Act Your Age

by Eve Dangerfield

  “I think I’m gonna come.”

  “Good.” He bent down and sank his teeth into her neck, his sweat-slick hips pumping hard and fast. “Come, Middleton, come on Daddy’s big dick.”

  It was wrong, hearing her nickname and the word ‘daddy’ in the same sentence but it was wrong in the best of ways. She arched her back and climax rippled out from her in long, shimmering waves. He didn’t stop, so it didn’t stop; her orgasm hummed and throbbed through her like a living thing, and she scratched him and chewed her lip and screamed and screamed and screamed. She was no virgin but she thought this is what sex is. Oh my g od, this is what sex is.

  When she was utterly wrung out, her head spinning, Ty withdrew. “Okay?”

  Kate gazed blearily up at him. “So good. So, so good. I came.”

  He grinned. “I got that. You up for a little more?”

  She nodded, hoping he didn’t want her to go on top. There was every chance she’d collapse into a pile of noodles. But Ty didn’t want her to go on top, he turned her on her knees and slid into her from behind, his cock feeling newly enormous.

  “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to do this,” he muttered, seizing her plait and winding it around his fist. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about fucking your sugary little cunt ‘til you screamed.”

  An orgasmic aftershock rippled through her, making her clench around his cock.

  “You like that, huh? Well hold on, honey. This is gonna be rough.”

  Kate barely had time to dig her hands into the leather couch when he drove into her, setting a fast, almost brutal pace. It was rough, so rough that their bodies made loud clapping sounds and she had to scream just to relieve the pleasure blaring through her. She couldn’t come from the sensation but it was dark and pleasurable and she didn’t want it to end. Ty talked as he fucked her, filling her ears with the most wonderful filth, about how dirty and pretty and tight she was. Then his hand tightened in her hair and his thrusts became almost painful. “Fuck, baby, I’m comin’, I’m comin’ in your little cunt.”

  Baby, she thought. That’s nice.

  When he was done he didn’t collapse onto her the way she’d thought he would. Instead, he withdrew, blowing out a loud exhalation as though they’d just completed a particularly vigorous workout. He smoothed a palm over her back. “How you feeling?”

  “Good,” Kate said, unsure if she meant it. She was feeling a lot of things and she couldn’t seem to untangle one emotion from another.

  “That’s good. Where’s the bathroom?”

  “Down the hall and to your right.”

  “Thanks.” He lumbered off without another word.

  Kate didn’t know what she was expecting, but not that. A little disoriented, she remained where she was for a minute, before realising that kneeling on her aunt’s couch with her naughty bits hanging out wasn’t improving matters. She stood and adjusted her leotard. It was much looser from Ty’s ministrations but relatively intact. She walked to Aunt Rhonda’s bar on jelly legs and poured herself a shot of Sailor Jerry. She hesitated, then grabbed another glass and filled that too. If Ty didn’t want to stay for a drink, she could always have both. She’d probably need it.

  Chapter 8

  Ty sat down on the edge of Middleton’s bathtub and tried not to laugh like a crazy man. He’d spent years—decades—picturing scenarios like the one he’d just partaken in, and what he’d just done had eclipsed every fantasy. When he came, Middleton’s silky plait wound around his fist, the word ‘daddy’ ringing in his ears, he felt like all the DNA in his body was being teased apart. He’d had, objectively speaking, a lot of sex, but he’d never had sex like that. Not even close. It was the difference between looking at a painting of a feast and sitting down at the table.

  He met his gaze in the bathroom mirror. He looked strange; younger and kind of goofy, like a guy who’d just won his girlfriend the biggest stuffed gorilla at the carnival shooting range. He grinned at himself like an idiot until he felt self-conscious, but he still couldn’t make his face go back to normal. He gave up, rubbing a palm over his still-elated expression. “Jesus, this fucking girl.”

