by S. E. Law
“Look, Bailey…” I start to say, and am interrupted by her arms flinging around my neck and her lips pressing against mine.
For a moment, I relent. For a moment, I give in to lust, want, the bourbon in my coffee, and her goddamn incredible sex appeal. I snake my tongue past her lips, wanting to taste her again. I remember, with a jolt, the taste of her pussy, and have a vision of perching her on my desk and eating her out right here, right now. Then, I’d flip her over and take her from behind, reminding her that she can have any ridiculous high school boy she wants, but that she’ll always belong to me.
“Dammit, Bailey,” I growl into her mouth, halting the fantasy before it can develop any further. My cock is painfully hard already, just from kissing her, and I know she can feel it too. I disentangle myself from her arms, placing my hands on her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length.
Disappointment passes like a cloud across her eyes.
“Don’t you want to kiss me?” she asks in a soft voice.
I contemplate lying but decide that wouldn’t do any good.
“Yes,” I growl. “Yes, Bailey, I do. But last night was a fluke. It was a mistake that shouldn’t have happened.”
“A mistake?” Bailey repeats. I see a familiar fire flash in her eyes and realize that I might be in trouble. “I don’t think so. I came here because I want to learn about sex, love, and everything else that a woman should know. And I don’t want some dumb guy at my high school to teach me about it. I want you to teach me.”
I take my hands off her shoulders and turn my back to her, trying to regain my composure.
“No, Bailey. I’m not a very good teacher,” I assure her, truthfully. “I’m not patient.”
“That’s okay,” she murmurs. I feel her hand slip into my back pocket, and I quickly whirl back around. “I’m a very good student,” she says.
I think of how quickly she caught on last night, and almost laugh. She earned an A+ in my grade book. Still, there’s no way that this can happen again. I draw myself up to my full height, my arms crossed over my chest.
“Bailey,” I say, my voice low, stern. “You don’t know anything about love and sex. I am not going to engage with you on this. Go. Home.”
Her mouth drops open, and she looks, for a moment, as if she’s about to cry. I maintain my level gaze, refusing to back down. This is for Rick, I think. As much as I want to see Bailey’s naked ass again, and as much as I desperately crave the sound of my name on her lips, I cannot relent. I won’t.
The spark returns to Bailey’s eyes, and she all but glowers at me.
“Fine,” she snaps, planting both hands on her hips. “Then I’ll find someone else who’ll teach me about being with a man.”
A challenge from an 18-year-old girl. A growl builds in my throat. I’ve never been one to back down from a confrontation. In this case, I just happen to be confronted by a lush, curvy, big-eyed, smart-mouthed young woman, who knows exactly how to push my buttons.
I have to make a choice. Now.
It’s her lips that do it: they quiver, ever so slightly, whether in rage or in sadness, I don’t know. All that matters is that I’m instantly transported to last night, when I made sure to bruise and swell those lips the best I could with as many rough kisses as possible. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let any other man taste those lips.
One step, then another, and she’s swept back in my arms once more.
“Like hell you’re going to find someone else,” I breathe against her mouth, and, before she can react, I’m kissing her, my hands in her hair, her hands clutching at the front of my shirt. Her lips feel especially tender, no doubt from my earlier ministrations, and I growl my approval, causing her to whimper in delight. She tastes so fucking good that I crush her to me, wanting to savor her as much as possible.
I back her up, slowly, until she’s sitting on my desk, just as I imagined earlier. I pull back, just for a moment, and her eyes are heavy-lidded with desire, her mouth parted slightly, her hair mussed. Everything about her radiates sensuality, and a smirk twists my lips before I kiss her again, pinning her to the desk.
Bailey isn’t the first woman I’ve kissed in this office. But she sure as hell is the best one.
I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she knows that.
7
Chris
* * *
Summer has announced itself gloriously. It’s all warm, golden days and long, lingering nights. I’ve always been a summer kind of guy; maybe it reminds me of being a kid and going to the lake. Now, I love the season for a different reason: Bailey’s out of school, and she’s all mine.
I was there at her high school graduation, whistling and applauding for her with her dad. Angela, her mom, had even come in from a few states over. There had been some tension between her and Rick, but I knew that they would never let that ruin their daughter’s special day.
Thank God that there’s no tension between Rick and myself. He still knows nothing about all the time I’m spending with Bailey, and I’m going to ensure he doesn’t find out any time soon.
Bailey and I see each other several times a week, as often as we can when Rick is scheduled for late nights at the hospital. Sometimes she comes over to my place, and I get to claim her in my shower, in my sheets, and up against my walls. Sometimes I’m in her room, surrounded by her stuffed animals and framed artwork and clothes on the floor. The first several times were uncomfortable because I helped Rick paint this room many years ago when Bailey was little. I kept wondering if I was betraying his trust by developing this forbidden relationship with his daughter. But I can’t resist Bailey. Something about me is insatiable when it comes to the innocent girl’s touch and presence.
