Burying His Desires

I fell into the cool sheets of my own bed vibrating with heat. One erection in a million shouldn’t even faze me, but Michael’s had sent me spinning. Anguish over Mom’s death lingered, but I needed something to forget it. The sight of Michael’s hard cock only succeeded in bringing back the image of the dream I’d had and all my old, illicit fantasies I’d entertained before I learned that it was wrong to think of my stepfather that way.

“He’s only my stepfather, not a blood relative,” I whispered, stretching logic as far as I could as I slipped deft fingers between my slick folds and went to work, thinking of what could have happened if I’d given in to the urge I’d had to touch him.

When I fell asleep the dream was back, but this time the voice and face were unmistakably his.

The next morning he was back to normal. Or rather, what he must have thought normal should be, which was entirely out of character for him. He made pancakes, served me juice, then sat down and ate with me, devouring his own breakfast like a hungry kid.

His abandon subsided quickly, though. As he polished off his breakfast his face took on a businesslike expression.

“I have to go meet with the funeral director.”

“Do you want me to come?” I asked.

He looked out those damn windows again, his jaw clenching. Seeing a powerful man broken down was heartbreaking. He probably did need me there with him, but he was way too proud to admit it.

“No. I’ll take care of everything. You should start going through Maggie’s things. See if there’s anything you want. The rest is getting auctioned after the funeral.”

“All right. Call me?”

He didn’t call, of course. He was in control as always and that meant keeping me out of the loop until he deemed it necessary. So I did what he’d asked.

Her closet was huge. Bigger than the one at our last place which was also massive. In the center of the room was a long, tufted bench of gray suede that ran the length of the space. It was surrounded on three sides by mirrored doors that, when opened, revealed hundreds of suits and gowns in myriad different expensive fabrics.

“God, Mom, I had no idea you were such a fashion fiend.”

I flipped through the hangers and identified a half dozen different designers. I didn’t love designer clothes the way she did, but I still loved trying them on. Every so often Mom would give me a random piece of clothing that had a designer label, but I always thought it was an outlet find. Now I knew better.

And I had nothing better to do.

“I kind of think you’d love to see me try all this shit on, wouldn’t you, Mom?”

I stripped naked, then picked a short, slinky blue number first, threw it on over my naked body.

It clung to me just like I thought it might’ve done to Mom. Everyone had always said we looked like sisters, just before I went to college. She’d had me at twenty and we’d been close as I grew up. I always thought Mom was more beautiful. She had a commanding presence that always turned people’s heads. She was always the brightest star in the sky. When I was younger I wished I could be more like her, but I still loved basking in her glow.

The next dress was an evening gown with sparkling black sequins all over it. It fit me like a glove, the slick silk lining of the dress sliding against my hips, clinging to me in a way nothing ever had before. I stepped out of the closet to find the full-length mirror and see myself better.

I looked like her at a Broadway debut. I could do more with my hair, but I had the same golden waves that were part of Mom’s trademark. My breasts filled out the bodice just the way hers might, and the dress accentuated my hips and ass, making me feel like a star.

“Take it off.” Michael’s voice startled me at first until I registered who it was.

“Michael? I was just going through…”

“Take the fucking dress off. What were you thinking?”

“You wanted me to look! See if there was anything I wanted.”

“Not that dress. Jesus, Brit…” He trailed off, his gaze sliding down my body. Heat flickered within those blue eyes, along with something else. Something primal and terrifying, but the lower his gaze went, the hotter I got.

What the hell was he seeing? Was I just a little girl playing dress-up? I’d done it hundreds of times before he and Mom got married, but had outgrown the habit by the time he came into the picture. But even when I was older, dressing up for school dances, he’d never looked at me like this before.

Fear churned in my belly at that dark look, but something else hit me lower.

When he spoke again, his voice was alien to me, frightening. “Take. It. Off.”

“Okay, I will. But…”

“Now!”

In an instant he reached out, clutched the bodice of the dress and ripped.

My breasts spilled out as sparkling sequins skittered across the hardwood floor. The multiple mirrors of the closet doors reflected my shame.

Michael’s hot glare was the last thing I saw before he clasped my head violently and pulled me to him. His lips crashed bruisingly against mine and his tongue shoved between, relentless. His crushing grip left my upper arm and his fingers dug into my breast, his thumb swiping back and forth across my nipple.

The roughness of his touch did nothing to cool me off. It was beyond wrong, but my body responded. I pressed against him and moaned into his mouth, too dizzy from the surprising pleasure of his touch to know any better.

His tongue withdrew, leaving behind lips that were hot and soft. Each shift of his mouth pulled at my lips, pulled at my defenses. He was supposed to be the one in control but this kiss was obviously beyond that. He didn’t even stop. His tongue plunged into my mouth once more and I devoured it, sucked it deep and teased like the whore I must be if I had succeeded in seducing this man without even trying.

