again, reminded me that she wasn't a child anymore. She was a woman. A very smart woman.

  “I'd love to visit Paris again someday soon,” she said. “I haven't gone since our family trip a few years ago. I think I was too young to fully appreciate it back then, but now that I'm an adult, I really need to see it for myself. Really need to immerse myself in the culture and absorb it all, don't you think?”

  We'd reached the bottom of the stairs by that point, and as we stood in the foyer, I heard her parents at the door. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked for anything to hide the bulge in my pants – the last thing I wanted was for Dave or Miranda to see me standing next to their daughter with a raging hard on. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Sabrina looking and a smirk painted upon her face. She'd noticed. God dammit, she noticed.

  Hopefully her parents didn't. I would have to deal with the fact that Sabrina knew she'd given me a hard on later. Hopefully, it would be one of those things that was just never talked about and allowed to die.

  “We don't need a new painting in the dining room, Miranda,” Dave said, arguing with his wife as they stepped inside. “The one we have is just fine. Besides, if we got the painting, you'd want to remodel again and – ”

  “What's wrong with that?” Miranda pouted. “Don't you think it's about time to freshen things up a little bit? I read somewhere that rearranging and remodeling your home every now and then helps stave off boredom and even Alzheimer's.”

  Dave rolled his eyes. “Oh, dear God,” he moaned.

  Their eyes fell on me as they stepped inside, and Miranda looked exceptionally pleased with my presence. Her smile was wide and genuine.

  “Here, let's ask your friend,” she beamed. “Julian, do you think it's too soon to redecorate the dining room?”

  “Uhh, what's it been? Two years?” I asked.

  “Three,” she said.

  I looked at Dave, then back at Miranda.

  “Come on, you're remodeling your entire house,” she said. “Surely you're on my side on this?”

  “I'm not on anybody's side here, Miranda,” I said with a laugh, stroking my chin. “I don't see a reason to meddle in your relationship. Or your redecorating plans.”

  “It's not meddling if you agree with me,” she said with a wink.

  Staring at Miranda Evans-Prescott, I was struck again by the fact that her daughter was a spitting image of her – except about twenty years younger. Miranda was at one time a high fashion model. She often used to grace the runways of Milan and other fashion hotspots across Europe. But then David Prescott, CEO of his own software company – empire, really – managed to sweep her off her feet. Not long after that, she had given up modeling and pursued other artistic endeavors. Apparently, her latest passion was for home décor and remodeling.

  Miranda’s long, dark hair was currently pulled back in a high, tight bun on her head, and she was wearing bright red lipstick that showed off that perfect pout. The same pout her daughter inherited.

  And there I was – thinking about Sabrina again.

  Dave and Miranda were now walking away from me, still playfully bickering about the painting and redecorating the dining room, leaving Sabrina and I alone in the foyer. Sabrina was grinning at me and shaking her head. My eyes fell from her eyes down to her cleavage, which was peeking out from her low-cut dress.

  “Those two,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully.

  “Huh?” I said, totally getting lost in the sight before me and forgetting about anything else.

  Sabrina pointed toward the living room, where her parents had retreated. I mentally slapped myself. I couldn't be thinking about Sabrina like that. Especially not with Dave and Miranda in the house. Not ever, really. I had to stop it. Had to get my mind off of Sabrina and what a knockout she'd become. It wasn't just inappropriate, it was – wrong. Wrong on so many levels, in so many ways.

  “Oh yeah,” I said, feigning a laugh as I scratched my head, doing everything in my power not to look at Sabrina. “We know your dad will give in. He can never say no to your mother. I think that's why she stays with him.”

  “Of course,” she laughed while winking at me. “We Prescott women always get what we want. Eventually.”

  With that little quip, she retreated, following her parents, swishing her
hips as she walked – quite a bit more than necessary. But it was a glorious sight, I had to admit. She knew I was watching and she put on a show for me.

  I was doomed.

  Chapter Three

  SABRINA

  That night, I heard Julian moving around after everyone else had gone to bed. Well, everybody but me. I was awake, lying in bed, touching myself and thinking about the first time Julian and I would make love. It was a foregone conclusion in my mind. When I heard his bedroom door open, I held my breath and waited, hoping he'd come to my room for a quiet midnight tryst.

