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“It’s a late one for me, so maybe tomorrow, or better yet. How ’bout you and Luce come over Saturday? We can have a barbecue, and it’ll give Luce some time to settle in back home,” Brad suggests, forever the voice of calm reason and cheerfully ignorant of the plans I’ve hatched in my mind for Beth.
“Sounds like a plan,” I readily agree, unable to stop myself from asking about Beth.
“She up?” I quiz Brad, my eyes scanning the whole front of the house, searching for signs of her.
He shrugs and slaps my shoulder again. “I doubt it. Why don’t you go wake her up? She’s bound to listen to you,” he says with a wink, meaning most people do as I ask because of my size. If he only knew…
I fight the smile that wants to play on my lips, keeping up appearances as I wave goodbye once he pulls out of the driveway, my cock already tingling to attention in my jeans. My mind’s already going to places it probably shouldn’t, but a promise is a promise. I’ve come here today to get Lucy’s things, but I’ve also come to stake my claim on what I decided months ago should be mine.
SheWILLbe mine—the decision I made last night—no matter the consequences.
Beth…
The front door’s unlocked, and I let myself in. The refrigerator's hum and the ticking mantle clock are the only signs of life in the place, but I can feel her. I can sense Beth already. If my dick as radar is anything to go by, she’s definitely here.
I could help myself to the coffee Brad’s made, but my instinct is to go straight to her room. Passing the open bathroom door that shows the mirror still foggy from Brad’s morning routine, I know she’s not there.
Her closed bedroom door at the end of the hall looks like my final obstacle, but dammit, if I don’t freeze up just when I should take charge. It’s a bad habit from being a dad myself, I guess. All the “What the hell are you thinking?” and “She’s half your age” arguments churn in my mind as I will myself to turn the knob on the door once I inch close enough.
I’m not just gonna barge in and throw myself on top of her, but I still can’t help having a niggling doubt. Hoping she fully understood what I said last night. Idohave a romantic interest, and it’s her, and by romance, I mean her bouncing on my fat cock until she screams my name. Filling her with a baby of our own is what I really want.
All of her… forever.
Clearing my throat once my weight makes a board under the carpet squeak, I rap on her door gently, already turning the knob before she replies.
CHAPTERNINE
Beth
I haven’t slept a wink. I need to pee, and if I finger fuck myself any more thinking about Bowdie, I’m gonna take the skin off.
For a curvy girl nobody would look twice at, I’ve done more “self-service” in one day than a buffet does in a month. However, I never feel satisfied because it’s not Bowdie’s fingers, mouth, or something else I know the good doctor is packing.
When I hear the telltale rumble of his restored Mustang as my dad’s leaving for work, I feel like I shoulda been up earlier—way earlier if I wanted to make myself anywhere near presentable for the man. Holding my breath, I feel my heart pounding and my pulse singing in my ears as I will him to kick the door down, flip me on my belly, and claim me like the animal I’ve become. The eighteen-year-old virgin me also has a healthy dose of “What am I thinking?”
I know how bad it would hurt if he rejected me, and I’ve got all this wrong in my mind, but thank heavens for youthful impatience.
“Daddy?” I hear myself squeak, wondering where the hell that came from. At least it makes itsoundlike I think my dad came back for something, and it signals Bowdie that I’m awake. He can come in more than just my room anytime he damn well likes.
I’m burrowed under the covers but can hear the doorknob turning. I can feel Bowdie in the doorway long before I catch his trademark scent—a cologne I know you can only get in exotic, far-off places. Once it hits my senses, I feel myself relax.
“Beth?” he half whispers in a deep, smoky tone that makes me mew as I feel my legs press together. I already feel wet from his scent, and knowing he has me at a disadvantage, being semi-dressed in my bed, it’s a wonder I’m not whimpering. Stretching myself out like a cat, pretending I’m just waking up, I still can’t bring myself to look at him yet.
I know my morning face by heart. It’s always a blotchy, puffy thing like an old pillow that stares back at me from the mirror most mornings, hardly the sight that would or should drive a man like Bowdie Bigg to distraction. When I hear the floor creaking under his weight as he stands over me, I know I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.
Without even having to look, I know he wants what I want. All I have to do is tell him so, but I need more than ever for him to take the lead, me being so virgin and all, and trying to tell myself anything could ever happen between us.
“I’ve come for… Lucy’s things,” he says in the same gravelly tone, grinding out the words as if he knows it’s a lie, and either of us could deny this chemistry between us a second longer.
I want to peek, nod sleepily, and point out what stuff belongs to Lucy, but as soon as I look into those eyes again, I’m gonna be a puddle in my bed. I’ll be incapable of anything except having him hold me the way I need it.
“Beth?” he asks me after a long silence, maybe figuring I’ve done the teenage thing and just gone back to sleep, which ordinarily I probably would have if it was anyone else.
I shift under the covers, moving them back so he can see my face. Dammit, if my eyes don’t dart to the one place they shouldn’t, making me gasp when I see just how interested Bowdie is in this curvy, half-his-age girl. His face shifts for a split second, almost recoiling at my reaction, but my low purr of excitement mixed with disbelief at the sight of the thick line of arousal in his jeans makes him pause before he grins.
“Hi,” he finally says, lowering his gaze to meet mine. “I’m up here…” he adds, making me bite my lip and flush a deep red, but not with shame or embarrassment.
If Bowdie’s so confident he can walk into my bedroom sporting that, why should I be so shy and self-conscious? Umm… maybe because he looks like something out of a magazine and like… well… I don’t look anywhere near as good as he does, morning face or not. Even at my best and in a darkened room, I’d still be anxious about a man of his caliber seeing my dimpled skin in places—the “curves” that have a life of their own when they’re not strategically held in place.