He pulled back, dazed, and released me with a sudden, harsh shove. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Before I could even catch my breath he disappeared through the bedroom door, slamming it behind him.

I collapsed on the floor, sobbing. My body thrummed with desire beyond any I’d ever experienced. I’d had a steady boyfriend about a year ago and had enjoyed sex with him well enough, along with a couple poorly thought out one-night-stands, but never had as strong a driving need for release as I did just then. Not a single man I’d ever met had driven me as mad with desire. But this one I had to forget.

I peeled myself out of the ruined dress and threw it in the trash, then slunk back to my room to shower.

Once I was clean, the way forward seemed clear. I had to forgive Michael and hope he’d forgive me, too. We could move on if we did that. We were still a family, even if it was only just the two of us. I didn’t want to lose that.

I donned the least attractive pajamas I owned—a simple tank top and sweat pants—and went to find him.

He sat slumped over his desk, his bare shoulders shaking with sobs. A tumbler of amber liquid rested by his hand, a half-full bottle next to it.

I walked in cautiously. “Michael, it’s okay. We’re okay.” I reached out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch or draw away, I slid my palm along his shoulder blades, stroking to comfort him.

After a moment his breathing evened and he shuddered out a deep sigh. “That dress. It’s what she wore the night I met her. I’m sorry.” He let out another sob and without looking at me he hooked one arm around my waist and pulled me to him, shifting his bowed head so that his tear-stained cheek rested against my belly. I threaded my fingers through his hair, just hoping to comfort him somehow, too bewildered by his grief now to acknowledge my own anymore.

He swiveled his chair and wrapped both arms tight around me, clinging and pulling me against him. I went, finding my own comfort in his closeness. We held each other like that, with his face flush against my stomach and my arms wrapped around his shoulders, stroking gently. The smell of the whiskey he’d drunk wafted hotly to my nostrils. There was still a shot of it left in his glass and I reached for it and tossed it back, hoping it would at least give me more courage.

“It’s okay,” I said again.

He murmured something unintelligible into my navel, the movement of his head causing my top to ruck up an inch. His hot breath hit my bare skin, cooling the smear of his tears, and I tensed, unprepared for the spike of pleasure that tiny sensation sent through me.

Michael seemed to grow very still for a moment, then his large hands splayed flat against my back and slid down while he turned his face into me. His lips brushed against the bare skin below my navel and I shivered but didn’t move away. I closed my eyes, my fingers clutching tighter at the nape of his neck, just waiting to see what he would do.

The hands at my back found the hem of my shirt and pushed it higher. His lips slid up my stomach in its wake, tongue darting out to taste at intervals. He didn’t open his eyes once, but kept exploring by touch. His hands shifted to the front and pulled my tank top off over my head, then returned to my breasts, cupping them gently.

His hot breath blew against my already tight nipples, each light gust making the disorienting buzz of desire in my head grow more intense. I should have stopped him. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t. And, oh God, what would Mom think?

None of those thoughts mattered when he latched his mouth on one nipple and sucked. The zing of pleasure undid me and I clutched his head tight to me, tilting my hips into him and moaning. My only thought was how much better this was than all my old fantasies.

The response threw him into action. He tugged roughly at the waistband of my sweats and I was too overwhelmed to object. My body needed to be touched. Before I could react, his large hands gripped my hips and lifted, then set me down on his desk. His blue eyes were wide open now and glassy from drink, but somehow still completely aware. He looked like he knew precisely what he was doing, but didn’t care when he spread my legs, pulled me close, and buried his mouth against my pussy.

The hot plunge of his tongue into my wet depths surprised me at first, then it slid back out and the tip toyed with my throbbing clit. He did things I’d never experienced. Made me feel surprising things that I had never even imagined I could feel from simple oral sex. With his fingers buried deep inside me, he raised up to look at me.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so beautiful like this, Brit. I want you to come for me, baby.”

He bent his head again, sucked my clit between his lips and did something with his tongue that destroyed me. I was beyond reason when I came, my voice high and clear and out of my control when I cried out, “Daddy! Fuck!”

I immediately regretted it when he abruptly stopped with a grunt of alarm, but when I opened my eyes I didn’t see him retreating. Instead, he’d stood and dropped his shorts, his huge erection bobbing between his legs.

“I’m not your Daddy, baby. I never was. But you can say it if it makes you feel good when I fuck you.” With that, he clutched the backs of my knees with both hands and spread me wide, pressing his thick tip at my entrance. His cock stretched me painfully and he seemed to sense the resistance. He slid into me with excruciating slowness, his fevered gaze taking in my face and breasts. His cock sank so deep and filled me so fully, I had trouble even breathing.

