by Penny Wylder
I chew on my bottom lip, afraid of the answer I’ll get to my next question. “Did you?”
He screws up his face, looking angry. “Fuck no. I would never do that. I contacted Corbin at the bar and had him take it from her and kick her out of my restaurant. I picked it up after I got off work today and have been trying to get ahold of you ever since.
“Your restaurant?” I say.
“Yeah. I own it. Corbin runs it for me. I have one in San Pedro County and a couple on the east coast as well.”
My jaw drops on the floor. That luxurious restaurant where drinks cost as much as a meal, and an actual meal would cost me a full paycheck … belongs to him? I thought we went there because his friend worked there, but he took me there because he owns it. And all of that time thinking someone might walk in on us in that office. That office was his.
“So you lied about that too?” I say, furious. First the subway, now this. I probably shouldn’t, but I believe him about not sleeping with that woman last night. There’s something sincere about his words that I don’t think even the best liar could fake. Still, he’s been playing me this whole time.
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you,” he says. “You didn’t tell me you worked for an IT company. I didn’t think it mattered.”
“But I didn’t fuck you in my office and not tell you I worked there either.”
He sighs and pulls me in even closer until my chest is touching his and I have to look up at him. “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready to let you into my life until I knew for sure I wanted you in it.”
“Do you?” I ask.
“More than anything. Seeing that crazy woman’s post to you and thinking about how it might hurt you, it drove me crazy. I knew then I wanted to only be with you.” The crease on the skin between his eyes deepens when he looks down at me. “Don’t you feel that connection between us too?”
I put my hands around his back, run my fingers up his spine. “I do, but it will be hard to date someone who lives an hour away.”
“That’s going to change very soon. I talked to Corbin this morning. He’s been begging to take over the restaurant in San Pedro County, and I kind of like Brettsville. I figured we could switch places. See what happens.”
I take his face between my hands and pull him into a kiss. He clings to me as if I might float away like a balloon if he were to let go.
When we part, he looks at me with a flirty smile and says, “You know, they have really nice rooms here, and I don’t think I can wait another minute to have you all to myself.”
“Lead the way.”
This new room makes the old one he took me to seem run down. The crown molding, Tiffany lamps, Chesterfield couch, and all the other embellishments put this place in a class of its own. It’s the kind of suite a celebrity would stay in when in town.
“It’s a shame to take that dress off of you. You look breathtaking, but it has to go,” he says.
There’s no zipper or contraption holding it on, just clingy fabric. I lift it up and over my head in one fluid motion, and toss it onto the couch. I’m in nothing but my black bra, lace thong, and heels.
“That body,” he says with an appreciative whistle to follow.
His clothes come off next. Even his boxers. His size surprises me still, even after I’ve been with him twice. I’m amazed my body can take it all.
When I try to take off my bra, he stops me. “No, allow me,” he says, and reaches behind me to find the clasp. My body shivers, and goose bumps spread across my skin. I don’t know why I’m so nervous being with him again. It might be because he’s willing to move to a different town to give this thing between us a shot. That’s a lot of pressure. What if, outside the bedroom for any length of time, we’re not compatible? Or what if this jealous beast inside of me can’t be tamed with just a promise? Can one actually tie down the O-Maker with monogamy without him becoming resentful?
He silences my doubts with a single touch. My bra slides off and his warm hands cup my breasts, kneading them in his big paws. I reach down, taking his length in my hands, a tire iron wrapped in silk skin, and slowly stroke him.
Our mouths collide in a deep and delirious kiss that has us both gasping for air when we come apart. He takes the sides of my panties and slides them down my legs until they pool at my feet. I step out of them. He cups my ass cheeks, jiggling them, making my generous backside bounce in his hands. He is definitely an ass man.
“I need you so bad right now,” he says into my neck as he licks sand sucks at my pulse. “I want to make you feel things you’ve never experienced before,” he says, sliding his fingers down the seam of my butt.
“How do you know I’ve never experienced those things before?” I say mischievously.
He bites my neck and kisses his way to my chin. Then he leans back so our eyes meet. “I’m reading your body. It’s telling me all your secrets” He flicks his tongue out, licking my lips. “There’s more than one way to have an orgasm. Do you think you’re up for it?” he says.
Right now I’m up for anything. I know what he wants and I want to give it to him. What’s mine is his. The idea of him claiming that forbidden area sends chills throughout my body and turns my pussy into a drip system.
“Yes, I want it,” I say.
He mumbles a sound of approval, and bends down, taking one of my nipples between his lips and giving it a hard suck before moving to the other. By the time he’s done with my breasts, my nipples are swollen and brutally pink, and my body aches to be filled in every way possible.
“Get on the bed and spread your pussy lips for me,” he says.
I do as I’m commanded.
“Wider,” he says. “I want to see inside of you.”
Again, I do what I’m told.
The chandelier above me rains bright light down on my glistening parts, giving him an unobstructed view. Whatever flaws I may have are out there, exposed. It’s a vulnerable position to be in, and yet with Heath, I feel safe. Wanted. Desired.
