My Best Friend's Dad

by Cassandra Dee

  “Jenny says you work long hours,” Marie comments with an innocent smile. “You shouldn’t go into work on an empty stomach.” Her tits move about freely in the Snoopy T-shirt as she brings a piece of toast over for me. Her body excites me, but I’m even more intrigued by her willingness to share food, despite the fact that we’ve known each other less than twenty-four hours.

  “Thanks,” I grunt as I glance at her hard nipples discreetly. God, I deserve to go to jail for the dirty thoughts filling my mind.

  “No, thank you for allowing me to stay in your beautiful home. Your penthouse is amazing. I’m lucky that I get to live here for a semester,” she blushes while batting her lashes. She’s genuinely grateful, but I worry about the next few months we’ll be spending together. It’s going to take everything inside of me to keep my hands off of her.

  “I’m glad you like it here,” is my reply. The French girl is so beautiful first thing in the morning. Her soft, pink lips naturally pout, as if they’re begging to be kissed.

  I gulp the steaming coffee, ignoring when the hot liquid scalds my tongue. I try to look at anything else but the woman poised before me. The clock. The walls. The chair.

  Totally clueless as to her charm, Marie opens the refrigerator and reaches for the orange juice. Her shirt rises, revealing a soft, round ass. Sweat beads form on my forehead as I turn away. How am I supposed to resist? This is going to be harder than I’d anticipated.

  “Manhattan is so large and full of life,” she says conversationally while turning back around. “Have you lived here your whole life?” Good, at least she’s talking about something that will get my mind off of that alluring body.

  “Yes,” I reply, trying not to look at her. One more peek, and I’m sure I’ll get a hard on for the teenage beauty. If she saw my cock bulging through my boxer briefs, I’m sure she’d take off running.

  “You’re a lucky man. I’m from a small village in France called Lapalisse. There isn’t much excitement where I live.” I don’t feel very lucky. I feel like I’m being tortured. It’s too late now; her accent makes my cock rock hard. I’m tempted to grab her and kiss her until she swoons in my arms.

  That’s it. I have to get out of here before I give into temptation. I lower the coffee mug in front of my cock. Hopefully, she didn’t notice my large, erect penis.

  “Have a good day, Marie,” I grunt before bolting out of the kitchen. I hope she doesn’t think that I don’t care about her life back in France. I would listen to her talk all day if could, but if I’d stayed any longer in the kitchen, the temptation would have been overwhelming, and there’s only one word for that: trouble.

  Maybe I can avoid her for the next six months. My long hours at work generally keep me away from home for most of the day. I could work even more, putting in one-hundred-hour weeks instead of the seventy or eighty that I currently do. I could come in late at night and leave early in the morning before she’s up. That’s probably the safest plan, come to think of it. The less contact between us, the better.

  Jerking on the shower knob, I blast freezing water into the stall. With all of the heat that’s radiating from my form, I need a cold shower desperately. Marie’s done that to me … and I need to find a way to control it. I let the water blast onto my face. Maybe the freezing liquid can erase my sexual thoughts. If only it were that simple because I can already tell that keeping my hands to myself is going to be a struggle.

  I can still hear her sweet, angelic voice ringing in my ears. The cold shower doesn’t seem to be helping much. I glance down at my cock, which seems to have a mind of his own as it jerks and twitches in the air, desperate to be in Marie. But I can’t jack myself off to these dirty fantasies because it would bring me one step closer to actually pursuing her, which is utter blasphemy. Goddamit.

  Frustrated, I close my eyes and allow the ice cold water to cool me off. It takes a while, but finally, my erection goes away. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. Is this how it’s going to be from here on out? How long can I fight this? It’s taking a ton of energy, and it’s hard to wage war at both work and at home. Yet, whenever the sweet girl is near me, my heart races faster than a speeding bullet, and that feels really good. After decades of going through the motions, Marie has touched something in my heart … and I want to find out what it is.

