Falling for My Boyfriend's Dad(14)

But Jonah was now droning on and on about the benefits of the Caribbean,  all the animals you could see, the manta rays and multitudes of fish  although, like I mentioned before, the boy can't swim. So his words  surrounded my head like a fog because I wasn't hearing any of it. Fuck  no, my body was giving it all up under the table, shooting cum for the  second time in hours, jerking and spurting as the little girl drank it  all up. And as soon as I was done, those small fingers pinched my dick  tip hard once, as a good-bye, squeezing my balls and Ally's brunette  curls reappeared from under the table a moment later.

"Hey, I finished," she panted lightly, shooting a bright smile at both  of us. Holy shit, was that  … ? Because as I watched, she licked her lips  lightly, catching the slight smear of cum at the corner of her mouth,  her tongue a sweet, flickering pink, bringing the white in before  swallowing it once more. "Sorry it took so long."

And amazingly, when she opened her palm, there were quite few kernels of  corn there, like the brunette really had been picking up under the  table.

"Think I got ‘em all," she said sweetly, "Let me just go throw this away."

And with that, she lifted herself out from under the table entirely,  pulling that plaid skirt down over the curvy form and tripping off to  the kitchen in search of the garbage can. I couldn't help it this time. I  gaped as she walked, hips swaying, brown locks bouncing, her body  covered inside and out with my cum. Because yeah, I'd drenched her  earlier this morning, forcing her to put her clothes back on without a  chance to towel off, and now I'd drenched her again, the little girl  drinking my hot juice.

And oh fuck, oh fuck, this had all happened with my son by my side, and none the wiser too.

"Yeah, Ally's something, isn't she?" he smirked. "She just picked up  corn one by one from the floor, kernel by kernel. If that doesn't make  for a good girlfriend, I don't know what does."         

     



 

And I swung on him then, careful to keep my expression neutral.

"Naw, she just dropped some food on the floor and wanted to make sure  she was a considerate guest, nothing more," I said. "Didn't want the  food to stain the carpet."

And Jonah smirked again.

"Well, I'm thinking about taking her to Bora Bora with me and having her  eat corn off me bit by bit," he said snugly. That made my hackles raise  for sure, I could feel the temperature zooming in my chest. But I  didn't get to be CEO by being an ass, losing it at the first  provocation, so I just looked at him casually, cutting the turkey with  my knife.

"Bora Bora's great," I said, "Just make sure you get a visa before you go, I don't think Americans can just show up anymore."

And that set Jonah off on another monologue about international politics  of which he knew nothing, interspersed with how unfair it was,  Americans had to purchase expensive visas so that the host country could  fatten their wallets. It might have been true, but it wasn't a concern  of ours, we had more than enough and I certainly didn't begrudge some  poor island country from making money off of tourism.

So I merely nodded, continuing to eat and at that moment, Ally came back in, smoothing her hair.

"Well, that's done," she said cheerily, sitting once more and pulling  her napkin into her lap. "I'm such a klutz, I hope I don't spill  anything else during this meal."

My body grew rock hard again because oh shit, there was so much on the  table still, green beans, summer squash, it was Thanksgiving and there  was a feast. Plenty to spill  …  and I already knew how my best girl liked  to clean it up.

And as if reading my mind, Ally turned to me once more.

"Mr. Martin," she said lightly, "I'm so sorry I messed up your Persian  carpet. Even though I tried to clean it as best I could, I know there's  probably some damage, even if it's just a little. Is there anything I  can do to make it up to you?" she asked innocently.

And at that, I growled, taking in those lips, those cheeks, those  delicate hands contrasted with the huge, bountiful breasts outlined in  her turtleneck sweater. Because yeah, there was a lot she could do to  make it up to me  …  and I'd have a lot of fun showing her exactly how I  liked it done.





CHAPTER EIGHT


Ally




Today's been crazy beyond my wildest dreams. Breakfast had been dipping  my pussy in the saucer of cream, and then during lunch, Thanksgiving  lunch no less, I sucked Mr. Martin. That's right, I got on my knees  under the table and sucked him off, right there with Jonah blabbing on  and on about something or other as I touched his dad privately, stroked  that cock and made it erupt.