Tonight, Rick is working late again, and I promised Bailey we’d order a pizza and watch whatever movie she wants. I pull the BMW into her driveway, chuckling at the memory of the last time I attempted to bring her a pizza. I’ll never forget the look that was on her then-boyfriend’s face when I opened the door. And I’ll certainly never forget the first sight of her perfect body: that curvy ass facing me, and those lush tits swaying as she turned to look at me over her shoulder.
“Hey, Bails,” I call as I open the door. She’s sitting on the couch and pops up immediately, grinning widely. Trotting over to me, she wraps her arms around my waist and kisses me sweetly.
“Hey, Chris,” she says, those big brown eyes staring up at me as if I’m God’s gift to women--or at least to her.
“How was your day?” I ask, setting a bottle of red wine on the counter. Obviously, she’s not of legal drinking age yet, so I limit her to a glass or two. She’s inevitably going to be drinking more when she goes to college, anyway.
“It was good!” she says, perching herself on one of the barstools at the high counter. “Ordered some more books for my classes. But, God, why do they have to be so expensive?”
“Life is expensive,” I tell her gravely, opening the wine and pouring it into two long-stemmed glasses. “You’d better get used to it now.”
Bailey rolls her eyes at this, and I can’t resist the hint of a grin. I earn many eye rolls from her these days, but not nearly as often as I earn little gasps, moans, and hisses of pleasure.
“That’s pretty pessimistic,” she chides me, as she takes a sip of her wine. “I think life is exciting, all in all.”
“‘Exciting’ and ‘expensive’ definitely aren’t mutually exclusive,” I inform her, and she scoffs, but smiles at me, anyway. I’ve started to memorize the curve of her smile, just as much as I’m committing the curves of her body to memory. I’m a lucky man to see all of them as often as I do.
“So what are we going to watch tonight?” I ask, and she laughs delightedly.
“You’re really going to let me pick?” she says.
“Of course. I’m a man of my word.”
“Even if it’s a chick flick?”
I sigh melodramatically into my wine glass. “Even,” I intone,
“if it’s a chick flick.”
“Yay!” She hops off her barstool and embraces me again. I rest my chin on the top of her head, folding her into my arms. She’s still warm from snuggling in a blanket on the couch. I rub absent circles on her back with my thumb, and she hums contentedly against my chest.
“This is nice,” she says. “Maybe we can just do this all night.”
I chuckle, kissing her on the top of the head before spanking her lightly on the ass. She squeals in surprise and pulls away, eyes wide open in mock affront.
“What was that for?!”
“Just to remind you that there are more things we can do tonight.”
“Oh, really?” She tilts her head and grins. “Like what?”
“Like this.” I nudge her chin up and kiss her deeply, drinking her in. She melts every time, and this time is no exception; I feel every ounce of tension in her arms and shoulders release. I’m used to women enjoying kissing me because I know what I’m doing, but Bailey reacts as if my lips are her personal panacea, curing her of all of her worries and woes.
I feel her smile against my mouth, and I pull away, tucking a curl behind her ear.
“That was nice,” she says, a hand still pressed to my chest. “But…”
“But?”
“Shouldn’t you be ordering a pizza?”
I can’t help it. I laugh, playfully swatting her ass one more time. She dances away, giggling, her wine glass back in her hand, the liquid threatening to slosh out.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving a hand as I dial the closest pizza place on my cell. “You’ll get your bacon and pineapple soon enough, little miss.”
“And cheesy bread!” she insists, plopping back onto the couch to no doubt search for the cringiest rom-com she can find.
“And cheesy bread,” I sigh to the kid on the phone.
I never have it in me to resist her.
Food ordered, I settle onto the couch beside Bailey. We instinctively find our usual position: me with one arm on the back of the couch, her cuddled into my right side. I play with her hair, rubbing the silky curls between my thumb and forefinger. Whatever hair products she uses smell tantalizing, all vanilla and exotic flowers, and as I kiss the top of her head, I breathe her in.
As she browses the movies, each one looking more lame than the last, Bailey suddenly asks, “Did you like college?”
I’ve known her for so long that I sometimes forget she knows very little about my life before she entered it.
“I did, and I didn’t,” I say, trailing my fingers up and down her arm. “It was four years, so it’s hard to encapsulate the experience with a simple “yes” or “no.” Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this right before you go off to school, but it felt largely like wasted time.”
“Why?”
I think before I speak. Maybe it was my own fault because I studied, sure, but I also spent a huge chunk of precious time partying and chasing girls, sometimes even doing whatever drugs were popular at the time. I decline to tell Bailey this.
“It didn’t prepare me for my career the way I expected it to,” I say instead, which is also the truth. “Working as a handyman was infinitely more valuable to me. Experience trumps studying any day.”
Bailey sighs, putting down the remote.
“I’m kind of worried that that’s going to be the case with me,” she says. She shifts, leaning against the side of the couch while placing her legs in my lap. “Like, I’m excited to go off to school, but I’m not sure that it’s going to prepare me for what I actually want to do.”
I realize that I have no idea what she’s going to school for. Something like embarrassment—or is it shame?—boils in my chest. We’ve spent so much time together over the past few weeks and yet we still hardly know one another. I know every curve and dimple of her body, sure, but I want to get to know the rest of her--her inner workings. She may be years younger than me, but she’s still an adult, and a smart one at that. I shouldn’t be treating her like a sex doll.