  Middleton had been even more perfect than he’d imagined—both obliging and unwilling, sweet and so fucking filthy. Her nipples were the most sensitive things he’d ever had the pleasure of putting his mouth on, and that snatch? When she came, she’d clenched so tight around him, he’d thought he was going to pass out. Ty shook his head, stupidly proud of himself, then noticed something that made his smile fade. He’d sweated right through his t-shirt. There were damp circles under his pits and a triangle down his back like he’d just finished a spin class.

  He probably should have taken his t-shirt off before they got down to it, but he hadn’t wanted to show her his scars. They’d be too hard to explain and a complete fucking mood-killer.

  And you don’t want her to see them. Didn’t want her to know she’s fucking an old man with a Frankenstein back, did you, Big Daddy?

  Ty scowled, his face returning to its usual state in the mirror. He shook his t-shirt in a weak attempt to dry out the sweat, then gave up. He showered before he’d come over, and he didn’t smell too bad. All he needed to do was go back into the living room, kiss Middleton’s cheek, thank her for the shag, and then clear off.

  A little callous maybe, but it was up to him to set the tone for what this was and was not. This was not the start of a relationship; this was not even the start of a friendship. As far as Middleton was concerned, he was cock for hire, a daddy for rent. His job, now that he’d fucked her brains out, was to go home to his cold house and reminisce about the fact that he’d came so hard it had probably shaved a year off his life. Middleton could stay here and knit bobble hats or bake scones or whatever she did in her eerily opulent apartment.

  He’d been surprised when she’d given him her Elizabeth Street address. Not a lot of twenty-somethings could afford an apartment in the inner-city unless their folks were the one percent kind of rich. Knowing what she got paid he’d assumed it must be a share house or a tiny one-bedroom flat where flushing the toilet made the walls shake. Before now, he’d dimly acknowledged this place was the furthest thing from a share house, but he’d been too focused on Middleton’s pussy to do more than that. Now her housing situation seemed especially bizarre. Her apartment didn’t contain a trace of her bubbly, children’s TV show host persona. It looked like it belonged to an extremely wealthy hipster who had a particular fondness for nude Amazonians—judging from all the statues and oil paintings.

  The place was huge with a newly renovated kitchen and an incredible view. It had to be worth a million bucks, maybe two, maybe three. How in the hell could Middleton afford to live here? Was she supplementing her income as an escort? A drug dealer? Did she live with roommates he’d yet to see any evidence of? He decided it wasn’t any of his business, dried his hands on an Egyptian cotton towel, and headed back to the living room.

  Middleton was still on her couch, watching that dopey reality TV show. As he got closer, he realised she wasn’t actually watching the TV; her huge eyes were glazed, her expression dreamy. Seeing her looking so young and pretty and well fucked made him feel a little skeevy. It also made him feel a softer and an infinitely more uncomfortable emotion right in the center of his chest. He’d felt the same way when she’d looked up at him with tears in her eyes because she couldn’t come. It made him want to wrap her up in a blanket—several blankets—and put her on a very high shelf where she could curl up, safe and warm like a sugar glider in its nest and go to sleep. Ty shook his head, wondering if his orgasm had melted an important part of his frontal lobe. “Middleton? I just wanted to—”

  She turned to face him, and Ty froze right in the middle of telling her that the sex had been great, they should do it again and he was leaving. Her smile was sweet. Not her GGS ‘I’m a good girl tra-la-la-la-la’ smile, but soft like a newly opened rose.

 
“Are you okay?” Her voice was even throatier than usual.

  Was he? Ty forced himself to respond. “Uh, yeah, what about you? How are you?”

  “I’m cool.” She gestured to a couple of shot glasses sitting on the coffee table filled with what looked like bourbon. “Want a drink?”

  The thought of her filling up the glass for him filled Ty with a floaty kind of sadness. Like when he saw dead Christmas trees piled in people’s backyards.

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  Middleton beamed as he picked up the glass and tossed the contents back like it was malaria pills. The liquor burned in his throat, and he realised it wasn’t bourbon, but rum. Being from Queensland, he was no stranger to the spirit, but this was unlike any rum he’d tasted before. It had a hot, almost fruity flavor. “What is that?”