  Chapter Three

  Marie

  I finish sipping my juice while sitting in the kitchen alone. The silence rings in my ears, and I’m still as a mouse. Why did Mr. Jones run out of here like that? Maybe he doesn’t like having me here in his home? Maybe I shouldn’t have helped myself to a slice of toast and glass of orange juice without his permission?

  I didn’t mean to offend him. Mais non. He told me to make myself at home, so that’s what I’m doing. I hope he doesn’t want me to leave. I love New York, at least what I’ve read about it and seen on TV. I’ve watched every episode of Friends, Seinfeld, and Sex and the City. You can imagine what my family thinks. When Jerry Seinfeld was cracking all those corny jokes, they’d shoot me an odd look. You think this is funny? they’d ask in French. Oui, I’d reply, not even looking up from my laptop. C’est la vie New York.

  So yes, it’s a dream to finally be in the Big Apple, and I can’t imagine leaving a minute sooner than planned. I’m a Manhattanite at heart and can’t wait to see the Empire State building and the Freedom Tower, not to mention Madison Square Garden and Rockefeller Plaza.

  But still, there’s school. This isn’t a free ride. I need to get good grades at Bradford so that I can go back and show that my experience hasn’t been a complete waste. I place the plate and cup I used in the dishwasher, and then head back upstairs. I quietly tiptoe back into my room. I don’t want to disturb Chris while he’s getting ready for work. I don’t want to do anything to make him send me away.

  The view from my bedroom window is beautiful. The busy city crawls with activity, and I sit on the window sill and gaze at the spectacle of Manhattan. My village in France is small and quiet, the opposite of this bustling metropolis. Will I be able to handle the change?

  After all, I was nervous about leaving home to live with another family in America. But the Joneses seem like nice people. Jenny is sweet, and she’s just as excited about my stay as I am. I’m worried about starting at a new high school, but it’s comforting to know that I’ll have at least one friend there.

  Plus, I admire the relationship between Chris and Jenny. He takes care of his daughter without any help from a woman. Jenny said her parents got divorced when she was eight and that it’s been just her and her dad ever since. I can’t imagine why he hasn’t remarried by now. He’s extremely wealthy, not to mention insanely hot. Most dads are balding and have beer bellies, but not Mr. Jones. He has a head full of black hair, a gorgeous, chiseled body, and piercing, blue eyes that see all the way to my soul.

  Plus, he has a sexy, deep voice. I feel naughty fantasizing about Jenny’s dad. He’s not like the boys I went to school with back at home. He’s a man. A sophisticated, mature man who probably wants nothing to do with me.

  But maybe not? After all, I caught him staring at my tits when I shook his hand. It turned me on watching him eye my body hungrily. I don’t usually go for older guys, but he’s different. He’s strong and powerful and demanding. A relationship between us would be taboo for sure, but I’d be willing to risk it. After all, I’m legally an adult, so it’s okay, right?

  My pussy gets wet as I think about Chris’s big cock bulging in his boxers as he poured himself a cup of coffee. I wonder if he could tell I wasn’t wearing any panties under my floppy Snoopy T-shirt. It’s a French thing. Most French girls don’t wear panties when they sleep, and I’m no exception. Besides, I hadn’t expected anyone to show up in the kitchen so early. If he’d been able to see the hot nectar dripping down my inner thigh as I stared at his muscular chest and arms, he would probably have kicked me out of his home right then and there.

  But inside, I secretly hope that he did notice. I want h
im to notice me. I want him to see me as more than the random French student living in his house. I want him to see me as a woman. Maybe he isn’t attracted because I’m too young, or too naïve, or too boring. But that doesn’t change the way I feel about him. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, with the body of a god and the face of an avenging angel.

  A soft knock rouses me from my thoughts.

  “Marie?” Jenny calls out from the other side of the door.

  “Just a minute,” I say as I hop off the window sill.

  “Bon matin!” she chirps cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

  “No, I had trouble sleeping. I think I have jet lag,” is my wry reply.

  “Oh no,” she says with concern in her eyes. “I can make you a cup of coffee. My dad brews a fresh pot every morning.”

  “That sounds great. I’ll take a big cup, please.”

