Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Asking if she has a boyfriend with him right next to me isn’t so unusual. Or so I thought.
But his blank look and the way he takes off tells me more than anything he could ever say to my face.
Would I risk my friendship with Steve for this obsession with his only daughter?
I guess that depends.
Depends on whether or not May is receptive to my advances, as I hope she’ll be.
And once I help her unlock her front door, once we step inside and I notice her trembling in the best possible way, well….
Sorry, Steve, I really am. I don’t wanna hurt you or May. But if this feeling is a two-way street, there’s not gonna be a lot any of us can do about it.
I don’t grab hold of her or force myself on her once we’re inside.
She looks like she’s having as hard a time as I am trying to keep it ‘just friends’ already, and I’ve just walked in the door.
We stand kinda awkward, with May looking at her feet and me just basking in the sight of her so close.
I want nothing more than to reach down and pull her close. Kiss her like I know she needs it and so much more.
“You wanna cup of coffee or something?” she finally asks, commenting on how tired her dad said I was.
“Do I look tired?” I ask her, smiling.
Itching to remove my bag that still covers my crotch so she can see for herself just how far away from being tired I really am.
“Sure,” I hear myself saying instead.
Figuring it’ll be the perfect way to sit her down and have a proper conversation.
We move through to the kitchen, and although I’ve seen Steve’s place plenty of times over the years, it all seems so…small.
I’m no stranger to being a big man in regular-sized places, but with May and her dad living in the same house and her all grown up now, it just doesn’t seem right somehow.
She busies herself fixing coffee, and setting my bags down. I take a seat at the table, keeping a keen eye on her curves as she moves.
Knowing in a moment that there’s no fucking way I can stay in this house more than an hour, let alone a few days, I’ll have to tell her how I feel.
“Cream and sugar?” May asks, turning her head just long enough to ask.
Is that a question or a promise?
I feel like asking her that out loud, but I’m already past the point of innuendos or playing word games.
Seeing her thick little body shifting under those jeans and sweater is already making me think of all the ways I’d pleasure her.
And right here on her old man’s kitchen floor if she wants.
“Brandon?” she asks me, breaking my little daydream fantasy.
“Uh… Sure. Cream and sugar,” I echo back to her, noting she’s still blushing and trembling slightly as she readies our cups.
Once the water’s poured and she’s making her way over to me, the sound of her dad’s voice makes her jump, and she drops one cup, which shatters on the floor.
The other she has a hold of tilting at an odd angle and spilling hot coffee all over her hand and wrist.
I move to help her, but Steve’s already on it.
“Jesus, May, are you alright?” he exclaims, walking her to the sink to get some cold water running onto what could be a burn on her powder-smooth skin.
“I’m okay, Dad. Really,” May says through gritted teeth, more embarrassed than hurt.
“I thought you’d left,” she adds hotly, and Steve’s eyes move to mine.
“I just forgot something. I came back to pick it up,” he says, narrowing his eyes on mine.
Every part of me, every fiber of my being wants to rush over and help May. But I know her dad is watching my every move, every expression like a hawk.
He knows. Of course, he fucking knows.
Anyone could see how I feel about her at a glance. But Steve’s embarrassment at his story about coming home to pick something up and his reaction to his daughter’s annoyance is equally unmistakable.
“I’ll be okay, Dad, really. You just startled me, is all. What’s with creeping up on me like that anyway?” May says, trying not to sound too angry but sending her dad a clear message.
“I just…,” he starts but doesn’t finish. His shoulders drop, and I’m sure I catch him shaking his head a little as he picks up a few pieces of the broken cup and drops them loudly into the trash on his way out.
The sound of his car peeling out of the drive says a lot more than words ever could.
“Maybe me staying here isn’t such a good idea,” I volunteer.
But May’s quick to forget all about her hand and smooth things over.
“Don’t worry about Dad. He’s been acting weird ever since I finished college,” she notes.