  But I exhaled and felt disappointed as his footsteps retreated and went downstairs instead.

  I was wearing nothing but a tiny little nightgown that clung to my curves. It covered just enough to not get me in trouble with my parents if they saw me walking around in it – but it barely covered the necessary bits. It fit more like a t-shirt than a standalone nightgown. I thought I looked hot in it.

  And it was all the better for what I was about to do, too.

  I was feeling a bit emboldened. After seeing Julian standing there with a very obvious hard on, looking every bit the awkward teenager, I was feeling powerful. I was feeling in control. I knew that I needed to take the bull by the horns if I was going to get the satisfaction I wanted.

  As quietly as I could, I climbed out of bed, opened the door, and listened in the hallway. My dad was snoring away and the light was off in their room down the hall, which meant mom was no longer up reading. With them sound asleep, I walked quietly down the stairs and found Julian standing at the fridge, getting himself a glass of water. I was behind him and he hadn't heard me yet, so to avoid scaring him – and draw any unwanted attention – I spoke softly. Barely above a whisper, but loud enough that I knew he'd hear me.

  “Can't sleep?” I asked innocently.

  He looked over his shoulder, a bit surprised at my presence, but he smiled. “It's always strange sleeping in someone else's home,” he said.

  “Yeah, it's weird when it's not your own bed,” I said. “I always have trouble sleeping whenever I go anywhere.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “I thought you went to bed a couple hours ago?”

  “I did,” I said, biting my lip. “But I couldn't sleep either. Just too much going on in my head, I guess.”

  I gave him my best bedroom eyes, hoping he'd take the hint and understand what it was that was keeping me up so late.

  “Sorry to hear that,” he said rather abruptly.

  He placed his glass of water on the table nearby, leaning into it and looking at me – really looking at me for the first time since I'd opened the door for him earlier that afternoon. His eyes took me in, drinking me in like a thirsty man drinks a glass of water. It made me feel sexy. Desired. Wanted. Even though he didn't say a single word to give his thoughts away, I could tell what was going through his head. And I had to say, I approved.

  I knew that Julian would struggle with the decision about whether to take me to bed or not – any decent man would. I knew he had to be conflicted – he'd known me since I was a child. My dad was his best friend. He was more than twice my age. But none of that made it wrong. We were both consenting adults. We both had needs and desires. And it just so happened that ours coincided. Why should anybody look askance at that?

  “Nothing for you to be sorry about,” I said.

  I leaned onto the table across from him, staring deeply into those beautiful eyes of his. He truly was a sight for sore eyes. I'd missed him. When I was younger, I would see him every day. Now – not so much. Even though he was much older than I was, he was – and always would be – I thought he was the sexiest man in the world. No college guy could ever compete with him.

  Which was why I'd turned them all down and had saved myself for him.

  There were a few moments of silence as we stared at one another awkwardly. And yet, expectantly. I could see the struggle in his mind, plain as day. I knew what he was thinking. Knew the arguments and counter-arguments he was having in his internal dialogue. I wasn't sure what I could do to tip his decision my way, but I felt like I needed to do something. Say something. Make sure he knew that this was okay. That this was what I wanted. I tried to convey it through my eyes, through the set of my body, and through the little smile I was giving him.

  Julian cleared his throat, looking away, and said, “Sabrina, I think we need to address the elephant in the room. I know you've always had a crush on me – ”

  “Oh, it's more than a crush, Julian. Far, far more.”

  “Whatever it is, I see the way you look at me. And yes, you're a gorgeous young lady, but this – you and me – we can't work. This can't happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because – ”

  “Is it the age difference? Because we both know my mom is a lot younger than my father, and no one sees anything wrong with that.”

  It was true. My mom was about ten years younger than my dad, but nobody said a word about it. Sure, Julian was almost twenty years older than me, but the fact remained that age didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

  “At the risk of sounding like a cliché,” I said. “Once we're consenting adults, age is just a lame excuse to not do something we both want to do.”