  “Great! And I make the best pancakes,” she chirps. “You’ll love them.”

  “Oh sure, thanks,” I reply. “I appreciate it.”

  Grinning, Jenny leads me down the stairs. I feel terrible lying to her like this. I’ve already had two cups this morning while eating my toast and talking with her dad. But for some reason, I think it’s better if Jenny doesn’t know about our earlier exchange. I’m not sure why I want to keep it a secret, but something inside tells me not to ruin our friendship before it’s even begun.

  I clench my thighs together as we walk down the stairs. My pussy is still moist and swollen from memories of Mr. Jones. Oh God, this is so bad and it’s only my first day.

  “You’re going to have a great experience at Bradford,” my new friend murmurs shyly. “You’re really pretty, so all of the boys are going to be interested.”

  Jenny seems unaware of the electricity between me and her father, which is good. I don’t want to do anything to hurt her.

  “I’m sure it’ll be great,” I say conversationally. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Jenny looks down at the ground as if she’s embarrassed.

  “No, I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” she confesses. “Is that bad?”

  “Pourquoi? You’re a pretty girl.”

  There’s a short silence before she answers. “Guys don’t like me because of my size,” she says in a small voice.

  I’m totally flummoxed. Jenny’s curvier, but that’s not a problem where I come from. French people are very body positive and recognize that female beauty comes in many forms.

  “What’s wrong with your size?” I ask gently. Jenny’s mouth pulls into a sad smile.

  “I’m overweight, if you can’t tell,” she says, trying to make light of it.

  “Says who?” I ask gently.

  “Everybody,” she sighs with her head still hanging down.

  “Jenny, you’re très jolie and perfect the way you are. If someone doesn’t like the way you look, then oh well, au revoir. Tell them to find someone else. You have to become comfortable in your own skin and love yourself for who you are, not for who everyone else wants you be.”

  “Thank you,” my friend mumbles. But she continues looking down with her shoulders slumped, and even those curly ringlets seem to have lost some of their pizzazz. On a whim, I hug her tightly. Even after just one day, I can tell that Jenny has low self-esteem. Something about the world has her down, and right then and there, I make it my mission to build her up over the next six months. Because I’m more than an exchange student. I know that I can help Jenny by being a good friend and listening to her woes, her worries, and her cares. And hopefully … she won’t mind too much if I think about her dad every now and then during my stay.

  Chapter Four

  Chris

  I try to focus as the in-house marketer goes over strategies for our existing clients, but the drone of my trusted colleague is drowned out by my thoughts of Marie. How am I supposed to live in the same house as a beautiful, curvaceous French woman? Damn, these next six months are going to be hell. I thought being away from her would keep her off of my mind, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  I rub my eyes, but I can’t get the image of her buxom figure out of my brain. Although she’s completely gorgeous, with a goddess-like body to match, she’s far more than eye candy. Her soft, appealing voice intrigues me and lures me in. I want to listen closely to her tales of high school, growing up French, or really anything she wants to talk about. Right now, she’s a mystery to me. I hate that I had to jet out of the kitchen this morning just as she’d started to open up, but that damn Snoopy t-shirt was driving my mind insane.

  My eyes glaze over, and I blankly stare at a detailed flow chart on the projection screen. I sigh in desperation as I try to block my thoughts of Marie. It’s as if she’s invaded my mind and made a permanent home there. My thoughts are cluttered with her angelic voice and sweet aroma. Shit.

  Maybe I should send her back to France. I could tell the Board of Education that I have too much on my plate at work and that I can’t properly supervise the exchange student. After all, I work long hours, so it wouldn’t be a complete lie. At least if she goes back to France, I can forget about her quicker. The longer she’s here, the longer I’ll be tormented with fantasies of kissing her soft pink lips, not to mention a whole lot else.

  I want to be with her in a way that theoretically, should be is impossible. Because how could this possibly work? A forty-five year old man lusting after the innocent teen girl who’s staying under his roof? I’d be thrown in jail without a second thought. Juries would vote to give me the death penalty for sure. Fuck it, she has to go back to France. I can’t deal with this kind of temptation for the next six months.

