Jocelyn bends in closer, this time with a nervous anticipation on her part and begins to unzip my fly. She slowly slides it down and undoes the button.
I cannot believe this is happening. I lift my ass a bit as she gives my jeans a tug.
Okay, this is fucking insane. My stepmom is leaning over so close now that I can see down her shirt that she changed into after we got home.
I can see her magnificent fucking tits swinging freely, not sagging at all and I could die fucking happy right there.
My jeans are relatively loose enough that Jocelyn is able to use one hand to pull them down to my knees.
And that's when my cock, loosened from the constraints of my jeans, pops up, pushing my boxer briefs out. It creates a lewd tent inches from her face.
"I can see someone is a bit excited," she says, looking at me with a smile. "Are you sure you can keep this a secret?"
I nod my head. "Oh yeah," I moan as she raises herself over me. This time, I'm staring right at her chest. The time for hiding my interest in her is gone. I bring my right hand over and rest it on her ass, squeezing it through her black yoga pants.
"Can you follow directions?" she asks me.
"Depends on whether I like them or not," I tell her with a smirk. "Can you?"
"Mm-hmm," she says, almost distracted by the sight of my cock. "Do you like my hand on your cock?"
"Yes, I do," I say to her, wondering what her game is. "Do you like my hand on your ass?"
She nods her head, not saying anything.
"It's so fucking tight, I just want to rub my cock all over it," I tell her, not believing the words coming out of my mouth.
This is like some twisted dream. Way beyond anything I could ever jerk off to. My Dad's new wife sitting on my lap, straddling me, with her hand around my cock.
Her eyes are focused on my cock, as her hand moves up and down, carefully jerking me off. I'm still wearing my boxer briefs, but I'm not complaining. Nor am I making any move to take them off. Whatever she wants to do. This situation is too fucking crazy as it is.
I'm silent, watching her. Her breathing is coming in gasps.
I'm going to cum soon. No way I can fucking sit here and take this from an angel like her.
That's when I hear a clatter in the kitchen. Both of us look toward the sound, her hand coming off my cock in an instant.
There's a pause and then muffled feminine cursing in Spanish.
It's Rosa-part of the cleaning staff for the townhouse.
Fucking Christ.
Jocelyn gets off of me and stands up in a heartbeat. She looks at me, and I see a flash of despair go over her eyes.
It's nothing compared to what I'm fucking feeling right here. My cock is so fucking close to erupting. But it's out of the question with Rosa in the other room.
Sighing, I stand up and put my boxer briefs back on, and zip up my jeans.
Jocelyn's already left the room without another word.
It takes several deep breaths before I do the same.
I need to fucking calm down.
That shit was close. Any minute we could have been found out. No way Rosa would keep something like that quiet. The tabloids would pay a pretty fucking penny for a story like that. And that would be it for me. And Jocelyn.
No, I want you to listen to me as I tell you this. Because this shit is important.
I can't let something like this happen with Jocelyn. Ever. Again.
If you see something like this happening, just fucking tell me to get the hell out of this situation, okay?
I'm dancing on the edge of the fire here. And I need your help before I get fucking burned.
99
Jocelyn
I go into the townhouse through the back entrance, not wanting to cause too much of a fuss. I don't need the footman, the bellman, the doorman and the various members of the staff to stop what their doing and set it down to wish me a happy birthday today. I don't want to be a bother to them.
Besides, if I really wanted to give myself a birthday present, I should try and do what I've been doing the last three days since the incident with Lance and I on the couch. That is, to avoid him completely.
Although in my case, the only way I've been able to avoid him has been to spend as much time away from the house as possible.
It's doable. With Michael's campaign not getting into full swing for a another couple of weeks, it gives me time to myself.
Sounds easy enough, right, hun?
Nope. And before you get upset at me that I may have tricked you into answering, please let me just say that I love the fact that you're here and listening to me. I've never had someone like this who I could talk to about anything and everything.
