I texted my driver and my limo is waiting outside of the entrances to Kane Price and I hop in, telling the driver that I need to go home.
As the limo makes its way toward Seventh Avenue and One57 apartment, I look at my pho
ne.
Becca hasn't texted. She hasn't called.
Does she think that Lorna and I started fucking?
Or is she just too distraught at what her mother said?
Fuck, I need to get home and sit down with a glass of scotch. Then I need to figure out how to get to Becca without having to go back to Lorna's house. There's gotta be a way.
I'm not thinking of any solution as I unlock the door to my condo and walk in.
But then, a moment later, I stop thinking altogether.
Because I don't have to; standing right in front of me is Becca Lowell.
She turns to me, and I try to figure out what the look on her face means.
Is she hurt? Distraught?
"Becca," I say, dropping my keys on the table and walking over. "Nothing happened with your mom," I say.
She smiles at me. "I know," she says and takes a step over. Is it me or does she sound happy?
"I heard everything Mom said," she says and then stops herself. "I mean actually, I guess I heard everything Lorna said. Since she's not really my mother."
This is the part that I fucking dreaded.
"You heard that?" I ask.
"Mason, it's okay," she says to me and wraps her arms around me. "It means I'm not related to that bitch. And, that I'm not fucking my stepdad anymore since I'm technically not related to her at all. Thank you for standing up to her."
I pause. Becca's happy. I guess I can understand, but a part of me stirs when she says the word stepdad.
"I guess we're just two people then who aren't related at all," I say slowly.
Becca unwraps herself and takes a step back. "But it's so dirty to still imagine it, isn't it?" she asks me with a wicked grin.
I feel my cock twitching just looking at her. It's filthy. It's taboo.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asks me. And then slowly she says the word, "Daddy?"
I have no idea how she got here before me. But when she pulls her pink shirt over her head I stop caring.
She takes a few steps back and I follow. She takes a few more steps back, and I follow again.
We end up in the guest bedroom.
I’m staring at her.
She wears a black lace bra, her round breasts a perfect match for the almost transparent fabric. Still holding my gaze she takes her hands to her back and unhooks the bra, allowing its straps to slide down her arms and the whole thing falls onto the floor.
I want to reach toward her breasts, feel her already hard nipples under my fingers, but I restrain myself.
Becca doesn’t want to have anything to do with any kind of restriction, though. She closes the distance between us again with a quick shuffle of her feet and grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. My naked torso calls for her, her eyes coveting my solid pectorals.