Happily Ever After With My Dad's Best Friend

It’s not Jeremy.

My heart thrashes out a nervous beat in my chest.

“Paul, what are you doing here?”

Suddenly I’m on the verge of tears, and I feel really stupid for getting emotional. I hold it in the best I can but my chin is quivering and tears warp my vision.

He’s wearing a gray pullover, worn jeans with holes in the knees, and boots. He looks so. Fucking. Good.

Hands in his pockets, he asks, “Can I come in for a minute?”

I steel myself with a deep breath and try to regain some composure as I open the door for him. He smells like coconut again when he passes me, and something else that I can’t quite place, but it’s so distinctly Paul that I get wobbly from wanting. It’s as if I were cast from a Jell-o mold. He wanders over to the couch, patting the seat next to him. I sit down and chew a corner of my thumbnail.

“I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly the other night,” he says. He sounds upset and maybe a bit sad. I want to comfort him because I’m feeling those things too. Only, there’s a touch of anger mixed in with those emotions that keeps me from wrapping him in a hug.

My foot bobs. I chew on the inside of my cheek; a nervous habit that sometimes leaves the skin raw and sore. I’m sad that he left, but I’m also mad that he left me hanging there like an idiot.

“Why did you leave?” I ask, words outlined in anger. He flinches and looks at his hands.

He has the decency to look ashamed. “Several reasons. One, I’m too old for you, and two, you’re my best friend’s daughter. Your dad has been there for me through every part of my life. We didn’t have the best upbringing. All we had was each other. When we got older your mom and dad paid for my contractor’s license when I was just starting out even though your dad was barely making minimum wage and taking care of a teen wife and an infant. How do you think they’d feel if they knew I was falling for their daughter? I’ve watched you grow up.”

He’s obviously struggling, and I don’t want to be the cause of his inner turmoil, but can’t help cling to the words I’ve been dying to hear. My voice wavers when I say, “Okay, one, I decide who’s too old for me, and two … you’re falling for me?”

He closes his eyes, leans back against the couch, and puts his hands in his hair. “Why do you think I moved away? I was falling hard and fast for someone I didn’t dare pursue. I had to get out of town as fast as possible before it was too late.”

I clutch my stomach, feeling as if I’d just dropped from a precipice I’d been hanging onto by my fingertips. “I thought you moved to be with another woman.”

His eyes flutter open and he looks at the ceiling, avoiding eye-contact with me. “The only woman I want to be with is you.” He reaches over, moves the hair off my shoulder, and runs a finger down my arm, making me shiver. “I’ve been sitting in your parking lot for an hour, trying to build up the courage to tell you that. When I saw you kissing that kid …” he swallows hard and clenches his teeth, the muscle rippling along his jawline. “It took all I had inside of me not to get out of my truck and pummel him. I don’t think I can bear to ever see you with anyone else.”

My heart jackhammers so loud and furious I can barely hear my own thoughts. I climb onto his lap, straddling his waist. “I don’t want to ever be with anyone else.”

I rock my hips against him. He holds onto my legs, lifting his groin to apply more pressure. I gasp at the sensation. We grind together, finding the rhythm that nearly sends me over the edge.

With one swift, effortless move, he lifts both of us off the couch. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on, sucking on his ear lobe and kissing his neck as he carries me to my room. The bedside lamp is on. Normally, during sex, I’m more of a lights off kind of girl, but I want to watch this, witness the coupling I’ve been dreaming about since puberty. I’ve imagined this moment with him since I started masturbating and now I want to watch it all play out in real time, not missing a single moment.

He sets me down gently on the bed and climbs on top of me, propping himself on his elbows to hover over me. A lock from the coif of his hair hangs down, dangling between us. I reach up to smooth it back. His finger traces the curve of my cheek and chin.

I try to memorize everything about him, the strip of gray in the stubble under his lip, the slight downturn of his nose, the way one of his eyebrows sits just a little higher than the other. I want to hold onto it forever. The scar cutting into his left eyebrow, the slight lines around his eyes, and my god, those eyes. I’ve heard people compare him to Gerard Butler with Bradly Cooper eyes. Right now I can kind of see it.