And it was so good, so hot, so amazing, that was the thing. I'm a virgin  and yet I've been acting like a whore, doing things straight out of  porn movies, things I'd never imagined happened in real life. But with  the right man, anything is possible and with Mr. Martin, it felt oddly  right, good, and altogether amazing.

And that's part of the problem. He's my boyfriend's dad and decades  older than me, literally old enough to be my dad. I should have felt  guilty, I should have felt like scum, the equivalent of a chopped  earthworm, food for fish. But instead, I just felt light, curiously  happy and filled with rays of sunshine. It's like I was floating on a  breeze, not quite absorbing everything that was happening, but at the  same time, cruising with a wind beneath my wings.

So I lay in my bed, eyes squeezed shut, dreaming about the big man. Holy  shit, today's events had totally blown me away, completely, absolutely  crushed my ideas of how a man and woman can relate and I only wanted  more. I giggled slightly to myself, still cuddled up in the sheets. I  wanted more, yes, and Rob would give it to me on this trip hopefully.  After all, I was still a virgin and he'd do the deed, right?  De-virginize me, make me a real woman, whole and complete? I couldn't  wait, I wanted it, it was like I was on a break from my real life,  living in a movie for a little while.

Because the events of the day had me so ramped up that I was unable to  sleep, tossing and turning restlessly in the guest bed. My pussy tingled  still, mind going at a million miles an hour, the sheets twisted and  hot around my body. And sitting up with a jolt, I decided to fix it. I  was no longer the country bumpkin, I was a daring woman who went for  what I wanted, and I wanted Mr. Martin. I wouldn't do anything bad.  Well, not terribly bad. I just wanted to feel his dick in me, somewhere,  somehow.

So slowly, I cracked open the bedroom door. The hallway was dark, Jonah  going to bed early to sleep off his hangover, and I padded slowly  outside, my nightshirt floating breezily against my thighs. Where was  Mr. Martin? Was he working in his office again? Quickly I scanned the  hallway, but no, the door at the end was shut tight, imposing and darkly  silent.         

     



 

So I padded down the hall and rounded the corner, going up another  flight of stairs until a huge set of double doors greeted me. This had  to be it. The doors were heavy, ornate, and there was a dim pool of  light under the massive oak, beckoning to me. So slowly, oh so slowly, I  raised a small fist and knocked softly.

And a masculine voice immediately rang out.

"Come in Ally," he growled.

Oh god, how did he know it was me? Probably because just like the night  before, we were having a midnight rendezvous, illicitly playing in the  wee hours. And with a slow hand, I edged the massive door open, the huge  slab revealing Mr. Martin sitting in bed, bare-chested, with the sheet  pulled up to his hips, a small pool of lamplight illuminating that  bronzed chest. Oh god, he looked so good, so manly, his huge form dark,  demanding against the crisp white sheets, an alpha male come to life.

And those blue eyes seized mine.

"Come in, little girl," he said, a soft edge to that deep voice.

And with tentative steps, I went in, shutting the door behind me.

"Hi," I murmured, looking at him, trembling a bit as I hesitated by the  door. God, this was so wrong. The older man and I were clad in nothing  but  …  well, Mr. Martin could be wearing nothing, for all I knew, the  sheet was pulled up to his hips and maybe he was commando underneath.

But my nightshirt suddenly felt excitingly bare, small and flimsy under that hot blue gaze.

"Um, hi," I said again. "What are you reading?"

Because the big man had a book clasped in his hand, one that he shut, scrutinizing the cover.

"Just the latest Robert Ludlum," he rumbled, "nothing heavy, just a spy novel."

And I nodded.

"Oh yeah, I love Robert Ludlum," I agreed. "Especially the new stuff  written by a ghostwriter because Robert Ludlum actually passed away a  while back. Wait, you knew that, right?" I stopped, cheeks flushing. "I  didn't give it all away."

And the big man threw back his head and chuckled.