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I pull my cute little black Honda Civic into the driveway next to Dad’s old El Camino that he refuses to get rid of. I don’t even know why he keeps that thing. It hasn’t run since I used it to learn how to drive. That’s been like seven years now.
He keeps telling me he’s gonna have it taken down to Loomis Auto Body and have some guy work on it, but honestly, if he hasn’t done it yet, then it’s never getting done. I don’t know who he’s trying to fool.
Glancing at the dashboard clock, I see that I’m right on time. Just about twenty minutes before we usually sit down to dinner. Just enough time to get in the house and sit down without, hopefully, any awkward talk. The last thing I want to deal with is that.
I want to get in, eat, and hopefully there’s dessert.
Maybe I can get him to shove his fingers in my mouth this time.
Fuck, October. You’re supposed to be behaving. That’s definitely not going to help the situation.
No dessert with Daddy. Got it.
I pop open my door, grab my purse, and head toward the wraparound porch. Opening the door, all I hear is SportsCenter playing in the living room and no other sounds but the occasional click of the oven to let you know it’s turned on.
The smell of manicotti is in the air, so I know that’s what’s cooking, and my mouth waters. I love my dad’s manicotti, and it’s exactly the thing I need right now. Comfort food at its finest.
“Hey, old man, where are ya?” I call out, acting no different than I normally would. Like nothing has changed. I’m hoping that I can do what I do best and fake it til’ I make it. It’s only when I don’t hear a response that things seem odd to me. That’s so unlike him, he usually always responds if he doesn’t come out to greet me.
Please don’t let this be fucking foreshadowing on how tonight is going to go. If all I’m going to get is the silent treatment and a ton of awkwardness, I could have just stayed at home. I didn’t need to drag my ass over here. Takeout and Love Island were calling my name just fine.
Leaving my bag on the entry table and tossing my keys with it, I move toward the sounds of the TV, and once I cross the entryway and round around the couch, I see my dad sprawled out.
Asleep. Shirtless and only with a pair of black basketball shorts hanging low off his hips. He can barely fit on this damn couch with his tall-ass frame. I remember thinking he was a giant. He’s just six-two and two-hundred-thirty pounds of muscle.
There goes the band aid that my two orgasms were supposed to provide.
My eyes eat up everything that is Maverick Davis.
His brown hair with gray starting to sprinkle throughout, to his long lashes, and down the slope of his nose. His full top and bottom lips peek out behind the scruffy beard on his face that is starting to turn gray as well, and it’s right now that I fully appreciate how attractive he is.
All of my good genes come from him. I mean, how could they possibly not have?
I want to deny myself from looking anymore, but I’m weak as I look at his chest and abdomen sprinkled with hair and a few tattoos here and there. The waistband of his dark shorts mocks me with its vibrant purple color. My favorite color and currently the only thing in my way from seeing that strong, thick dick that has taken root in my mind.
“Dad,” I say, but there’s no movement. Not even a twitch.
“Hey, Dad. I’m here for dinner and you’re napping like the old grumpy-ass man you are. Are we going to eat or…?” I talk loudly but trail off toward the end, and there is still nothing. It’s like he’s dead to the world.
I should shake him until he wakes. What if it wasn’t Sunday and he would just let dinner burn until the smoke alarm goes off?
I don’t do the logical thing. I do the impulsive thing.
Because right now, this may be the only chance I ever get to do something completely and entirely selfish. Something that should never come to be, and I’m going to carpe diem and grab it by the horns.
Grabbing a hold of the back of the couch for leverage and balance, I climb up, depressing the sides of the cushion before planting my feet on either side of my dad’s hips. Gazing down at him and seeing how his broad body takes up most of this couch thrills me. I’m not little by any means. Average in height but I carry some extra weight, making me on the rounder side, but he overshadows me in height and size, and it’s a heady feeling.
His body dwarfs mine, and I wonder what it would feel like to be trapped beneath him, boxed in by his arms, and legs, and chest. Would I feel powerless? Like he could take and take and take, and there would be nothing I could do but give it all to him. Give him everything that he wanted.
Ever so slowly, I lower myself down until my right knee wedges itself between his body and the couch, and my left is taking up every available inch of leftover cushion. Barely hanging on and I hope I don’t slip because if I do, I’m definitely toppling over onto him. I’m hovering my lower body over his. Just a few inches above his lap and all it would take is lowering just a bit more and I’ll fully have him between my legs.
My heart is beating so fast I swear it’s about to jump out of my chest. My skin is glistening from the sweat coming out of my pores as what I am doing registers within me as I psych myself up. He’s dead-ass asleep and I just want to innocently sit on his lap. Innocently sit, my ass. He’s not going to wake up, and it will just be for a brief moment.
All lies, I tell myself. I know it. I hyper-fixate on my excuses and it spurns me on, and without even realizing it, our bodies connect.
“Oh godddd,” I let slip out of my mouth as I feel all of him right up against the thin material of my panties. Wearing a skirt was both the best decision of my life and the worst. I’m so fucked. He’s not even hard, and I can feel his length pressing up against my most intimate place. All I want is to feel him slide in and mark every inch of me with his cock. My pussy pulses, an erratic beat that has no sense of rhythm.