  “It's not just that, Sabrina,” he said. “I literally watched you grow up, in front of my eyes – ”

  “So?”

  “So? Your father would kill me.” Julian glanced toward the hallway, as if afraid my dad would walk in on us at any moment. We were still alone, but he pitched his voice lower anyway. “It's not okay, Sabrina.”

  “You haven't denied being attracted to me,” I said, standing up tall and grinning as I watched his eyes automatically take in my curves.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked. He scratched his chin and looked away again, I knew he was trying to keep from addressing the real elephant in the room.

  “It has a lot to do with all of this,” I said. “All your reasons are nothing more than weak excuses. And they're not nearly good enough.”

  “Not good enough?” he asked, arching his eyebrow.

  “No, not even close,” I said. “Because I see the way you look at me. I can see the thoughts going on in that mind of yours.”

  I walked around the table, moving closer to him, but he stepped away. Almost as if he was afraid I was going to bite. Or do something much more delicious – something he wouldn't be able to step away from.

  “And let's face it, Julian – I'm not the little girl you watched grow up anymore,” I purred. “I'm a grown woman now. A legal adult. My father can no longer dictate what – or who – I do.”

  Julian had backed himself into a corner, both literally and figuratively. He was now pinned against the wall, with me standing in front of him. I smiled as I closed the distance between us and stood close to him – very close. But I didn't get so close that I was literally up in his face. I didn't want to be rude to him, after all. Yes, I wanted to fuck him silly, but I still respected him. Hell, I respected him a lot, and I knew this wasn't going to be easy. Switching his mindset from seeing me to a little girl to a sexual creature was going to be difficult. He had to want it as much as I did – and I was pretty sure he did.

  But he had to be willing to live with the consequences – which we both knew existed.

  Yes, I was an adult. But my father was his best friend. What I was suggesting was forbidden, though not outright. It was one of those unspoken rules. After all, it wasn't like my parents said I could never get involved with Julian. But on an unspoken but acknowledged level, it was taboo. Something they couldn't have imagined. And I was more than sure Julian himself struggled with that as well.

  “When you're ready,” I said to him, speaking softly, “You know where to find me. We're both adults here, Julian. Stop treating me like a child and maybe, just maybe, you'll see that what I have to offer you is exactly what you need.”

  I stepped away from him, tur
ning to go back upstairs, when he touched my shoulder. I looked back and waited for him to say something. The conflict on his face was clear. I did feel bad for him in that regard, but he also needed to realize that we were adults, free to do with each other as we pleased.

  “Yes?” I asked, eyes wide as I waited for a response.

  “We can't do this, Sabrina,” he said, gripping my shoulder tight.

  His voice was far less than certain as he'd said it, so I turned around and faced him. This time though, I didn't hold back. I was close enough to feel his breath against my cheek, felt his body pressing into mine. I could tell he was turned on – I felt how hard his cock was as it pressed against my belly.

  “Yes, we can, Julian,” I said, stroking his cheek. “We can do anything we want.”

  I moved my hand from his cheek down his chest and then went lower, letting it linger over the erection he was trying so hard to hide. I gripped him tight, slowly moving my hand up and down his long, thick shaft, jerking him off through his pants.

  “We can do anything you want, when you want it,” I said softly. “You just can't be afraid.”

  Seeing the mixture of fear and lust in his eyes, I let go of his cock and stepped back. I saw something akin to regret in his eyes as I moved away, picking up his glass of water and drinking from it. I watched him over the rim of the glass carefully, waiting for – something. But he didn't say a word, nor did he move. He just stood there, pressed against the wall, staring at me with a look of pure need on his face.

  “You're a divorcee,” I said. “I'm a horny twenty-three-year-old woman. Who says we can't have a little fun together? Where is that written into law?”

  And with that, I left him there in the kitchen alone with his thoughts and his throbbing cock, the memory of my words as well as my hand on him in his mind. As much as I wanted to fuck his brains out right then and there, I knew that leaving him like that would only make him yearn for me more. He'd go back to his lonely bed, my words implanted into his mind, and think of all the dirty things he wanted to do with me. Hell, he'd probably even jerk himself off while he thought about it – a thought that turned me on more than I could say.