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And now I could do nothing but look at him, taking in the big form so near, the gleam in his eyes, the warrior-like dominance of that frame.
“Mr. Martin,” I whispered, eyes wide, senses on alert. “Please tell me how I can make it up to you. I didn’t mean to disrespect you by showing off my body last night.”
And the big man threw his head back and laughed mightily then.
“Baby, didn’t I just tell you I love having beautiful females as house guests?” he chuckled deep in his throat. “And you, honey, have just become my favorite.”
My breath lodged in my throat, breasts heaving up and down quickly. On the one hand, I loved the banter, I loved how Mr. Martin was making me wet, pussy tingling, nipples hard in anticipation of where this was going, every twist and turn so illicit. But on the other, how many females had he had over? How many “houseguests,” how many beautiful, willing women had stayed here? And oh god, but I was still his son’s girlfriend, and Jonah was probably in his room even now, about to come out at any second. So I tried to take control.
“Please let me know how I can make it up to you,” I said as firmly as I could manage, looking him straight in the eye, sitting up like a ramrod. “If I can make things right, I will,” I promised, taking a deep breath. “Do your laundry, cook some meals, even,” and here I gulped, “move out.”
I couldn’t afford it, the dorms were closed for Thanksgiving and I didn’t have the money for a hotel for a couple days. But maybe there was Airbnb or some short-term rental that wouldn’t require a deposit. It would be tough, but I’d make it work.
And the big man threw his head back and laughed then, eyes dancing, like I’d said something truly funny.
“What, what is it?” I said, confused and little annoyed. “I’m trying to make things right, and if you want me to move out, I will, I get how, um, over the top I was.”
But Mr. Martin shook his head again.
“No honey, you don’t get it,” he said silkily. “Last night, seeing you take off your panties, bend over and fuck yourself was fucking amazing, the best thing that happened this month, this entire year in fact.”
And I flushed, going soft once again.
“Really?” I breathed. “Oh god.” Because I was so wet listening to this. How did the big man do this to me? One minute I was getting ready to empty my bank account, to find a place to stay over the holidays, and yet now, hearing the word “pussy” from his mouth, especially referring to my swollen lips, turned the tables again, made me think something was going to happen right here in the kitchen, nasty and dirty. And I wasn’t wrong because Mr. Martin nodded again, eyes gleaming.
“If you really want to make it up to me,” he rumbled, his gaze like fire on my curvy form. “There is something you can do,” his voice trailed.
And my breath caught. Oh my god, what was happening? I was a guest in his home, his son’s girlfriend for crying out loud, and yet here I was creaming into my panties for the second time, desperate to have him touch me, to feel me all over, stroke my boobies, between my legs, anywhere he wanted.
“Yes, Mr. Martin,” I whispered again. “Whatever you like.”
And the big man smiled then, eyes gleaming, taking in my curvy form.
“Clothes, off,” he rumbled, his gaze eating up my form. “Right here, right now.”
I gasped. Was he crazy? We were in the kitchen for crying out loud, at ten a.m. on Thanksgiving Day.
“But Jonah could come in,” I whispered, cheeks flushing hotly. “Your son, remember?”
But Mr. Martin just shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he ground out, and with that the discussion was over. There was no changing his mind, no ifs, ands or buts about it, and the only thing I could do was obey. So body shivering, breath coming fast, I unbuttoned my skirt in back, slipping it over my hips and down my legs. Underneath I had on only my panties and long stockings, the material sheer and sensuous, the elasticized lace at the top clinging to my thighs.
His eyes devoured me, causing flame to burst in my pussy.
“Off,” he commanded, and slowly, I slipped my panties off. Oh god, it was so embarrassing but it was just like last night. I was already creaming so much, so hard, that a trail of pussy juice ran from my cunt to the cloth as I pulled them down, long and oozing, wet and sensuous. Oh fuck, it was so disgusting but arousing at once, the evidence of my need, my want for him, every sense on alert.
