Falling for My Boyfriend's Dad(9)

     



 

So I continued to watch out of the corner of my eye as the little girl  brought herself to heaven, and fuck, but it was amazing. She was so  tight, that vaginal opening so tiny, so small, I wasn't even sure my  cock would fit when the time came. Because oh yeah, the time would come,  it's just a question of when at this point, no woman that beautiful,  that tantalizing, gets away after showing off her beautiful cunt,  glistening and gorgeous.

So I waited until she was finished before wanking off. And fuck, I hope  Ally didn't hear because the minute her door closed, I let out a roar of  desire, of cum, of sheer lust, as I imagined the hard pound in her  future, how I was going to burrow inside that tiny cunt until she  screamed, until she pulsed hotly around me, coming hard on my dick again  and again as her boobs bounced, her pussy so fucked.

And as for the fact that she's my son's girlfriend? It should bother me,  but it doesn't. Because something's wrong with that boy, I just haven't  figured it out yet. Jonah's got his head screwed on wrong and I want to  find out what it is after eighteen years of absence from his life. But  for now, I fucking don't care. Because he hasn't marked her, there's no  way a woman marked goes around showing her cunt to another man, creaming  hard, touching herself for an alpha to see. So Jonah be damned because  the brunette's not his woman  …  she's mine, and what's next is making  sure she knows it.





CHAPTER SIX


Ally




"Hi," I murmured, wandering into the kitchen. It was Thanksgiving and  I'd put on some nice clothes, a plaid skirt and matching turtleneck that  outlined my curves. The skirt went to my knee so it wasn't crazy short,  and the turtleneck, while tight, wasn't obscenely so, highlighting my  assets rather than clinging like saran wrap. But still, I was slightly  breathless around Mr. Martin, body on high, all senses tingling. He was  so gorgeous after all, and I'd just done the nasty last night, baring my  pussy to him, fingering myself until I came.

Get a grip, I scolded myself sternly. Calm down, act normal, you're a  guest in his house, the little voice reminded. I'd been naughty, more  than naughty yes, but Mr. Martin didn't know. All he knew was that I was  his son's girlfriend visiting for the holidays, a freshman at the same  school.

So I smiled at him again, teasing, brown eyes wide.

"Bacon and eggs?" I asked lightly. "But I thought we were having Thanksgiving lunch in a couple hours."

"We are," he grinned at me from the griddle. "But I don't want my guests  to go hungry, and who knows, maybe they don't feed you enough at  school."

I blushed as my mouth watered from the appetizing scents filling the  air. Bacon always does that to me, it makes me salivate, shooting my  senses into overdrive with the crispy, crackly smells. Vegans would have  my head with how much I love the pork fat, each strip juicy and browned  just so. But I didn't want to seem like a pig so I perched on the  counter stool and smiled back at him.

"No, we get enough to eat, thanks," I said cheerily. "In fact, the food  at school is so heavy, so creamy that I've gained the freshman fifteen  and then some. It's more like the freshman twenty for me and first  semester's not even over yet."

And was it my imagination, but did Mr. Martin's eyes linger a little too  long on my breasts, on the curvy shape of my ass perched on the stool?  His eyes slid away quickly, and I reprimanded myself. Get a grip, he's  not looking at you, I scolded.

But the big man actually looked at me straight then, expression firm.

"You look great," he said seriously. "I've always liked women with a  little extra, and the twenty pounds look amazing. Girls these days are  so tiny they always look like they're going to break in half or worse,  shatter if you so much as blow on them."

And I blushed a little. Shatter from being bent over backwards, taking  his dick deep and hard? Break in half because the women were ripped in  two by his huge cock, savoring his dominance? Oh god, I only wished it  was me, prayed that it could be me. But these thoughts were so wrong,  everything about this conversation was wrong. I was making conversation  with my boyfriend's dad about women's bodies and it was illicit  territory, we should have been chatting about the weather or school or  something light. But instead we were discussing female shapes and in  particular, my curvy form.

But I forced myself to get a grip again. Women's bodies are always being  scrutinized, I reminded myself. It's the whole objectification thing  you learned in that gender studies class, no big deal, Mr. Martin's not  even really talking about you, he's talking about women in general.         