“What are you going to study at school?” I ask.
“I haven’t declared a major yet,” she says, taking another sip of her wine. “But I think I want to…” Bailey stops, looking shy, which is not a typical look for her. I rub her leg, encouraging her to continue. “I think I want to go into interior design,” she says finally, and laughs. “I’ve never told anyone that.”
I’m honored to be entrusted with this top-secret information, and press a kiss to her hand to let her know.
“Not even your dad?”
The curvy girl shakes her head.
“Rick wants me to go to school no matter what,” says Bailey. “He’s always going on and on about how valuable an education is. But I really think it’d be more important for me to get an apprenticeship or something, if I really want to do interior design.”
The doorbell rings. Our pizza (and the much-anticipated cheesy bread) has arrived. Bailey grabs plates and napkins, and we settle back onto the couch, enjoying our food in silence. A thought has sprouted somewhere in my mind, and I wonder if I should let it bloom. Will she think I’m pitying her, or not letting her pave her own way, if I offer a stepping stone to her dream?
I decide it’s better to make the offer anyways.
“You know,” I say between bites of pizza, “I work with interior designers a lot to stage the homes that I build. Maybe I could help you find a part-time position with one of them.”
Instead of reacting negatively, Bailey lights up, her smile growing huge.
“Really?!” she says, nearly dropping her piece of cheesy bread into the cup of marinara sauce. “Chris, that would be incredible. But I wouldn’t want to impose or anything—”
“You’re not imposing at all,” I reassure her. “I’m the one offering. Let me see what I can do.”
Setting her plate aside, Bailey makes a dive for me and nuzzles against my chest. I chuckle, pulling her in closer and planting a kiss on the top of her head.
“Thank you,” she breathes, her eyes closed, a blissful smile still turning her lips. “That means so much to me.”
Me, too, I think. I’m beginning to realize that there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to make this young woman happy. For all their differences, Rick and Angela raised her right. Bailey has grown up to be incredibly attractive, yes, but also kind, whip-smart, sensible, and empathetic, with a wicked sense of humor to boot. Coupled with an irresistible sex appeal, she possesses all the qualities that I look for in a partner.
I still don’t know what I would call our relationship; I’m not sure what she would label it, either. For all external appearances, she’s still a bright young woman and I’m a grumpy old bastard. But whatever this is, with her in my arms, I’m enjoying it.
8
Bailey
* * *
I don’t remember seeing my room this bare before. It’s almost eerie, these plain off-white walls, the curtain-less windows, and the shiny hardwood floors. A few of the bigger pieces of furniture remain--my bed, my dresser--but almost everything else has been packed away. An army of cardboard boxes has replaced my knickknacks, art projects, throw pillows, and clothes.
This is really happening, I think, surveying my room with wide eyes. I’m really going to college. State is only an hour away because my dad didn’t want me to go too far. But it still will be a completely new chapter of my life.
Kneeling on my bed, I hug one of my stuffed animals to my chest, a floppy bunny in a gingham dress named Annabelle. Annabelle has been one of my constant companions since I was a kid. I eye one of the giant trash bags on my floor. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye to this relic of my childhood, and embrace my new status as a collegiate woman. Instead, I safely pack her away in one of the boxes, giving her a kiss between the ears. I can be a mature collegiate woman with a stuffed rabbit, damn it.
A ghost of a grin flies onto my lips. I’ve been swearing a lot more since I’ve been spending the past several months with Chris because that man has the m
outh of a sailor. I’ve had to be careful not to cuss too much around my dad, who definitely wouldn’t be happy about my extended vocabulary.
As soon as I think of Christopher, though, my smile is replaced with a frown, and a hard knot tightens in my stomach. These past months have been nothing short of magical. The sex definitely has been part of it--sometimes wild and heart-pounding, sometimes gentle and tender, and always, always amazing. I never would have been this sexually satisfied with Donnie, or with any of the other dumb boys at school.
Beyond that, though, I’ve really started to develop feelings for Christopher. Whenever I look at him, my whole body feels warmer and lighter at the same time, as if I’m standing directly in sunlight. I’ve never experienced that sensation with anyone else before.
How am I supposed to move on from that?
There’s no way it’s going to continue when I go to college. Your summer of love is over, honey, I tell myself for what must be the millionth time. Suddenly, I’m willing myself not to cry, sitting with my arms wrapped tightly around myself, trying not to imagine that they’re Christopher’s muscular arms. No way in hell would a busy, successful man jump in his car and drive an hour away to visit some 18-year-old he had sex with over the summer. No way can our relationship--if I can even call it that--last.
I got to see him two nights ago. We lay in his bed and ate fudge ripple ice cream and laughed until the sun came up. Was that our last night together?
Suddenly, a voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Honey? How you doing in there?” my dad calls.
A single tear has fallen down my face; I hastily wipe it away as my dad pokes his head into my room. Rick’s smiling broadly, and I’m reminded again just how excited and proud he is for me to be going to college. I muster half a grin to present to him.
“Doing fine, Dad,” I assure him, reinforcing the statement with two thumbs up.