A Dance for Him (39 page)

God, this is fucked up.
I’m
fucked up.

I can’t believe I’ve just finger-fucked the daughter of an ex-girlfriend to orgasm. And no, I refuse to refer to Victoria as my ex-wife, the marriage was annulled, in that sense it never existed. Her choice. And it was never consummated. Nothing ever happened between us. Again, her choice.

I’ve just gone
way
further with Evie than I ever did with Victoria. And if she hadn’t made that remark about being my naughty little girl, I’d probably be fucking her up against the wall right now, stuffing that wet, tight little pussy with my cock, hearing her moan into my ear.

I mean, she wanted me. She wasn’t exactly trying to hide that. She wanted the dick, as they say these days.

And up till then that was all I cared about.

The way she pressed herself against me when I was kissing her and ran her hands through my hair, the way she yielded her mouth to me! The way she looked - adorable pink nipples swollen with need, her skimpy dress bunched up around her waist so she was more or less naked, her mesmerizing eyes glazed with lust! The way she looked at me, half-shyly, half-provocatively, as she obediently took off those flimsy little white lace panties and handed them to me …

Not to mention the way she felt - so soft, so pliable, so perfect. So
wet
…

And she said she wanted to submit to me. Wanted to worship my cock. Wanted to be my plaything.

I don’t know if I’m just a very bad man for wanting her so much, or if I’m a fool for not wanting to be a bad man when I have this glorious creature practically imploring me to take her. It’s what I dreamed of from the very beginning, wasn’t it?

I wanted her to beg me to fuck her, and she did.

And then when she talked about wanting to be my naughty little girl … I’m sure she was just being figurative and trying to talk dirty, but God that pierced me to the heart, filled me with shame and rage at my weakness, at my susceptibility to her charms.

I mean, I shouldn’t be doing this - she’s nineteen, she doesn’t know a thing about what happened with Victoria back then, she’s probably also dazzled by who I am.

I’d be taking advantage of her if I slept with her. In a way, I’ve
already
taken advantage of her, haven’t I?

After all, I know what the inside of her sweet little pussy feels like, know how it feels to have her delicate hand playing with my cock - neither of which are things I should know, as her mother’s ex-boyfriend, even if that was all a long time ago, before she was even born …

Oh Evie, Evie, Evie. If I were a better man than I am, if I were a
prudent
man, I’d get Aurelia to find you a suitable apartment and get you moved in there as soon as possible.

And yet I can’t bear to do that. And I don’t know what is worse - hurting you now by rejecting you, or hurting you eventually by giving you what you want now.

Of course, when what you want is also what
I
want, I can’t exactly be trusted to make that judgment, can I? …

But enough of standing here moping around like a sentimental fool, I’ve really got to pull myself together. Her bedroom door clicked shut soon after she fled upstairs and hasn’t opened since, so it’s probably safe to go upstairs now.

This is going to be a very awkward summer. I admit, I asked Aurelia to put her in the room across from mine because I wanted her as close by as possible, because I figured we were probably going to spend the rest of the summer fucking like bunnies anyway.

Except that now I’m going to have to walk past that door every night, knowing that my forbidden beauty is behind it, most likely sprawled seductively in bed, probably in some diaphanous nightie or other, maybe even naked.

I suppose I’m just going to have to take things in my own hands rather more than usual …

I quietly open my bedroom door, shut it almost as quietly, then sink into a chair, relieved to suddenly have some privacy. For a moment I think that here at least I can have a modicum of sanity, that even if I jerk off to thoughts of her here it will still all be abstract somehow and won’t actually have anything to do with her directly.

It’s a happy illusion that I - alas! - only preserve until I take off my jacket and realise that her little lace panties are still peeking out from one of my pockets.

They’re still wet, and unsurprisingly they still smell of her sweet pussy when I sniff them.

A glorious pussy that I’ve just felt convulsing in pleasure, unfortunately not around my dick, so much the worse!

Groaning with thwarted lust, I lick a wet spot - it tastes like heaven - and then wrap the panties around my cock, which at this point is crying out for attention.

It’s with an almost vicious pleasure that I see my pre-cum leak onto the delicate fabric, mingling with her juices. Because it’s almost like defiling my sweet virginal Evie herself - almost - and, well, isn’t that what I really want to do, after all?

It doesn’t take me long to get the answer to
that
question when I start stroking my cock while sniffing her defiled panties and imagining her with one leg wrapped around me as I fuck her against the wall, till she comes again and again, moaning the way she did when I was finger-fucking her …

As I feel my balls tighten I move her panties back down so that I can come on them, which I do, in multiple thick, hot spurts.