Even my girlfriend from college who I met for lunch at 40 Carrot today for yogurt couldn't understand what I was complaining about.
"So he doesn't fuck you, this Michael," she said as we began to scoop our yogurt and looked at the people walking into and out of Bloomingdales. "You better count your blessings, girl."
"It's not that, Cheryl," I told her with a sigh. "It's just that Michael seems to despise not just having sex with me but everything about me."
"I don't know, girl," she says looking at me. "Why would he do everything you say he did to marry you if he's not even going to talk to you or try to paw at your beautiful body? And don't tell me it was to win some election."
But that's exactly what it is, I think to myself as I replay Cheryl's words as I walk into the darkened townhouse. That's exactly why he kept me around. The optics of a beautiful wife are much better than being single.
Oh, right, I forgot to mention that I went to lunch with Cheryl to celebrate my birthday. I officially turned 36 today. Married to a man who doesn't love me. In a marriage that I can't get out of.
Well, I guess it could be worse. Mom and dad are probably pretty aware of the fact that I'm not going to be able to give them grandkids anytime soon. So thankfully they don't hassle me about that.
But still, I'd like to be able to someday. I don't know if that's something to realistically plan for anymore, though. Not with Michael at least.
I walk through the darkened house. Michael is probably at a work function or a campaign related event. I don't know where Lance is. But that's more of a relief than a worry.
If Lance were here, I don't know if I'd be able to control myself. Not today, of all days.
That's when a single light goes on in the living room. I turn around and gasp.
I really should make sure things are as they are before telling you about them.
Because there stands Lance, in front of the window overlooking Carl Schurz Park. I didn't spot him at first because it was dark, but I see him quite clearly now.
He's standing next to a table with two glasses of champagne and the bottle in a chilled ice bucket. Next to the bottle and ice bucket is a multi-layered tray, holding an assortment of delectable items-canapes, chocolate covered strawberries, grapes, mini-quiche.
I gasp.
"Happy birthday, Jocelyn," he says, taking a glass and walking up to me.
I hadn't expected this.
I hadn't expected anything.
"How did you know?" I manage to ask as he walks up to me and hands me the glass. "I never told you."
I can smell his cologne. I can feel the warmth of his large, hard body as he stands next to me and we clink our glasses before taking a sip.
"Come on," he says teasingly. "You're a fucking public figure, I looked you up on Wikipedia," he says to me with a smirk.
I blush. I don't know what to say. What does a girl say in this instance?
"Oh?" I manage, completely off balance. "And do you Wikipedia everyone you know?"
Lance shrugs. I was curious.
That's it. My mind is spinning at a mile a minute.
Why did he look up my age? To see if anything with me was appropriate? Could he be interested in me?
Well, of course, he must be interested in me. I had his cock in my hands the other day. I was sitting on his lap. Making a fool of myself.
"Hey," Lance says, taking a step closer to me. He bends his knees, bringing his face more on level with mine. "You okay?"
I close my eyes, trying to keep the tears away. God, does he know just how much I want him? How when I leave the house to go to the gym nowadays I keep imagining his body that day that I saw him working out? How every spare moment I think back to Central Park and nestling my head in his chest after he rescued me.
"It's nothing," I tell him, shaking my head and opening my eyes and trying to smile. "I'm just sad I'm growing old," I lie.
He takes my champagne glass from my hands and places it on the table. While there he pushes something on his phone and the speakers in the living room come to life, playing soft, smooth, simple jazz.
"Age is just a number, Jocelyn," Lance tells me. "It's what you do with your life that tells people how old you are."
"And when did you become so wise?" I ask him with a teasing smile as he comes close to me once more. "You don't sound like the Lance Anders I know."
"Is this what you fucking want?" he asks me and takes another step closer, looking down at me from his height.
I giggle. I can't help it.
"The one who takes what he wants and doesn't let the word no stop him?" I ask, batting my eyes.