Next Door Daddy

by Amy Brent

  “Don’t you worry about that. I will make sure that the baby is taken care of and you can have your life back, I promise. This is our problem and we’ll make sure everything works out.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out again. This was scary. Mark stood around in the kitchen, looking lost. He looked at me, hands on his hips. I hadn’t seen him in casual wear before. The t-shirt he wore stretched across his body and he was more built that I thought he would be. Young and fit, that’s what he looked like despite the fact that he was in his forties. Maybe his personality had a lot to do with it.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  The question was out of the blue and I hesitated.

  “I know how it is to live on cafeteria food.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, it’s not my favorite. I’d like that.”

  He nodded and smiled and it spread over his face slowly like he hadn’t smiled in a while. I pulled out a bar stool at the counter island and made myself comfortable while Mark moved around the kitchen, getting food together. There was something ridiculously attractive about a man that could cook.

  “What are you making?” I asked.

  “Lamb. Wild rice.”

  That sounded really good. Cafeteria food really was horrible in comparison. Mark put the lamb in the oven once it was heated up and poured me a glass of grape juice and wine for himself. He started on the gravy and I told him about some of my lecturers. He stood half to the side so that he didn’t have his back to me.

  The smell of gravy started filling the kitchen, rich and sweet, and my stomach turned. I felt a little sick. Lately, this had been happening. Smells triggered me.

  I tried to ignore it. I took a sip of my juice and focused on what we were talking about but nausea got worse. I put my hand to my stomach.

  “Can you show me where the restroom is?” I asked.

  “Down the passage and to your left,” Mark said. I nodded and got up. My body retched the moment and I did and I ran for the bathroom, hoping I wouldn’t throw up on Mark’s expensive carpet.

  I threw up loudly and ungracefully. Mark appeared behind me and made sure my hair was out of the way. He rubbed my back and when it was over he offered me a glass of water.

  “God,” I complained. “I’m sorry.” I felt embarrassed that he’d seen me like that.

  He sat down next to me on the floor. “Don’t be. You’re pregnant. What can I get you?”

  I shook my head. “A toothbrush would be nice.”

  He got up and opened the cabinet, taking out a new one. I laughed.

  “I didn’t think you really had one.”

  He shrugged. I took it from him.

  “Let me get you something plain to settle your stomach,” he said and left me to it. I found toothpaste next to the sink and brushed my teeth, cleaning myself up. Vomiting was never pleasant.

  When I came out of the bathroom Mark waited for me with a plate of crackers. He held it out to me and I took one, nibbling on it. He looked at me and his eyes were soft, adoring. I wasn’t sure what he was feeling but I was grateful he was doting on me. I hated being sick alone.

  He looked at me for a moment, like he wanted to say something. He didn’t and I was just about to turn away when he leaned forward and kissed me. The plate knocked against my shoulder and crackers fell to the ground. Mark didn’t care. I didn’t care. He had his lips pressed against mine in a reckless question, a challenge, almost. Do you want this?

  I didn’t say no. I didn’t pull away. Maybe I should have. I didn’t want to. The kiss had been rushed but his lips were sure on mine. I opened my mouth and let him in and he kissed me until I was a melted puddle on the floor.

  When he finally broke the kiss I felt lightheaded and out of breath. His eyes were dark and drowning deep.

  “I don’t feel sick anymore.”

  He smiled. “Good,” he breathed. “Because I think we’re out of crackers.”

  Mark

  She was soft and she was tender and she was beautiful. She was also young, but I ignored that fact because she was an old soul in my eyes. She was more mature than a lot of people my age, including the woman I’d ended up marrying.

  I wanted her. Not just her intellect and her, but her body, too. She was in my house, dressed in skinny jeans and a shirt that showed off her curves and I wanted her. And no, she wasn’t a rebound after the bitch of a wife cheated on me with the one person we’d both confided in. I had to be honest with myself and admit that I’d wanted Camille even before Marina had shown her true colors. I just hadn’t admitted it to myself then.

  But now… what did I have to lose? My heart had already been ripped to shreds, I’d been used and abused for my money and my status, and I had no one that would stand up for me. No one except Camille. I didn’t think she admired me for my money, either. She talked to me like I was one of her peers like we were equals.

  She kneeled down to collect the fallen crackers. I kneeled down, too, but my attention wasn’t on the dropped food. It was on her. The way she moved, the way she looked at me when she put the crackers back on the plate. Her hands. Her eyes. Her mouth.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t sorry at all, but I felt like I had to say it just in case she was.

  “Don’t be.”

  Anything else would have been bad. Anything else would have made me feel like I’d overstepped some line. It’s okay, don’t worry about it, it’s nothing, all those would have felt loaded. Saying that I shouldn’t be sorry held no sarcasm, no regret.

  I reached out and hooked her hair behind her ear. Her curls were beautiful. I let one run around my finger. She tipped her head to the side just a little, enough to press her cheek against my hand. Her skin was soft and silky and I wanted more of it.