  But that would crush both Jenny and Marie. My daughter is happy she has a built-in friend, and Marie is happy she gets to live in New York City for six months. I can’t take their happiness away. They both would hate me. Shit. I’m screwed. There has to be another way. It’s only been one day, and I’m already losing it over this woman.

  Maybe I can send her to live with another family here in the city? That way she can stay here in Manhattan, and she and Jenny can still be pals. If she’s out of my sight, then hopefully, she’ll be out of my mind. That would go a long way toward solving my problem.

  But Marie’s just a young girl. She might get the wrong idea about why I’m sending her away. She would think she did something wrong, when in reality, it’s not her fault that I’m unbelievably attracted to her. I’m the adult; I should be able to control myself. But goddamit! If only her soft curls didn’t flow so gracefully down her back, with that rear end doing a dance of its own. Dammit. It’s a man’s dream come true to have a sexy mademoiselle living in his home, but right now, it feels like a fucking nightmare.

  The meeting comes to an end, and I dash out of the conference room. I make my way down the crowded hall toward my office. Thinking about Marie in that T-shirt makes my cock hard, and I need to get myself out of sight before my employees notice the huge bulge in my pants. I slam the door behind me and huff as I stare down at my engorged cock. Fuck! I have to get her out of my brain! I pace back and forth in my large, spacious corner office, trying to figure out how.

  No one has ever rattled my mind the way she’s currently doing. I hardly ever get attached to the women I pursue, so this is new. I’ll admit it, I’m no saint. I’ve slept with a lot of women in my past. Thanks to my enormous bank account, I’ve never had trouble adding notches to my belt, for better or worse.

  Yet Marie is different. It’s not right to treat her as another mindless conquest, some hoochie to use and then discard. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves better, what with her innocent smile and trusting gaze. I try not to think about her perky tits in the Snoopy T-shirt, or her plump ass. I turn my attention to the large window behind my ebony wood desk and take a deep breath, attempting to focus on something else. Anything. The towering skyscrapers that loom over New York City, or the dozens of yellow cabs inching along like ants on the pavement below. But it’s useless. I keep thinking about her. Af
ter all, Marie is thrilled to be in this astonishing city, and I can’t allow my sudden obsession to ruin her experience here.

  My train of thought is broken by the chirping of my desk phone. Great, maybe getting some work done will take my mind off of the beautiful mademoiselle living in my penthouse. Luckily, the bulge in my pants has subsided, making it much easier to think clearly.

  “Chris Jones,” I bark into the phone.

  “Mr. Jones, I have a Ms. Roberts on line one. Should I put her through?” my secretary, Lisa, asks a bit skeptically, almost as if she knows the answer is no. I hesitate, and my forehead furrows in frustration. Ms. Roberts is Adele, the woman I’ve been dating for the past year, if you can even call what we’ve been doing dating. I stare at the phone for a bit, tempted to pretend I’m out.

  After all, I don’t have any feelings for Adele, and frankly, I’m not sure if I ever did. In fact, I’ve come to despise being around her. I’ve been dodging her phone calls for almost a week now, and I’m surprised she hasn’t popped up at my home or office like some kind of shrieking harpy. At first, the woman was just something to do, but now, I dread hearing her voice. She doesn’t satisfy me anymore. I’m craving someone new, who’s much younger and sweeter. Someone without a mean bone in her body. Someone like Marie.

  Because that girl is naturally beautiful without makeup, whereas Adele has to cake on cosmetics so that she doesn’t look like an aged hag. Ever imagined the Wicked Witch of the West without the green skin? That’s how Adele looks first thing in the morning, complete with the evil sneer. The truth is that I’m over my “relationship” with Adele. I’m not attracted to her anymore. To make things worse, she used to be a good lay, but lately, sex with her has fucking awful. She doesn’t make my cock rock hard on a moment’s notice the way Marie does. In fact, most of the time I just feel dread when I know Adele’s coming around.