by S. E. Law
He kisses me again, ravenously, and I’m surprised to taste myself on his lips. It only shocks me for a moment before, somehow, I’m even more turned on and aching for his touch. His hands quest all over me, settling on my breast, and he lowers his mouth to my nipple. I writhe underneath him, practically seeing stars, as his tongue flickers against this sensitive part.
When he raises his head, we lock eyes.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says.
Nothing--not even a tampon--has ever penetrated me. I don’t care. I nod wordlessly.
With agonizing, beautiful slowness, he takes his gorgeous cock in his hand, staring into my eyes all the while. With its tip, he circles my now-dripping entrance, teasing it, preparing it. I need it inside of me. I need him inside of me.
“Please,” I whisper shakily. “Please.”
Without a word, he slowly, slowly, slowly eases his cock into my entrance.
I had expected pain — everything I’ve ever read has said that your first time will be painful. But, after a quick pinch that makes me suck in my breath, I feel barely any discomfort at all. Christopher must see my eyes widen, because he cups my face in his hand and says, “Easy, easy…” To reassure him, I press a quick kiss to his palm, and let a ghost of a smile turn my lips. This is fine. Everything is fine.
This must encourage him, because he slowly withdraws before easing his length inside of me again. This time, instead of pain, all I feel is a pleasure that radiates from my very core. I clutch his arms on either side of me, looking deep into his icy eyes.
“Fuck,” he whispers as he begins to quicken his pace. In and out, and in and out, his gaze never leaving mine, our breath pulsing in sync. I’ve never felt anything so wonderful; my eyes flutter, and I move my hands thoughtlessly through his hair, over his muscular back. Every time he pulls out of me, I miss his presence for just a second before he slams back into me again. Soon he’s pounding in and out of me, his lips claiming mine, and I’m near sobbing with ecstasy into his mouth.
“Jesus, you’re so tight,” he hisses, and I’m glad that I can give him some of the pleasure he is giving me.
In and out, in and out, his fingers in my hair, my fingers in his mouth. Christopher fucks me in a way that Donnie never could — that no one else could. I realize already that I am his, now, and that I’ll let him claim me like this whenever he wants. Let my dad find out. Let the whole world find out. All I need is Christopher.
Something is building in my stomach, growing and burning like a star, and Christopher begins to pound me in earnest.
“I think— ” I say between chattering teeth, as my legs begin to shake and the warmth intensifies. “I think I’m going to--”
My orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, and I drown in it. Christopher bites my bottom lip, and as he roars, head flung back, I realize that he’s coming too, with me and in me. I wrap my arms as tightly around him as I can, clinging to him as we tremble together.
“That was…” I croak, my eyes still closed in bliss, and Christopher interrupts me by pressing his lips to mine. He tucks a curl behind my ear, and I snuggle even more into his warmth.
My first time with this man was everything I could have ever dreamed of, and more.
Hours later, after Christopher has left, I stare at myself in my full-length mirror.
I barely recognize myself. Who is this girl with the swollen lips and the sparkle in her dark eyes? Scattered across my body are marks from where Christopher gripped me, pulled me closer to him. I suddenly have a new appreciation for my every curve: if Christopher is so fond of them, then I can love them, too.
I sprawl out on my bed, inhaling the scent of Chris’s spicy cologne on my sheets and pillows. If it weren’t for these reminders of his presence, I would think that it was all a dream, just like the many dreams I’ve entertained before. But it was no dream--it was gloriously, intensely real.
Am I different, now? I wonder. Now that my virginity has been taken? Maybe, but not in a bad way. I feel more confident and sultry. Chris worshipped every inch of me with his hands and tongue. Any time I begin to feel unsure about what happened--about having sex with my dad’s best friend--I remember the pleasure I felt, and am comforted. How could anything that felt so good be bad?
I suddenly realize, with a jolt, that we didn’t use protection. Everything happened so quickly that we got lost in the moment. But it’s ok. It was only once, and I don’t have a single regret.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face, dreaming of Christopher’s eyes.
