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Mom. Married. His. Dad.
“Are they hurting you?” His deep voice hauled me out of my mantra. One I should definitely keep in mind. “I knew I should’ve ordered three more sizes.”
“Oh, no, they are fine,” I waved him off, steadying myself on his shoulder when he bent down. Only a rockstar’s son would order four pair of the same shoes online.
The concerned scowl on his face was sweet. And unlike any other expression I’d seen on him up until now.
When did this cotton candy whirl around his arrogant self-defense mechanism?
When he crouched down to feel if my toes had enough space, I wiggled my big toe. He concurred they were, indeed, fine.
“Alright, let’s go on.” He looked up, his mouth right in front of my sex. It clenched traitorously while I looked down into his eyes.
He was so close. And if I’d unbutton these jeans, if he’d press his nose against the soft cotton of my panties, he’d smell my arousal.
“Dita,” he uttered my name in a beautifully rough way.
“Yeah?” I tightly hooked my thumbs around the waist band of my jeans, having a hard time ignoring the stir in my lower belly.
“I very much like where this is going but, uh,”—he cleared his throat, like he was going to state a fact—“the kids. Remember?”
Blinking, I took in the surroundings. Snakes. And a little further, more snakes.
I forced a tight smile and, in a small moment of panic, ruffled up his hair in a sisterly manner. My eyes slid away guiltily from his knowing smirk.
“Yes. Let’s go on,” I echoed the same thing he’d said minutes ago. Not breathily. Just…less silken.
I grabbed the bucket with food and tongs from him and strutted behind his lead with fervent interest. I kept a certain distance from him for the remainder of our shift, so my body wouldn’t sense his proximity and go haywire.
Two more hours. I could cope. And hope our relationship wasn’t growing into a tangled mess like the next snake.
23
ARES
I only had a couple of seconds to regroup while she used the bathroom. Just a couple before her scent filled my car. Before I had to reel in the urge to get my hand between her thighs and retrieve an even better aroma on my fingers.
I used that moment, ticking like an atom bomb, to shush my lingering semi. My dick needed a break. And by break, I meant a thorough fist pump or two and a sharp ejaculation. My balls were so heavy, I swear to God I was going to lose weight the next time the kids spurted over my hand.
Dita walked across the parking lot. I noticed her angel face first, then those juicy hips and finally, the fucking red rain boots.
The intention was to make her look like Peppa Pig or some sorts as she followed me around like a toddler. But Dita turned those two-hundred-dollar rubber boots into the cutest foot wear.
What surprised me the most, was that she hadn’t snorted or laughed at anything I said. She hadn’t gagged or looked grossed out having dead mice and hamsters in that plastic bucket. In fact, Dita had surpassed every expectation since I met her. Including listening to every word I said like a grade-A student.
Oh, yeah. There we went again.
A filthy bass dropped in the background of my mind, where she undid her clothes, and I fucked Dita against the door of the janitor’s closet.
Taboo. It turned me on.
Shit.
It would’ve helped if she’d oinked. At least then she would have set me off.
Yeah, right. What a joke. I was still imagining my stepsister in solely rain boots meant for muddy puddles or… fishing. Whatever. Those things should not have man’s cock ache.
The car door opened, her pretty face peeking in first. And how I wished I was the leather passenger seat when she sat down.