His tongue, wide and flat, starts at my asshole and licks all the way to my clit in one long stroke. He does this over and over again.
“Spread your ass for me too,” he demands.
I move my fingers so I can spread both my ass and pussy at the same time. Heath lets out a craving grunt. He then delves his fingers into my pussy, hooking them and drawing out as much of my natural cream as he can scoop out, then transfers it to my ass. When there’s enough of it, he slides his finger into my tight back entrance. It’s sloppy wet, making embarrassing squelching noises. But the sound only seems to turn him on more and so I forget about it, and revel in the feel of his finger in that naughty place.
As my body stretches, I want more. As if sensing this need, he inserts another finger. This keeps going until he has three fingers inside of my ass and is pounding them inside of me. My pussy pumps out enough lubricant to keep everything moist and slick so there’s never any uncomfortable friction, just a wonderful, full feeling.
Suddenly his fingers are out of me and I feel this lonely empty feeling. He scrambles to the chair where he chucked his jeans, retrieving a condom and a small tube hastily, and returning to me on the bed.
He rolls me onto my side so we’re spooning with him behind me. He lifts my leg to that my high-heeled foot is in the air. “I need to be inside you,” he insists, rolling the condom down his length and then entering my pussy from behind.
He pushes in until his balls are pinned tight against my butt. Keeping still, he allows my body to adjust to his length before starting to slide in and out of me. I feel swollen inside, my sheath clamping down around him, trying to hold him in my depths each time he pulls out.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he says breathlessly in my ear. “Are you ready for me?”
There’s a tinge of fear in my gut. He’s so big. It’s one thing to have fingers inside of me, but it’s another to have a massive cock. This is uncharted territory. What if it hurts? What if the pain of
it kills the entire mood?
“I’ll be gentle,” he says, reading my body language as I tense up. I hear the pop of the tube’s cap. “This will help. Just relax.”
I let out a long, slow breath and become just a puddle of skin and bone in his arms.
“Good girl,” he says with a smile in his voice.
He spreads my butt cheeks apart with one hand and guides the slick head of his dick to my back entrance with the other.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly, in through my nose and out my mouth, steady, relaxed.
The initial shock of his bulbous head sliding in makes me tense up without meaning to, and there’s a sudden spear of pain.
“Relax,” he reminds me.
I allow myself to loosen up and continue to breathe. He stays still to allow my body to get used to this new intruder, then starts to inch his way into me. The lube helps, but it’s a slow, daunting process. The moans coming from me are louder than they’ve ever been. It’s uncomfortable at first, this new sensation of this taboo place being filled. But as his slippery pole starts to move, lubricating this uncharted tunnel, discomfort quickly becomes pleasure and pressure and a new sense of wonder. It’s sexy and it’s dirty, and so very hot. When I’ve adjusted to his size and my body is completely loosened up, I rock back into him.
“More,” I say.
He chuckles, a deep, throaty sound and says, “I knew you’d like it.”
He pushes all the way into me, and my breath hitches. He starts to fuck me now, hard and fast. I’m crying, screaming, begging him not to stop. As if I weigh nothing at all, he flips me onto my stomach, pounding me viciously into the mattress.
“Oh fuck!” I scream, but my face buried in the pillow muffles the sound.
“That tight ass is all mine,” he says, claiming me for his own. I am his. I know this now. I will always be his.
My pussy is completely untouched and yet I feel that familiar sensation knotting up somewhere deep in the depths of my core. Like a starving lion broken free from its cage, my orgasm comes barreling toward me, claws out, roaring. The room fills with the high-pitched sounds of my release.
Heath pumps two, three more time into me, and makes his own furious growl as he comes vigorously.
He pulls out and collapses beside me. The room swells with the smell of sex, the most beautiful perfume in the world. He brushes the sweaty hair from my face and asks, “What did you think?”
I laugh, unable to describe the powerful, lusty perfection of it all. “Incredible,” is the only word I can think of right now to describe it.
He smiles and kisses me. I can’t believe this is going to be my life. What once had been a barren, pleasure-less, orgasm free existence, has transformed into something I thought only happened in dreams and fantasies.
After Heath drops me off at my apartment, I take a shower, the hot water relaxing my sore muscles. I’m still going over the best sex of my life, play by play, reliving each and every wonderful moment.
Once I’m out of the shower, I roll my hair up in a towel, put on a robe and go back to my room. My computer makes a sound. It’s an alert letting me know there’s activity on my feed and that I’ve been tagged in it. After what happened with that woman from the bar, my stomach clenches at the sound. As much as I want to ignore it, I force myself to open my Twitter app.
When I scroll to the top of my screen, I see a tweet from Heath, an announcement to all his followers.
Heath-O-Maker James: Sorry ladies, but the O-Maker is off the market. For good, I hope.
He has me tagged in the post so there’s no mistaking who he’s talking about this time. My smile claims my entire face.
I happily respond to his post: Because of the O-Maker, I am the No-O no longer.
THE END
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Excerpt of Her Dad’s Friend
Want another hot and dirty read? Check out the first chapter of Penny’s other book, HER DAD’S FRIEND. Available on Amazon now!