  I leaned into her again, stopping only inches away from her face. I wanted more, but I wanted to be sure she wanted it, too. I waited for her to close the distance. She hesitated and I thought that was it, she was going to reject me. But then she closed the distance and her lips were on mine and the kiss was different. Expected, calculated. Soft and warm and comfortable. With her, it felt different than it had ever felt with Marina. With Camille, it felt right. It felt real. It felt like home.

  I broke the kiss and pushed up. I took her hand and pulled her up, too, turning her so that her back was against the wall. She arched her back, pushing her breasts out to me, an invitation. I stepped into her so that her body was against mine and I felt the swells of her breasts against my chest. The erection in my pants throbbed and I tugged at my waistband to readjust myself.

  I slid a hand onto her neck, over her collarbone and then onto her breast. I was being forward. I was overstepping the line. She was twenty-two and I was forty. Everything about this was wrong.

  It didn’t feel wrong. It felt right.

  I massaged her breast and she gasped into my mouth. Her hips undulated against mine. My other hand was in her hair. Her hands slid around to my back and she pulled me against her, moving her hips, driving me crazy and we were just standing in the passage with our clothes on.

  I broke the kiss and my breathing was erratic. Her mouth was slightly parted, her pupils dilated. Her face told me everything I needed to know.

  I held onto her hand and led her to the bedroom. The same bedroom where Marina and that asshole Kamal had decided to tell me how much respect they had for me. I’d disinfected the whole damn room, but bringing Camille in here felt like a fuck you to Marina.

  It wasn’t revenge sex at all, though. Never. This was real. I wondered how real Marina’s escapades had been.

  I pushed the thought from my mind. I wasn’t going to think about her anymore. This was about Camille and only Camille. As soon as we were in the room I pulled her shirt over her head and she stood in front of me in her bra. It was red and it suited her skin and her personality. Feisty, exotic.

  She had a slight belly and it was beautiful. A baby. My baby.

  She reached back and unclasped it,
letting it fall to the floor. She was perfect. Natural breasts that fit into the palm of my hand like they’d always been meant for me. Real, not fake. I took a nipple between my thumb and forefinger and rolled it. Camille closed her eyes and tipped her head back, and I relished the sensation of being able to bring that expression to her face.

  She only let me make her feel good for a moment before she moved my hands away and pulled my t-shirt over my head. I was no spring chicken compared to her, but she ran her hands over my chest, fingers in the curly gray chest hair, and she kissed the skin, leaving a trail of fire in her wake. She stopped at the V that led into my pants and hooked her fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled it down. She took my jocks along with it, not wasting any time.

  There was no guessing what I was feeling. My sex sprung free and she wrapped her fingers around it, mimicking the rhythm of sex with her hand. I only let her do that for a short while. I only let her drive me crazy to a point well before the point of no return. I needed to be inside her. It was an ache inside of me that I had ignored since I’d met her, and now I was going to let go and let my own needs come first for the first time since I’d gotten married.

  I got rid of her pants. There was, again, no ceremony about it. I laid her out on the bed like a feast and crawled over her. Her thighs fell open for me, an indication that she wanted this as much as I did. If she hadn’t I would have backed away immediately. The only thing I had for Camille that trumped my lust was respect.

  I positioned myself at her entrance and she was wet and ready. She gasped, air escaping through her open lips. Her eyes were on mine and when I pushed into her I lowered my mouth onto her and kissed her. This was not just about her sex, but about her.

  She squirmed a little underneath me when I pushed all the way in. I waited for a moment when I was into the hilt, letting her adjust. She breathed fast and shallow. I ran my fingers through her curly hair, over her cheeks, tracing her eyebrows, her ears, her nose, her lips.

  “You’re beautiful.” This was so important to me that she knew that. That she understood what this was about. It wasn’t revenge sex or a rebound or some ass because I was lonely. This was all about her.

  I started moving. In and out, in and out. Slowly, stroking. Her eyes rolled back and then closed and she gasped, whimpering moans slipping out of her throat. Her hands were on my back, her fingers massaging the skin. I kept moving. The sensation was fantastic. I ran my hand over her body, over her breast. She arched her back, moving her hips along with mine.

  I felt her orgasm building. Her body tightened around mine, her legs hooked around my ass, her hands kneaded the skin on my back, her moans became louder. It coaxed my orgasm out, stroke by stroke, too.

  She released before I did, toppling over into the abyss and I watched her face. She gave herself over to it entire. Her eyebrows knit together, her mouth opened in a silent cry, and then her body clamped down on mine and she curled around me, nails biting into my skin. I grunted, relishing the sharp pain that came with the exhilaration, the ecstasy. I only waited until the worst was over until she was breathing again, before I kept moving.

  Her orgasm had nearly kick started mine and I wanted my release. I wanted to claim her. It sounded awful and primal and animalistic but it was what I wanted. Some carnal part of me wanted to mark her so that no one else would look at her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice shouted that I’d never wanted to do that with Marina, but I drowned it out with sex. I went faster and faster.

  Her cries and moans were louder and came freely now, as if breaking through the orgasm had let her break through self-consciousness, too. I felt it building inside of me now, my balls contracted and my core was on fire. Just a little… more…

  My body jerked and I froze, letting nature take over, letting my body do what it needed to. I was aware of her whimpering when I released inside of her, of her hands on my back and her breath in my ear. When it finally subsided she opened her eyes and she looked at me.