Trickles of tears fled my eyelids and trailed down my temples into my hair, but they weren’t from grief this time—they were from pure pleasure. I wrapped my legs around Michael’s hips and pulled him tighter against me, just so there could be no mistake that I wanted him there. He bent and braced his hands on either side of my head, then began to move, his strong biceps flexing with each undulation of his hips. I let out a sharp, surprised cry when he pulled out of me and slammed back in.

“Your pussy is so damn tight, baby. Tell me how many cocks have had a taste of it before me.”

“J-just a couple. Th-three.”

“Did the others make you come?” he murmured against one breast, his lips brushing against my nipple. He kept fucking while he looked up at me, eyebrows raised expectantly. The pink tip of his tongue darted out, teasing at my hardened flesh, the zing of pleasure making my pussy clench hard around him.

“No.”

“Do you want me to make you come again?” With that question he latched onto my nipple and sucked hard.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back with a harsh groan. “Oh, God yes. Please.”

“Then I need you to say it again. Call me what you did just now, baby. I need to hear it from your lips when you come on my cock.”

“Make me come, Daddy. Please!”

He slid his arms beneath my shoulders and scooped me up, holding tight to me as he lowered himself back down into his chair. My hips settled against his, the entire hard length of him sinking even deeper. The pressure of him inside me made me lose my breath again.

Michael held my face between his palms and kissed me, his tongue sweeping between my lips with a light tease before insistently pushing deeper. I opened up with a shuddering moan, tasting the hot oaky flavor of the whiskey he’d drunk. His cock felt too good, buried inside me. I couldn’t not move. With the first fresh grind of my hips on his he released a rough growl into my mouth. I braced my hands on his shoulders and used the leverage to fuck him as hard as I could, delirious from the feel of him, so big his cock ~owned ~me entirely, from the inside out.

“That’s right, Brit. Fuck my cock. Take it like a big girl. Make yourself come with Daddy’s big, hard shaft buried inside your sweet, tight little pussy.”

The shock of the words made my entire body shiver with pleasure. I had never imagined sex could feel so amazing, so perfect. But in spite of the dirty things he said that sounded so wrong, but so utterly perfect, his loving gaze was what finally sent me over. My body betrayed me before I could even prepare myself, spasms of ecstasy clenching hard at my core and soon all I could do was simply ride out the waves.

“Oh, God. I love you!” I heard myself cry, far beyond control of my actions.

He clutched at me hard and buried his face against my throat, his hips thrusting up to meet each of my frantic undulations. “I love you, Brit,” he said in strangled words when his semen shot deep into me.

We clung to each other while we caught our breath. I was so afraid he’d lash out again, but he didn’t. Instead he simply lifted me off him and set me back on his desk like I weighed nothing. His gaze drifted down my body, hovering at the mess we’d both made between my legs. For a second he seemed utterly fascinated by my pussy and reached out to trail fingertips over the sparse, dark gold curls. I didn’t think I could handle more contact, but the almost worshipful look in his eyes kept me from stopping him.

“Christ, you’re perfect in every way, aren’t you?” he whispered. “Right down to your pretty pink pussy. Hard to believe something as big and crude as my cock fit inside.”

“You felt good,” I said, grabbing his hand before he went further. “I don’t think your cock is crude, anyway. You’re kind of gorgeous. I…I’ve always thought so.”

He gave me a rueful smile. “Next to you, everything about me is crude, baby. I shouldn’t have…” His expression darkened and he stepped away, regret washing over him before he covered his face with his hands. “What the fuck are we doing? Get dressed. Now.”

Bewildered, I stood and found my clothes. “Michael, it’s all right,” I said, moving close and touching his shoulder. He grabbed my hand, his eyes boring into me. I wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss me again or push me away. But I had a feeling he wasn’t sure either.

“Brit, please. What we just did wasn’t exactly right. Do you understand that?”

I clenched my teeth, unwilling to accept the suggestion that the two of us loving each other could be wrong. “We made love. That’s all. You said it yourself: you’re ~not~ my father, and you never were. I’ve been in love with you as long as I’ve known you.”

His face was wet with tears when he looked down at me again, his eyes filled with pain. My own grief welled up in response to the look. All I wanted was to comfort him, and to find my own comfort in his strong arms, but without him accepting me as a lover that might be impossible to ever have again.

The loss of his love and comfort hit me hard and I left the room, struggling to keep the roiling knot of despair from strangling me. I’d gotten to experience something I’d only ever fantasized about until tonight, but I’d been right to put distance between us all this time.

I tumbled into my bed a moment later and let go, sobbing hard into my pillow, overwhelmed partly with grief, but also confusion and uncertainty about what it all meant.