5
Bailey
* * *
“Girl, what happened to you?” Kara gasps as I strut to my locker. “You look incredible!”
I open my locker door and catch a glimpse of myself in my mirror, smirking at my reflection. I may be wearing a little more makeup than usual today, enhancing my eyes and the pout of my lips. I’m also wearing tight jeans that show off the curve of my ass, and a low-cut top that reveals the swell of my breasts. I usually dress much more conservatively at school because I’m not much of a show-off. But today, after my evening with Christopher, I feel like a new woman.
Besides, I may or may not be plotting to visit him after school today. Looking anything but my best is not an option.
Leaning against the lockers, Kara lets out a low whistle.
“Damn, Bailey,” she says appreciatively, as I playfully swat at her with one of my books. “Donnie must have given it to you good.”
It takes every ounce of tact I have not to snort at that assumption. Instead, I say, “Not quite…”
“Not quite?” Kara repeats incredulously, her lipglossed mouth falling open in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I carefully turn away from her to hide my sudden smile. I tell my best friend everything, and there have never been any secrets between us. But for some reason, I want to keep my night with Christopher to myself. It’s not that I think Kara would judge me; she’s had plenty of wild sexual escapades herself, although none, I don’t think, with her dad’s best friend. I just want to savor the delicious memory of Christopher’s touch, and keep it just for me.
“I just felt like looking my best today, that’s all,” I respond airily.
Kara quirks a brow and opens her mouth to reply when I spot Donnie at the end of the hall.
“Don’t say anything, but Donnie’s heading this way,” I say, seizing my best friend’s arm.
“Don’t say anything? Why?”
“Last night got kind of… awkward,” I say, choosing my words as carefully as possible. ‘Awkward’ certainly isn’t stretching the truth.
As Donnie approaches, I consider attempting to hide behind my locker door but then realize with a wash of calm that I don’t care about his reaction. Last night only solidified my apathy towards him. He’s a nice enough guy, I guess, but at this point, I don’t care if we continue dating.
There’s only one man on my mind now.
I decide to be brave and stand with my hand on my hip, aiming my sweetest smile at Donnie, for appearance’s sake. I watch as his gaze flickers my way before immediately returning to look straight ahead. Kara, to her credit, keeps her mouth shut, but she squeezes my hand so tightly that I worry she’s cutting off my circulation. We both watch silently as Donnie continues down the hallway without acknowledging us, turns the corner, and is gone.
“What the hell was that?!” Kara explodes the second he disappears. Mercifully, the bell rings, sparing me from having to attempt an explanation. I give my friend an apologetic wave and hurry down the hall to my next class.
Fortunately, I always sit in the front, so the only person I have to look at is the teacher. Unfortunately, Donnie is in this class, too. Am I imagining it, or do I feel the heat of his gaze on the back of my head?
Thankfully, I’m a good enough student that I’m able to more or less lose myself in the lesson. However, about halfway through the period, I notice that I’ve stopped taking notes and have been simply
staring at my notebook. My head is filled with snapshots from last night: Christopher skimming my curves with his hands, Christopher capturing my lips with his, Christopher looking deep into my eyes as he claimed me. My heartbeat accelerates; I take a shaky sip from my water bottle, willing it to slow back down. But I’ve lost my focus, now, and let myself wade into the memories as if into warm water.
My daydreams are interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I jump at the touch. When the teacher’s back is turned, I look over my shoulder, raising a questioning brow. The girl sitting behind me shrugs and passes me a folded-up piece of paper.
This can’t be good, I think, and look past her to where Donnie is sitting in the back row, as far away from me as possible. He carefully looks everywhere but at me.
Mouthing a thank you to the girl, I turn back around and unfold the paper. In Donnie’s horrible handwriting is scrawled two words: WE’RE OVER.