Chapter 1
Know what happens when you bring a bottle of cinnamon whiskey to a party? Nothing good, that’s what. It should come with an additional warning label: May cause extreme stupidity and drunk sexting.
I blame it on Emily. Who needs enemies when you have friends like her? She bought the booze and it was her idea to come to this frat party in the first place and practice at being twenty-one before my birthday tomorrow.
I admit, it started off as a good time. Several of my friends are here, the music’s perfect, and there’s a hot tub, so bonus. I’m a crack shot at beer pong and hit the best of all the flat notes during karaoke. But, as we all know, good times and good decision-making aren’t one and the same. I may or may not have butt-chugged Gray Goose with future lawyers and house wives. And I probably danced topless on the sofa since that’s what all the pictures on Instagram are showing—only I don’t pay too much attention to those since that shit can be photo-shopped. During all of this, I lost my shoes, and who knows what happened to my bra.
At least Emily is here to keep me in check. She has always been the responsible one—about as responsible as a toddler dog-sitting, but still, she’s a better grown-up than me.
She suggests a group of us get together to play Would you rather in one of the quieter rooms. It’s a game. No big deal. A game can’t get me in too much trouble, right? Yeah … right.
Her question for me is, “Who would you rather fuck, your ex or his dad?”
Of course I choose his dad, because he was hot and my ex was kind of a douche. Thing is, I’ve always had doe eyes for older men. It all started with my dad’s best friend, Paul. He looks good for his age, a silver fox covered in tattoos, and is in better shape than most guys who go to my school. And OMG those tropical blue eyes and five-o’clock shadow on a strong jaw. Yes, please.
We’ve been flirting since I turned eighteen. He’d tell me how beautiful I was, complement my ass in a pair of jeans, or notice how nicely I’ve developed. It was all innocent. Never going too far, no touching or talking about sex or anything like that. But I want him. Bad. Just thinking about him has me pooling between the legs.
I lean against the pool table, looking around at all these young bucks strutting around the house in their polos and cargo shorts. I wonder which one I can use for the night. Maybe do some role playing, pretend he’s Paul, have myself a daddy fantasy.
A cute jock-type walks by with all his muscles and cocksure youth. His boner is about as subtle as a rocket launcher smuggled under spandex pants. The way he stares at me leaves no questions about his interest. Though I’m definitely in the mood, his baby face just won’t do because I know how this story ends. I’ve read it many times—well, not that many. Enough to count on one hand … and maybe some toes.
I see it so clearly: We’ll end up in his sock-stinky room full of pizza crusts and porn magazines littering the floor. The glow from his snake terrarium and the video game he has on pause will double as mood lighting. He’ll fumble around my body aimlessly and expect me to oooh and ahhh and appreciate all the pleasure he’s not giving me for five minutes until he gets his rocks off. Then he’ll promise to call the next day. I’m bored just thinking about it. So I don’t even bother.
When he heads toward me, I cover my face with my phone and pretend he doesn’t exist. He’s sober enough to get the hint.
I continue to play with my phone even after he’s gone. My ass is wet and sticky from spilled drinks on the floor. I move to the stained, threadbare couch next to Emily and find Paul’s name in my contacts. When I’m bored I like to look through our old texts. Birthday wishes from last year, a Merry Christmas here, Happy Thanksgiving there. There are pictures of us during a houseboat trip, and at an airshow. Unfortunately, my parents are in all the pictures too.
The whiskey has gone to my head and there’s no room left in there f
or rational thinking. Not a single consequence occurs to me as I type out five little words. I want to fuck you.
I show Emily. “What if I actually sent this?” I can hear myself talking slow and slurring my words. I’ve drank my body weight in everything over fifty proof and it’s starting to show.
She squints at the little screen. My phone is prehistoric and has a Post-It sized screen. When she’s done reading, her eyes go wide and she says, with a sly smile, “What if you did?” Her words are clearer than mine. She never drinks as much as I do. That’s what maturity looks like, and someday I want to be just like her. But right now I’m having fun.
Or at least I was until she reaches over and hits the send button on my phone.
“Emily!” I yell, jabbing at the screen, trying to get the words back somehow. “What the fuck?” I can be heard over the music and everyone turns to gawk in the hopes of a cat fight.
I stare at my phone, mouth breathing, hoping she hit the wrong button, but no. The text is there, right under his last text to me several months ago, congratulating me on getting my own apartment.
Emily rolls her eyes and tosses her blond ponytail over her shoulder. “You’ve been talking about hooking up with Paul for years now. I just did you a favor. You’re welcome.”
Turning away, she goes back to her game like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just ruined my life with a touch of a finger.
My buzz is DOA. Instant sobriety. I want to go home, but I came with Emily and don’t have enough cash on me to call a cab. Right now, I just need a place to disappear. I stumble to the closest closet, kicking at beer cans and stubbing my toe on a keg. Where the hell are my shoes?
In the closet, I sit among the coats and sports equipment, wondering how the hell I can undo this. For an hour I literally do just that: Google ‘how to un-send a text’. Apparently, that’s not a thing. I guess us fucking idiots are on our own.