  “Sailor Jerry,” Middleton said nervously. “Spiced rum. I thought…you don’t like it?”

  Ty put his shot glass down and tried not to pull a face. “S’alright. I’m not much of a rum drinker.”

  “Oh, sorry, I can get you a—”

  “I’m all right.”

  There was a short silence.

  “Um, okay then.” Middleton picked up her shot glass and sipped neatly; her overlarge eyes making him think of Margaret Keane paintings—enchanting and a little spooky at the same time. He felt a sudden rush of guilt. She’d just given him the best lay of his life, the least he could do was stay for a drink and not be an asshole about it. “Mind if I have another beer? I brought a six-pack.”

  Middleton smiled. “Not at all.”

  He felt another powerful tug of that ‘wrap her up and hide her somewhere safe’ feeling, and walked toward her kitchen before he could do or say anything stupid. He returned to Middleton’s enormous stainless steel fridge and freed another beer from its cardboard cage.

  “What’s that called?” she asked as he sat down beside her again.

  “Pepperwood Ale.”

  “I’ve never heard of that.” She was still hugging her knees. Ty’s hand twitched as he imagined putting it on her shoulders, rubbing her soft, new-peach skin. He took a long pull from his beer. “Did you like the ones you drank?” he asked her.

  “Not really.”

  Ty nodded at the empties on the coffee table. “You drank it quick enough before.”

  She went red. “That was because…you know…?”

  “Because Daddy told you to,” Ty said, grinning.

  Middleton smiled back at him, her face alight with the same dumbfounded joy he’d seen in the mirror.

  She felt it, too, the giddy joy of having the sex you’d spent your whole life dreaming about. Ty hovered on the point of telling her how amazing it had been, then decided against it. “So, this apartment…?”

  A layer of sugar crystals settled over Middleton’s smile like frost. “What about it?”

  “It’s not what I expected. Is it yours?”

  Middleton took another small sip of rum. “It’s my aunt’s place.”

  “Shit.” Ty turned around, half-expecting to see an older woman scowling at him from the doorway. “Is she, uh, out or something?”

  “No, she died.”

  Fuck. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Middleton’s eyes took on the slightly hollow quality of grief. “She had ovarian cancer.”

  Ty wondered what the hell he should do. He’d been good at this once, comforting people. He’d drunk beers with grieving fathers and held widows whose husbands succumbed to smoke inhalation. He’d thought it was easy, but that turned out to be pure arrogance. As soon as he had heartache of his own—an unwanted diamond in his bureau, motley burns across his back—gone was his ability to console other people. Now whenever he saw someone crying, all he wanted to do was leave the room. Still, Middleton hadn’t raised the subject of her dead aunt, he had. Ty cleared his throat. “Was her death hard?”

  “No, well, it was awful losing her, but we knew it was going to happen. She had enough time to say goodbye properly, and her friends hosted this weird, amazing funeral. It had fireworks and vodka shots and everything.”

  “Sounds interesting. So how’d you end up with this apartment?”

  Ty had seen Middleton blush before but this was in a league of its own. She looked like someone had thrown boiling water on her face. “That’s, erm, kind of a long story and you’re probably going soon, right?”

  It was the perfect out. All he had to do was agree, chug the rest of his beer and head out into the night. But the fact that she was nudging him out the door only made him more curious. “I’ve got nowhere to be. If you want to tell the story, I want to hear it.”

  “Okay, hang on a second.”

  She stood and walked off, returning with a cheerful red and yellow bottle of Sailor Jerry. She topped up her shot glass and downed the lot in one swallow. Ty watched her, fascinated. “Tricky subject?”

  She nodded her eyes bright with rum.

  “Should I be worried about you blacking out again?”

  Middleton flinched. “No. I’m sorry, by the way. I’m so embarrassed I did that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Tell me about your aunt.”

  She cast the bottle a yearning look, then seemed to think better of it and sat down beside him.