  Big brown eyes. Beautiful. A face I wanted to look at over and over and over again.

  “Holy shit, Mark.”

  I smiled. Such an adolescent expression after such a mature act. I nodded.

  Holy shit, indeed.

  Camille

  I spent the night. When he finished inside of me I hadn’t wanted to spoil it by getting up and leaving. I didn’t want to leave, anyway. Mark had slipped out of, collapsed next to me and pulled me against him, curling his body around mine like a question mark. If I had been unsure before about his intentions with me I was sure now. Men who wanted one-night stands and booty calls didn’t spoon. These were facts you learned at a very young age.

  Mark wasn’t using me. I wasn’t sure what else was behind it – I was hesitant to assume there was any emotional input – but it definitely wasn’t just physical. Was it?

  I carefully slid out from underneath the covers. It was very early, the light coming from outside still laced with a silver quality. I tiptoed around the room to find my clothes. I didn’t want to hit and run but I had to get out of here to think straight. I didn’t want him to think it was any less to me than it was to him, but a girl has to think.

  I got dressed as quietly as I could. I glanced back at him one more time before leaving the room. He was fast asleep, tangled in sheets we’d both messed up.

  I let myself out, scared an alarm would go off. There was nothing. I walked all the way back to the bus stop and got on one that would take me back to my dorm. To real life.

  What was I doing? I ran my hands through my hair, hoping it didn’t look too wild, like sex hair. I hadn’t even checked myself in the mirror before I’d left. I ran a finger under each eye, hoping my make-up hadn’t smudged.

  Everything inside the college dorm was quiet, most of the students taking the morning to sleep in while they could. Late nights and impossibly early mornings define student life – you take a break whenever you can. I’d left with the same clothes on last night. I was relieved no one would see me coming in.

  Sharon came down the corridor. Early riser. She stopped dead when she saw me.

  “Is it still a walk of shame when you’re in your own corridor?” A smile played around her lips. Dammit, she knew.

  I sighed and shook my head.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I started saying no, but then changed my answer. “Actually, I do.” I had a lot on my mind. I needed to tell someone, and considering that Sharon was the one that always ended up peeling me off the floor when something went wrong in my life she was the lady for the job. I opened my room door and she came in with me. She sat down on the chair Mark had used when he’d been here.

  “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Mark.”

  No reason to try and sugarcoat it. No matter when the truth came out, there would be a reaction.

  Sharon frowned. “I don’t remember any Mark. Does he study with us?”

  I shook my head. “Not a student Mark. A grownup Mark.”

  I watched her mind tick, running through all the Mark’s we knew. Her eyes widened slightly and I knew she’d landed on the right one. I nodded a confirmation.

  “Are you out of your mind? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  This was the first time she’d asked me that. I heard that sentence often.

  “It wasn’t on purpose.”

  She snorted. “A classic case of you slipped and he fell?”

  I rolled my eyes at her sarcasm. It wasn’t necessary.

  “Don’t be a bitch right now, okay? I’m stuck.”

  She snorted again and I could almost taste the next snarky comment but she didn’t say it and I breathed out in relief. The truth was I was starting to fall for Mark and it scared the shit out of me. I needed another perspective and Sharon – on the days she chose – could really be a voice of reason.

  “I know you think this is all wrong, but the story isn’t exactly what you think.”

  She raised
her eyebrows and folded her arms. So tell me, her face said. I explained to her about Marina and her lover, about Mark and how lonely he’s been not just after the affair but while he was married, too.

  “So, you thought it would be noble to keep him company?”

  I sighed. “Can you please just push aside the fact that he’s twice my age—”

  “And married.”

  “Yeah… and married. And just treated this like every other screwed up relationship I’ve had?”

  Sharon shrugged with one shoulder. I wasn’t sure if it was consent or indifference.

  “The truth is that I really like him. I’m falling for him. He’s different. But he’s a billionaire with a life he built himself and I’m just a student. Why would he like me? Why would he go for me?”

  “I don’t know.” Sharon’s voice was neutral. “You might want to be careful, but it has happened before that men were genuine. It can happen again.”

  I picked at my thumbnail. “I am pregnant with his child, after all.”

  “But that happened before the sex, not after.”

  I nodded. “I know. And it’s also not my baby. It’s hers.” I covered my face with my hands. “God, this is so complicated.” My voice was muffled through my fingers.

  “Why don’t you go and talk to him about it? You deserve an answer if you ask him the question. He can’t just leave you hanging, if he does you’ll know, anyway, but you still need to see him. And his wife.”

  “She’s not his ex, yet.”

  “She might never be.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. When he’d told me she’d moved out I’d assumed it was over. Us having sex had made me feel like it was final. I hadn’t thought about the fact that he might take her back for the baby’s sake, that it might be nothing more than a one-nighter to get it out of his system. Shit.

  “Stop worrying about it,” Sharon ordered. “You can’t overthink this until you speak to him.”

  “And I can’t speak to him until after the test series or I’ll fail them all. Especially if it goes south.”