I should feel sadness. Shouldn’t I? Instead, I’m overcome with relief. A tension I didn’t realize I’ve been carrying unknots itself in my shoulders, and I sink a little deeper, a little more comfortably, into my chair. Donnie wasn’t the worst boyfriend a girl could have--far from it. He didn’t hurt me, physically or emotionally; he wasn’t overly egotistical or clueless. I was just never very attracted to him, and, after last night, probably couldn’t have ever even kissed him again. Not after Christopher had shown me what real, primal, can’t-keep-my-hands-off-a-man attraction feels like.
Pushing past relief is another emotion: excitement. I feel a grin tug at my lips, and duck my head, lest anyone see it and report back to Donnie. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I don’t want anything to do with him at all. In this moment, as a newly free woman, all I want is to see Christopher again.
And I plan to.
The bell rings, and I nearly erupt from my desk, flying out the door before Donnie or anyone else has a chance to stop me. Let my ex-boyfriend think that I’m too overcome with grief to speak with him. Instead, I’m impatient for the rest of my classes to pass, so that I can be reunited with the man of my dreams. I have more than a few things on my mind that I’m eager to share with Chris, and I can only hope that he likes what he hears.
6
Chris
* * *
The mid-afternoon sun blazes cheerfully outside my office windows, but the light does nothing to improve my mood. Neither does my fifth cup of coffee of the day, which usually works miracles. This one has even been spiked with a top-shelf bottle of bourbon I keep locked in my desk drawer. If even liquor can’t dissolve my sour attitude, then nothing will.
The day thus far has been an endless parade of meetings and presentations, most of which I had to lead. Usually I enjoy speaking in front of my colleagues because I’m proud of the work we do, and confident in my contributions to the business. Today though, I’ve been far more distracted than usual, and my work hasn’t met my own strict standards. It’s nothing that will affect the business in catastrophic ways; I’m probably being too hard on myself, as usual. But if I don’t achieve a certain level of productivity, I spend the rest of the day communicating solely in grunts and scowls, like a cantankerous caveman.
I just can’t, for the life of me, get a certain curly-haired, curvaceous young woman out of my head.
Rick texted me first thing this morning. Thanks for dropping off pizza last night! He had written, with a thumbs-up emoji. Bailey says she really enjoyed it. Appreciate you, man.
If only he knew what exactly his daughter had enjoyed. Appreciation would be the last thing on his mind.
Sitting at my desk, I read the text for the hundredth time today, then groan and drop my head into my hands. I haven’t been able to formulate a response yet. Guilt perches like a devil on my shoulder, poking me intermittently with its fiery pitchfork. Out of everyone I could have fucked last night, I had to choose my best friend’s barely-legal daughter? I have several women on speed dial--women out of their teens--who would have jumped at the chance to get into bed with me. Instead, I scared the piss out of a teenage boy, publicly humiliated him, and then had sex with a woman—really, a girl—whom I’ve known since she was fresh out of diapers.
I have to say something to Rick. The truth? I wonder, briefly, before shutting the thought down. I’m a man of integrity, but there’s no fucking way I’m telling my best friend that I seduced his only daughter. Instead, I finally type back, YW. Before I can change my mind, I send the text. Short, sweet, to the point. Not suspicious. Not damning.
Pushing my chair away from my desk, I stand and stretch, surveying the world beyond my window. My thoughts drift to my partner in crime. I grimace at myself. That’s not a fair description of her; I’m the grown-ass adult here, the one who took control of the situation, the one who took her. She was no accomplice, but an innocent bystander who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
My expression darkens even further at the thought. Bailey certainly didn’t protest any of my actions last night, and even encouraged them with her words, her sighs, her moans, and her responsiveness. I remind myself yet again that Bailey is of age, now, and that I didn’t illegally or immorally take her virginity. Still, I can’t help but feel like an asshole, an opportunist who took advantage of a girl’s very obvious crush. Oh, I’ve seen the way she’s looked at me for the past few years; I’ve noticed the way she lights up when we talk. Usually, it makes me happy--proud, even. Now, all I feel is regret.
