“What the fuck?”
We both freeze.
I look over, horror movie slow, to find Brad standing in the door of his dad’s bedroom, his face pale as he takes in the scene in front of him. His girlfriend, naked and covered in cum, legs spread and grinding her pussy on his dad’s face. “Oh shit,” I whisper.
Mr. Jones sits back on his heels and wipes a hand over his face. “I can explain.”
“Yeah, no, don’t think that’s necessary.” He stares at me for a long moment. “Pretty self-explanatory, actually. My whore girlfriend is fucking my asshole father. Awesome.” He spins on his heel but barely takes one step before he turns back and glares. “Get your shit and get the fuck out, Neveah. I’m going down to the beach, and when I come back, you’d better not be here.”
I open my mouth, but there’s nothing to say. There’s no explaining this away. “I’m sorry.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you are.” He disappears, his footsteps thundering down the stairs. A few moments later, the glass sliding door slams shut.
I flop back onto the bed. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.” Mr. Jones shakes his head. “Take a quick shower, and I’ll give you a lift back into town.”
I twist to look at him. “Just like that?”
“Yeah, just like that.” He shrugs. “We fucked up. I’ll talk to him later after we’ve given him some space.”
It feels like a brush-off, but it’s no more than I deserve. I climb to my feet and take the world’s quickest shower. The rest of the guys are still sleeping as I slink downstairs and pack my things. Guilt makes it hard to draw a breath, but there’s a weird layer of relief in there, too. It’s selfish, but now we don’t have to string this out, to have talk after talk while we try to figure out a way to fix a relationship that just isn’t working. I’m sorry for hurting Brad like this, but…
He’ll be fine. Probably.
I’m certainly going to hell, but I feel like I’ve set down a weight I didn’t know I was carrying as I walk out to the car where Mr. Jones waits. He gives my cute little blue sundress a long look. “You’re so much fucking trouble.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t.” He grabs my suitcase and puts it in the back of the car. We don’t speak as he pulls out of the driveway and takes the series of turns that will lead us to the main road that cuts parallel to the beach.
I punch my address in the navigation and sit back, crossing my legs and waiting. He doesn’t make me wait long. Mr. Jones sighs. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer.”
I bite back a smile. “Sure.”
“Is your pussy bare under that little tease of a dress?”
If I was a better person, I’d shut this down right now. Apparently, I’m not. I slump back in the seat and uncross my legs. “If you really want to know, you’re more than welcome to check.”
“Neveah,” he says sharply. “My son just caught you covered in my cum and riding my mouth. That’s inappropriate.”
My skin heats, and I shrug. “You asked.”
His warm hand lands on my knee. “I shouldn’t. He’s never going to forgive me for touching you in the first place. Doing it again….”
I spread my legs a little as he eases his hand higher, sliding it down to cup my inner thigh a bare inch below my pussy. “We already did it,” I manage. “What’s one more time to say goodbye?”
“Slut,” he breathes. And then his hand is there cupping my bare pussy. He rubs me almost idly, his gaze on the road. “I’ll make you a deal, baby girl.”
I widen my thighs as much as I can, giving him complete access to me. “Yes, Daddy?”
“I’ll play with this greedy pussy for the whole drive.” He parts my folds, still playing with me as if he has all the time in the world. I guess he kind of does. “But I want that video. The one you took in the kitchen. Send it to me.”
I turn my head and look at him as he presses a single finger into me, teasing me. A truck drives by, and I squirm at the thought that the driver might look down into our car and see Mr. Jones finger-fucking me. My voice is high and breathless when I finally manage to answer. “You going to watch it and cum, Daddy?”
“That’s the plan.”
I bite my bottom lip as if considering. He doesn’t quicken his strokes at all. He just withdraws his finger from me and gently saws it through my folds. I drag in a breath. “Could we make another one?”
Mr. Jones goes still. “Right now?”
“Yes, Daddy. Right now.” I grab my phone and, after some experimentation, prop it on the dash with the pop socket holding it at an angle. I can see my entire body, and I shiver at the sight of his strong arm in the shot, his big hand cupping me between my thighs. I press the record button and lean back.