So much cum. A shame I couldn’t empty my balls into
her
instead …

As if to compensate for that I wipe my dick off with her cum-drenched panties and toss them beside my pillow - I’ll probably have occasion to despoil that sweet little scrap of fabric again before I fall asleep …

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I don’t understand what just happened. He was so passionate, so happy when he saw me come, and then suddenly he wanted me to go, just like that.

Why wouldn’t he let me return the favor? I wanted to, so, so much. And until his mood changed it seemed he was quite happy for me to service him as well. Why would a guy - let alone a guy with a healthy libido, such as he’s reputed to be
and
clearly seems to be - turn down a blowjob?

He was still hard when he ordered me to leave, so I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything to physically repulse him.

Quite on the contrary, actually - after I heard him enter his room and close the door, I snuck out to brush my teeth and as I walked past his door I heard some heavy breathing and groaning from in there, and I have to admit that I decided to eavesdrop a little, just out of curiosity. And while I can’t be
absolutely
sure of it, I could have sworn that he said my name more than once - “oh, Evie, Evie,” that sort of thing - before he emitted a strange sound, a sound somewhere between a roar and a grunt.

Of course, at that point I quickly tiptoed off to the bathroom, because he probably wouldn’t have liked me to have heard him jerking off …

So at least I know that my desire for him isn’t one-sided, which is a comfort to some extent.

It must have been something I said. He turned so very pale when I said I wanted to be his naughty little girl.

But why? I thought that was the sort of thing men liked the idea of. Especially since he’s significantly older than I am.

Can it be possible that the age difference actually bothers him, rather than turning him on?

And yet it’s not like he didn’t know my age from the very beginning. It certainly didn’t seem to bother him in the restaurant, when he thought that I’d ordered the orange juice because I was still not supposed to be drinking back in the States.

If anything, I got the impression that he found it rather -
piquant
, to say the least.

That leaves one possibility - unfortunately it’s the one I don’t understand at all, the one that has to do with his strange reaction in the restaurant when he heard that I was Victoria Smythson’s daughter. For some reason that connection seems to make him consider me off-limits …

Albeit not
so
off-limits that he couldn’t finger my virgin pussy and look really excited by the idea of me sucking him off and being his little plaything - at least as long as I didn’t say anything about being his “little girl” …

God I hope they weren’t involved. Not in
that
way, at any rate.

It’s almost like she just gets all the men. Even now …

And besides I don’t see why he’s making such a big deal out of it. That would all have been such a long time ago. And he has a bit of a reputation for being a bit of a bad boy when it comes to the ladies anyway, so I don’t know why he’s suddenly being so over-scrupulous about the whole thing.

With any luck he’ll change his mind. It was so hot tonight when he did what he did, I’m getting wet just thinking about how it felt to make out with him.

And the orgasm he gave me! …

Well, I suppose he
is
a pianist as well, and maybe that’s why he knows so well how to use his hands, ha!

Oh God I want him so much it’s not funny. It’s not like I’ve never fantasised about him till today, but now that I’ve actually experienced him up close and personal I want him more than ever, and for real. It was one thing to look at his chiseled features, thick dark hair and beautiful erect posture from a distance or in photographs, quite another to actually feel that hard, manly body against mine, to feel that amazing cock with my hand.

Too bad I didn’t get to see him naked!

I wonder what I should do tomorrow. I don’t want to go
so
far that he throws me out of here, but on the other hand I suspect that given the right visual stimulus he’ll be more than happy to make the first move himself.

After all, he was the one who initiated our makeout session earlier today …

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Well, it’s morning again. In the bright morning light last night seems almost like an unbelievable fever dream - seeing my gorgeous Evie naked, kissing her, touching her. Jerking off onto her little panties more than once, smelling our mingled fluids on it.

Fuck, I’m such a perv, I can’t believe I’m doing this sort of thing. I’ve never been much of a panty fetishist - I mean, when I have a beautiful woman with me, why would I need her undies?

Of course, Evie’s not exactly available to me …

God I’m getting hard all over again just looking at those panties of hers, especially when it occurs to me that I’m probably going to have to keep them.

I mean, I can’t exactly hand them to her now - “Hi Evie, here are your panties, sorry they’re a little, um,
used
, I got a bit carried away last night.” And even if I got them laundered, I’d still have to allude to how I came by them. And I really don’t need to remind her of how she obediently took them off at my order.

Fuck, I don’t need to remind
myself
of how she obediently took them off at my order. Especially not in front of her, not when she’s now aware of the fact that all I need is to have her in the same room for me to get hard …