Or do I?
I begin to ponder this as I pour yet another cup of coffee, adding an even more generous splash of bourbon to my mug, but my train of thought screeches to a halt when my desk phone rings. I stride back to my desk and pick it up. “Yes?”
“Someone’s here to see you, sir,” my secretary, Jenna, says.
I frown at my cell phone calendar, making sure that I’m not forgetting any meetings. I’m not. Someone is inevitably about to waste my time.
“Who is it?” I ask, a bit more brusquely than intended.
There’s a brief pause before Jenna responds.
“She says her name is Bailey Prescott.”
Shit. I nearly drop my coffee mug, and instead take another gulp of the warm liquid inside, buying me a half-second’s more time. What the hell does she think she’s doing, showing up at my office in the middle of the afternoon? Is she here to reprimand me, to accuse me of taking advantage of her? I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and massage my temples with my free hand. I don’t need this right now.
There’s no use in sending her away--if she is here to berate me, it’s well-deserved. Also, she could easily go home and tell her dad what happened. This is something I need to deal with now.
I put my mug down.
“Send her in,” I sigh. Then, I hang up the phone, and lean against my desk with my arms crossed, waiting.
Bailey enters my office a few moments later, shutting the door carefully behind her. Immediately, unconsciously, my eyes widen as they take her in. Her jeans perfectly hug her ass, accentuating each delicious globe; her shirt is so low-cut that her breasts are on beautiful display. I try to stop staring before she notices, but I watch her expression grow coy.
“Hi Christopher,” she breathes, tilting her head to one side as she smiles dazzlingly at me. “Miss me?”
Fuck. I realize, in this moment, that I did.
“What are you doing here?” I say instead, refusing to be deterred by the way she’s all but fluttering her lashes at me. She visibly deflates a little, and, struck by a pang of guilt, I more gently clarify, “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“School’s over,” Bailey says, taking a hesitant step towards me. I catch, as she moves, a hint of her perfume, and wonder exactly where she applied it--on the inside of her wrists, maybe, the base of her neck, or in between those glorious breasts…
I shake my head, once, grounding myself. Back to business, Maddox.
“That doesn’t answer my first question.”
“I came here to se
e you, silly.” She smiles again. “Donnie and I… I wanted to let you know that we broke up.”
Shit. The devil on my shoulder is all but stabbing me with the pitchfork now. I actively contributed--probably caused--the breakup of two high school kids. Still, Bailey doesn’t look all that torn up about it. In fact, there’s an unmistakable sparkle of mischief in her eyes, one that I’ve seen far too many times. That twerp meant nothing to her, I realize. She was just aching to be with a man for her first time.
That discovery quickens my pulse, and I lick my lips, ordering myself to remain as outwardly stoic as possible. With Bailey here, standing in front of me, it takes very little imagination to conjure up the image of her naked and writhing beneath me, moaning my name.
She must detect some change in my expression, because her smile turns impish.
“Are you glad to hear that we broke up?” she asks, taking another step towards me.
Replacing the mental picture of his daughter, Rick’s earlier text flashes before my eyes. Appreciate you, man. Yeah, right. I need to shut this down, fast.
“Why would I be?” I say. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” she retorts, taking yet another step, until there’s less than a foot between us.
I counter by stepping around my desk to pick up my coffee cup.
“Didn’t you like him?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
Bailey snorts.
“I liked having a boyfriend,” she says. “You’re expected to have one, in high school. It was easier than being alone. But Donnie wasn’t who I really wanted.”
A long pause and a bite of her lower lip indicates exactly who she wanted instead.
Alarm bells start going off in my head. I can’t encourage this. She’s eighteen and I’m forty-five, for God’s sake. I enjoyed every minute, every second, of my night with her, but there’s no way in hell that it can happen again. And it’s up to me to end it.