     



 

So I took a deep breath and smiled lightly, eyes dancing.

"Tell that to the boys at school," I said teasingly. "I think guys these  days like skinnier girls. Even Jonah's told me to get to the gym more  often."

And Mr. Martin frowned then, a scowl descending over his face.

"Those guys are motherfuckers," he growled, turning back to the pan and  cooking with a frenzy once more. "They have no idea what the fuck  they're talking about, they have no idea how good flesh feels, how  fucking amazing it is with a real woman. And my son," he ground out,  looking me straight in the eye, "is a fool and then some. Ignore him,"  he commanded. "That boy's got his head in the clouds, he's got his own  hang-ups."

I smiled privately then. Jonah had more than hang-ups, he had a  lifestyle that his dad probably knew nothing about, something involving  whips, chains, cages and humiliation. But it was the perfect time to  change the topic.

"Is Jonah up yet?" I asked casually, looking around. Truth be told, I  had no idea if the boy had even come home last night. After my little  show, I'd passed out, sated on pleasure, exhausted, sleeping like a log.

And Mr. Martin shook his head.

"Naw, not up," he drawled. "I think he's still in his room, dead to the  world, he'll be snoozing until eleven," he said wryly, scooping some  bacon onto a plate. Mmm, the meat sizzled as I watched, oil pooling on  the flat surface. "How was the party last night?"

I flushed, biting my lip. Should I tell him what I'd seen, that his son  was into BDSM? Not that the lifestyle is wrong or anything, but Jonah  was clearly into it. And not just a little bit, but a lot because his  relationship with Mistress Sarah wasn't a one-time thing, this wasn't  his first time playing the slave. But I decided against it. Jonah's  secret wasn't my tale to tell, so I fibbed, glossing over the truth and  keeping things easy.

"It was good," I said, nonchalant. "Sarah's really nice, it was nice of her to host so many people at her parents' place."

And Mr. Martin shot me a glance then, eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

"Sarah Jones, nice?" he said dryly. "Go figure, even hell froze over."

Oh shit, had I said something wrong? How much did Rob know about the  woman's lifestyle? But I scolded myself, telling my heart to calm down.  Keep it steady, keep it lighthearted, I reminded myself. Assume Mr.  Martin doesn't know anything, you're just a guest in his house for  Thanksgiving.

So I just nodded again.

"Yeah, really nice," I chirped, a little too cheery. "Really friendly."

And the big man lifted an eyebrow again, his hand pulling out cutlery from a drawer.

"Oh really?" he asked, amused. "And was her boyfriend there?"

My heart seized in my chest. Oh shit, Sarah had a boyfriend? After  everything I'd seen last night, Jonah on his knees, crying as she  smashed her pussy into his face, the blonde had a boyfriend? Which one  of the men had it been? Did she have his permission to do this? Had they  struck some kind of deal where they could see other people? So I began  babbling madly, stumbling over my words.

"Yeah, yeah, I met him," I said, voice going at a million miles an hour.  "He was there, really nice too, a really, super nice guy," I said,  nodding furiously. "I hope I get to see them again."

And Mr. Martin paused again, this time switching off the stove and  turning to look at me. Those blue eyes were so knowing, so dominating,  and god, but he was gorgeous even with an apron on, the feminine wear  emphasizing his broad frame, the wide shoulders and strong arms.

"Ally," he said, voice silky. "Sarah doesn't have a boyfriend."

And I choked, my voice coming to a halt.

"Maybe I was wrong," I said hurriedly. "Maybe it was someone else's  boyfriend and I got mixed up, there were so many people there, it was  really dark."

And Mr. Martin shook his head again.

"No, Ally, you weren't mixed up, you're just not quite as perceptive as  you think," he said again, that voice dangerously soft, eyes boring into  mine.

And my heart pounded in my chest, breath coming rapidly.

"You're right," I babbled. "There were so many people at the party and I  was drinking, I know I shouldn't have been because I'm not twenty-one,  but it was just some light stuff to get me buzzed, nothing else."