“Your skin is so soft.” His low voice is just above a whisper. He kisses the corner of my mouth. “And you taste so good.” The way his lips just barely graze mine sends chills through me. We’re hardly touching and yet I feel him in every part of me. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how wet you got the night of your birthday. You smelled so sweet on my fingers. I’m dying to taste you.”

His words and the slow, sensuality of his voice opens a faucet inside of me and soaks my panties. It’s as if his words are a spell and he’s conjuring it out of me. I can’t take it anymore. Reaching up, I grab the sides of his face and push my lips against him. His mouth is so much bigger than mine and he’s forceful and demanding when he kisses me back. Though I’m no delicate flower, I feel dwarfed beneath him. Knowing that he can take whatever he wants from me, fold me in any which way he chooses, has me all kinds of wet.

I nibble and suck at his bottom lip, then bite him just a little. He lets out a lecherous grunt, and smiles hungrily around my wanting busy mouth as he grips the hem of my tank top, yanking it up and off of me.

He breaks away from our kiss to look me over. I’m not wearing a bra, which is unfortunate, because it would be one more thing to tease him with. That small disappointment is soon forgotten as his fingers tickle my stomach, bumping over my ribs up to my breasts. He kneads at them affectionately. Squeezing my nipple between his fingers, he sends a bolt of lightning through my bellybutton and deep into my groin. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this wet for anyone else before. This is just what Paul does to me.

As he sucks, pulling nearly the entirety of my small breast into his mouth, my eyes roll back in my head. I fist the sheets as his hands roam to the waistband of my shorts. He pulls them down to my ankles and with a flick of my foot, I kick them the rest of the way off. His exploration leads to the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I spread my legs further apart, as far as they can go, opening myself up to give him plenty of access. He runs a wide, blunt-tipped finger over the wet fabric of my black lace panties.

As I relax into his capable hands, a surge of lubricant flows from me. He toys with the fabric edge around my legs before moving it to the side, exposing my pink, swollen folds.

He lets out an appreciative sound and says, “God, you have the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

I gasp as he pushes a finger into me and then another, slow at first, then feverishly, causing delicious, sucking noises. He hooks his middle finger at the perfect angle to massage my most tender spot.

This is a man who knows his way around a female body.

Arching my back, he pushes his fingers deeper inside of me. I crave release, but before I get there he slips his fingers out, taking hold of my panties, ripping them off. He drops to his knees, pulling me toward him so my ass is hanging off the bed. He pushes my legs up, so that my knees are resting on either side of my face. With a flat tongue, he massages the sides of my clit without touching the too-sensitive mound—a trick the other men in my life couldn’t seem to learn. He’s not in any hurry. He’s here to please me, unlike my last boyfriend who’d been afraid of my vagina, having no idea what to do with it. No matter what I taught him, he continued to be in and out, only caring about himself.

Paul’s tongue dips in and out of my opening. I raise my head to see what I can. All these years, picturing him between my legs and finally, he’s rig

ht there. It’s better than anything I imagined. The way he touches me, the feel of his skin against mine, it’s all so real, as if I’m experiencing everything for the first time.

He pulls back to catch his breath, a string of my wetness and his saliva linking us together. He licks his lips, breaking the connection. His respite lasts only a second before he’s diving back in for more, lapping at my labia like a starving man. I hold my breath when his tongue moves further down my crevice, to my asshole. At first I think it’s a mistake, and that he didn’t mean to do that, but his eyes are open and he knows exactly where his tongue is and what he’s doing.

I suck in a surprised breath. Wasn’t expecting that. Luckily I’m very thorough when I wash.

My first instinct is to stop him. I’ve never had a man’s face down there before, and though his tongue is lush and he’s driving me fucking crazy and I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire life, I don’t know how to handle this.

“Whoa, wait,” I say, and start to scoot away from him, except he holds me by the legs so I can’t move.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.