My Son's Sitter

Meanwhile, Stevie is moaning into my neck. She must be crazy wet by now.

I’m struck by an irresistible urge to know just how turned on she really is. Slipping my finger down I freeze up, in shock. She’s actually so drenched some of the wetness has started oozing down her upper thighs. Oh yes.

As I draw away and take in Stevie’s utterly helpless face, it occurs to me. She doesn’t just want this. She needs it.

I strip off my jeans. Then, I stride around her one final time. Behind her, I enclose her in my arms and growl into her ear: “You’re goddamn beautiful, you know that?”

My words send a shiver of longing through her. Twisting her lips to me, she whispers “Clayton…”

At the uncertainty in her voice, I stiffen. Fuck no. She’s not going to stop now, now that we’re so close to the finish, is she? Should we?

But the next second, a deliciously devilish smile flits over her.

“More please.”

Never have two such mundane words together sounded so very sweet.

I waste no time. Scooping her up in my arms, I convey her straight to my bedroom. The stairs creak a little as we creep up them, and we giggle like high schoolers. I fling her on the bed like a predator about to finish off its prey.

I close the door behind me and pounce on her.

Now, we’re just a tumble of limbs and wants and sensations. Her panties come off of their own accord. It feels like I kiss every inch of her. When I pin her to the bed and nuzzle her with just how hard she’s made me, we both moan.

She mumbles something inaudible, and I say, “What was that?”

“More please,” she says in an even more pleading voice than the last time.

And I’m all too happy to comply. With my hand against her ass, I slowly start burrowing my way into her pussy. Immediately, pleasure missiles through me.

Oh fuck. Have I ever been inside anything this tight? Already, my dick is almost as hard as it can be. Gritting my teeth, I shake off the already overwhelmed feeling. No fucking way am I making a fool of myself with this girl.

So, I tear my gaze from her appealing form as I edge myself in deeper. I do so with a series of gradual slow thrusts. A little bit in, a little bit in, then a little bit in some more. The further I go, the better it feels. Both of our bodies grow more and more locked.

All of Stevie is gasping for it. So, finally, I give it to her. One final slam sends her yelling.

I pause again.

“You okay?”

Her eyes snap open, and the word that dribbles off her tongue bolsters my erection even further: “More.”

This time, I waste no time being gentle with it. I stuff her with more. I plug her with more. I stab her over and over again with more to her heart’s content.

And so, both of our bodies are fused with more. Moaning with more. And finally, when I have drilled her with everything I’ve got, released from more.

She comes in a series of cried-out shakes. As if she can’t quite believe what her body is doing to her. When she finally flops down, I flop to the side. Both of us spent.

It’s been a few minutes, when she draws away out of my arms. I hear shuffling and turn to see her hopping off the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving before you can fire me,” she says in a bitter stranger’s voice.

Chapter 4: Stevie

His silence after what I said is my answer.

Part of me had hoped to call his bluff, but I see now that I’ve made two mistakes in one night. Coming here at all, and then giving in to the feeling that overcame me back in that living room there.

No matter. The mistakes end now. As I hurriedly jog down the stairs and get the rest of my things, I could’ve sworn I heard him call after me. But I don’t stop, I don’t pause for a minute. Because if I do, then the tears will come.

It’s probably just my hopes playing tricks on me anyway. My greatest hope trying to twist some mishead something into reality.

It’s not real, I tell myself as I leave the front door I will never return to again. It’s not real.

That night, I lay in my bed, staring into the ceiling in a daze. My body feels raw and ripped open, and weak and fuzzy. Good and bad in ways I never thought it could.

When the first tear rolls down my cheek, I brush it away angrily and roll onto my side. Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I’ll think about what I’ve done.

Tomorrow arrives and I head to the kitchen as soon as my eyes open. No time to think about it, that’s what my dad once said was the way he dealt with the grief of Helena running away, after he and my mom realized they weren’t going to find her and she wasn’t going to come back.