Falling For Dad's College Rival

“Best view in the house,” he promises me, laying me down on a bed so big it could almost be a room of its own.

Big guy, big bed, I figure, shivering as his mitts hands run over my body, greedily covering as much of me as he can, but swiftly pulling my legs open and making me gasp.

“I want you, Brooke like you wouldn’t believe,” he informs me, unhooking my button and pants zipper.

“But before I claim you as my own, I want to taste your sweet pussy until you come all over my face, screaming my name… deal?” he asks, but there’s no need for him to wait for a reply.

I’m already lifting my hips up, helping him shimmy me out of my clothes, moaning already once his warm hands start to run up and down the inside of my trembling thighs.

I yank at my sweater, all my clothes suddenly feeling like something I can’t be free of quick enough.

The feeling of Trent’s skin on mine is what I crave.

Those huge hands, those thick and powerful fingers, moving over me and nudging inside me slightly as he turns the heat up from his kiss me, to make me come while I scream.

Everything shifts up a notch though once he presses his mouth greedily over my already quivering pussy.

I shudder a gasp and move both my hands to grip his hair, clenching it in thick tufts between my fingers as I hear him growl deeply.

My own moans already echoing off the walls and huge windows, I can hear them over the thunder even.

To think we waited so long for this.

If I’d have known it was gonna be this good, we would have skipped the reunion dinner altogether and come straight here.

Straight to the point.

Straight to my—

I gasp again, feeling my own arousal changing into something I don’t think I can hold back much longer.

Trent hums deeply, using both sets of thick fingers to hold my pussy lips apart while he spoils me with his tongue.

Lapping at my essence and freeing my stiff clit from its hood. Teasing it in circles one way before pressing down hard with his whole mouth the next.

I hear myself growl, then swear loudly, begging him to make me come for him.

Wanting to now, willing it to happen but also needing this. Needing this feeling to last.

My whole body is writhing under the magic of his touch. My hips buck and thrust, my head and hair thrash from side to side.

Sensing how close I am, Trent shifts one of his huge hands to hold up my ass, the other keeping me spread wide open for him as he uses just enough pressure to firmly draw a shuddering climax from me.

Like pulling a perfect splinter, he brings me relief, happiness, and an exquisite sensation I’ve never felt before.

I want to laugh, to cry, to scream his name, and thank him all at the same time. But it’s only my animal moans, grunts, and growls I can hear mixing with his own pleasure.

His own satisfaction as he tastes me until it subsides and then he brings his mouth up to mine, letting me taste myself on his lips. His tongue against mine as we roll around on his huge bed, my whole body already aching for more of the same.

I feel his huge weight over me shift and soon realize he’s still half-dressed, working to free himself from his shirt.

Working to free his huge organ from his pants.

I gulp hard, still breathless from my climax, still having jolts and spasms of aftershocks all through my body.

My hands are reaching for his nakedness, wanting to feel all of him, but there are things he should know.

Things we should talk about.

His lips returning to mine and then my neck, don’t help any, turning me into a molten puddle all over again. My hands tracing the hard lines of his muscles, in any direction they travel I’m met with more of the same.

All man.

Trent is a god on earth, and I should be begging him to fill me this instant.

But he needs to know, doesn’t he?

I gasp his name, and he groans mine in reply, but I’m trying to say it. I’m trying to tell him.

Tell somebody out loud for the first time in my life.

“Trent, wait,” I hear my own voice say louder, and he does. He stops and asks if I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I pant, still trying to catch my breath.

“What is it?” he asks me tenderly, holding me close to him and stroking my hair back, looking into my eyes, his own filled only with concern for me.

“I… I’m…” But I can’t say it out loud. I can’t even bring myself to tell him.

Instead, I start to cry.

Not a bad cry either. The kind of tears that help wounds heal. The kind of tears that we have to shed before we can leave our old self behind.