Her Dad's Friend(8)

By: Penny Wylder

Around midnight Emily goes home with a cute guy who sits in the front of several of my classes. It’s nearly one in the morning when my mom declares it’s time to take my dad upstairs.

“I should probably get home,” I say.

“Why don’t you just stay the night here?” my mom suggests.

Staying with Paul under the same roof while I’m amped up? That’s probably not a good idea. I don’t think I’d be able to control myself. With all the security cameras in the house—most of which I know the locations, but some of them I don’t—it would be too risky.

“I can’t,” I say. “I told my neighbor I’d feed her cat while she was out of town.”

“Let me put your father to bed then I’ll drive you home,” my mom says.

“It’s fine, Mom. I can take a cab.”

Paul’s deep voice next to me: “I’ll take her. I haven’t been drinking. It’ll be safer that way.”

I pull in a breath and hold it until my lungs feel like they might explode.

Safer for me maybe, but who will save Paul from me when I get him alone?

“Are you sure?” my mom asks. “You just got into town. I can’t ask you to do that.” Her words lack any sincerity. She doesn’t want to go anywhere, but I know she will if she has to.

Yes, he’s goddamn sure! Go to sleep already. I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back my words.

“I insist,” Paul says. He looks at me with an intensity that weakens my joints.

After saying goodnight to my parents, Paul and I leave. His truck is blocked in, so we take my mom’s Mercedes. The entire ride to my apartment is filled with casual conversation and minor flirting. I start to wonder if that’s all this is for him; harmless fun. But then I think about the way he slapped my ass in the pool, and how he touched me … Even if it is harmless for now, I have a feeling he’ll change his mind in the right setting.

We get to my apartment. I’m afraid he’s going to drop me off and leave, but he turns the car off and says, “Let’s see this place of yours.”

We walk up the stairs and I open the door. I have to kick my shoes out of the way to clear a path for us to walk. It’s a mess.

“Sorry,” I say. “I haven’t had the chance to clean lately. Whenever I’m not at school I’m at work.”

He smiles. “Don’t worry about it. I was a student once, too.”

“I have to run next door and feed the cat. I’ll be right back. There’s beer and soda in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”

I run next door, fumbling with the key. I don’t know my neighbors all that well, so it was a bit of a surprise when she asked me to go inside her place and feed her cat while she was gone, but whatever. The bowl is still half full, the cat lazing on the couch, not even acknowledging my existence. I hurry and fill the bowl with food and the other with water and head back to my apartment.

When I come back, Paul is in the kitchen, filling the sink with soapy water.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Helping you out. It’s your birthday; take a load off.”

I’m not going to argue. There’s something kind of sexy about watching a man clean.

“That was some party,” he says over the clank and clatter of dishes being washed. The sound is so jarring and real, and for the first time as an adult, I have him all to myself. I can have him. I know I can. I just have to be brave enough to take what I want.

I watch his shadow move across the floor and say, “I was genuinely surprised. Mom and Dad—and even Emily—are usually always so predictable. I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” he says.

Shaking out the nerves, I push out my chest and raise my chin. I’m a Viking. A raider. He’s mine. I’ll beat him over the head with a club and drag him to my room if I have to.

“Cute apartment,” he says.

He wants to make small talk and that’s fine, but we can do that after several orgasms. Right now I have the female equivalent of blue balls and an itch that desperately needs to be scratched.

I poke my head around the doorway. Not exactly the charging Viking I’d pumped myself up to be. I’m getting to that. Baby steps.


Watching him move around my kitchen, I can imagine domestic bliss with him, rubbing his feet at the end of a hard day’s work, putting a baby to bed then making love all night. Imagining what it would be like to warm his bed every night has all the pent-up tension from the day starting to drip down my leg.

I go into the small kitchen. It’s a hideous tight space with black and white checkered laminate flooring, crooked cupboard doors, and chipped counter tops. We can’t move without bumping into each other. I slide in behind him, holding on to him and pressing my breasts against the tight column of muscle in his back. He stiffens and makes a noise in the base of his throat I just barely hear over the sound of the faucet running.

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