  “So it’s the fifties,” she said, holding up her hands as though she were framing the scene. “And my grandparents are Calvinists who hate everything, especially women and having fun.”

  Ty grinned. “Sure.”

  “My Aunt Rhonda is born and straight away they know she’s different; she’s loud and reckless and she never wants to wear clothes. She was also ugly, that’s her word not mine, and she always said that when a girl’s ugly, most people think she’s pointless.’”

  Ty found this statement depressingly accurate and didn’t know what to say. He drank some more beer.

  “Anyway, when Aunt Rhonda was sixteen, my grandparents tried to make her marry this guy whose farm bordered with theirs. He was gross and like, twice her ag—” Middleton glanced sideways at him, her expression mortified.

  “It’s fine,” Ty said, amused. “I know you didn’t fuck me because I have the adjoining farm. What did your aunt do?”

  “Well, that’s the cool part,” she said, brightening. “She ran away to Melbourne and became a photographer. She was hired by Rolling Stone, and she spent like, the next thirty years travelling the world taking pictures. She never got married, never had kids, she just did whatever she wanted.”

  Ty stared at her. So Middleton thought it was impressive her aunt never settled down. He’d never imagined that was something she’d find impressive. Would she—

  A danger sign flashed in front of his eyes. Unstable line of enquiry. Avoid. “When did your aunt buy this place?”

  “In the eighties. It cost a mint even back then, but she never wanted to live anywhere else. Melbourne was her favourite city, the first place she ever lived on her own and all that.”

  Ty remembered his own escape to Melbourne. Stepping off the plane at eighteen and knowing with his first breath of chilly air, that this was a place where he could be happy. “Your aunt had good taste.”

  “She did. She was a hipster before that was even a thing.” Middleton waved a hand toward the gleaming hardwood bar. “Every inch of this place is designed exactly the way she wanted it, sometimes I feel like I’m just squatting.”

  “So she left you this apartment?”

  Middleton’s smile hardened again. “I…kind of. That’s the other bit of the story.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I will, just…” She glanced at the Sailor Jerry. “Could I maybe have another?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Middleton poured herself another shot of rum and took a sip. “So, you know how I’m from a big family?”

  “Youngest of nine, right?” Ty didn’t like revealing he knew things about her, but coming from
a family with that many kids was just one of those things everyone knew—like if a family had twins or a child in a wheelchair.

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of us. But then most of my brothers and sisters have kids and my parents have a lot of siblings, too. Aunt Rhonda died with seven brothers, fifty-nine nieces and nephews and twenty-three great nieces and nephews.”

  Ty whistled.

  “Yeah. Our Christmases are messed up, but the problem was that when Aunt Rhonda died, all her brothers thought they were going to get so much stuff and then I was…”

  Ty read the rest of the sentence in her darting eyes. “You were the only one she left anything to, weren’t you?”

  Middleton looked relieved. “Yeah.”

  Fucking hell. “I take it your family wasn’t happy about that?”

  “No. I thought they were nuts before, but I had no idea. Aunt Rhonda was the only person in our family who had any money and when she left it all to me…” She swallowed. “Everyone was very surprised.”

  “Why? Weren’t you close?”

  “Oh, we were so close! She saw a lot of herself in me because we both have…” Middleton cleared her throat. “We had a lot in common.”

  Ty watched her pick at the neck of her leotard. If he had to guess, he’d say what Middleton’s unattractive free-spirit aunt and her dainty, soft-spoken niece had in common involved taking Ritalin, but that was so far from his business it was in another galaxy. “How old were you when you got this place?”

  “Twenty-two, but I didn’t move in until I was twenty-three. A few of my uncles…” She tugged hard on the edge of her leotard.

  “Yeah?” Ty pressed.

  “They contested the will,” she said without looking up. “They said I didn’t deserve the place and it should be split between all of them.”

  Ty frowned. “What did your parents do?”

  “They contested the will, too,” she said with a brave attempt at a smile.

  “Fuck.”