Taboo The Collection (15 page)

“Ohhh sweetheart,” he moaned, his hand in her hair, her mouth so soft, so slickly silky and yielding, he could almost imagine it was the hot clutch of her little cunt. Imagining that was almost too much. His balls tightened to the point of near-pain and he twisted in his seat, trying to hold it back, oh god, not yet, not quite yet.

She worked him only with her mouth, swallowing his length with greedy fervor, and the noises she made, her movements, drove him wild—the puff of her breath through her nostrils against his pubic hair, the way her hand, the one between his legs, balancing her over the console, moved between his thighs as she rocked, the impossibly soft skin on the inside of her wrist rubbing against his balls.

“Christa!” He cried out, trying to warn her, but she seemed to want it, almost as much as he did. When she pulled her mouth off him, just briefly, the change in sensation nearly sent him over the edge. But it was her words, those naughty, naughty words, that finally did it.

“Mmmm Daddy, my pussy is so fucking hot! Ohhh! I’m gonna make myself come!”

“Yes!” He thrust up, unable to hold it back anymore. “Oh honey, yes, come for Daddy!”

“Mmm! Mmm!”  Her mouth and throat worked him, deep and hard and hungry, mimicking the contractions of her spasming pussy.

“Ohhhh! Fuck! Now!” The first blast shot out of his balls with such force it shocked him, his cock erupting like a volcano, bathing his stepdaughter’s throat with a white hot lava. “Swallow Daddy’s cum, baby girl! Swallow it!”

She did, eagerly, sucking hard, insatiable, as if she could empty him completely. He felt her trembling, her whole body aquiver, and caught her instinctively as she collapsed over the console, panting and laughing, her cheek resting on his leg, her shoulder against the steering wheel, where he noted her gum, still fragrant, was stuck fast.

“Christa, I…” The shame of what he’d done overwhelmed him. He wanted to apologize, to take it back.

“Don’t you dare apologize!” She anticipated him, sitting up fast, brushing her long, tousled hair out of her face and licking her lips. Oh god,
she was licking his cum off her lips.
“Don’t you dare, Daddy!”

He didn’t. Instead, he went about straightening, tucking and zipping. He turned to her in the dark, wanted to reach for her hand, wanted to hold her, but didn’t know if he should. She giggled, so young and girlish, and it made him smile.

“Listen I—” He didn’t know what he would have said, but he never got the chance to say it, because the passenger door opened, startling them both.

“What
in the hell are you doing?” Rachel demanded, standing there in her robe.

That was a good question.

“I… we…” He seemed to be great at starting sentences tonight, not so great at finishing them.

“Ashley wasn’t feeling well, so I called Dad to pick me up.” Christa lied so smoothly that Jim gaped at her in awe. She was already slipping on her heels, getting out of the car. He followed his wife and stepdaughter, too dazed to do much else.

“What are you doing in that dress?” Rachel asked as they entered through the side door into the kitchen. It hadn’t registered, in the darkness, that Christa was wearing the dress he’d left for her mother, but he could clearly see it now. “I was going to return it!”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” She sailed past her mother, heading toward the stairs, calling over her shoulder. “Me and Ashley were playing dress-up.”

Rachel scoffed, calling after her, “You’re a little old for dress-up, Christa!”

Jim sat at the kitchen table, more to get off his unsteady feet than anything else. His wife turned her attention to him, arms still crossed over her chest, her white satin robe bright in the kitchen lights, and he wondered if she’d seen anything. She would say something, wouldn’t she? Accuse, rail at him, something.

“How was your little play?”

He blinked at her, trying to remember. Oh yes, there had been a play. He had written a play.

“Fine.”

“Jim…” His wife leaned back against the counter, tightening the sash on her robe. “I’ve been thinking.”

That makes one of us,
he thought. He hadn’t been thinking. Not at all.

“Yes?” He prompted when she didn’t continue, rubbing his eyes, seeing lightning bursts and fading spiderwebs. He was going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.

“I’m leaving.”

His head shot up, his eyes widening. “You’re… what?”

“I need a break.
We
need a break.” Rachel sighed. “I talked to Kathy on the phone after you left, and she invited me to her place in Florida for spring break. I booked the flight. It leaves tomorrow. I’m already packed.”

“Well.” What could he say? “If that’s what you want.”

“Okay. Good.” She nodded, like it was all decided. “I’m going to bed.”

He watched as she turned, padding barefoot past him. “Rachel?”

“What?” She stopped at the door, looking back at him.

He had a million questions and couldn’t think of one. Finally, he asked, “Why wouldn’t you come to the play?”

She sighed and shook her head, answering him cryptically. “That question is the very problem. Do you not know me at all?”

He sat back in his chair, wondering the same thing as she started out of the kitchen.

“Oh, Jim, please don’t forget to feed Taffy, okay?” She peered back around the doorway to remind him.

“Who?” He blinked at her, feeling as if he was in a dream. Maybe he was just still too drunk to process any of this.

“Taffy.” She pointed to the kitchen counter where her class rodent was busily shredding Kleenex.

“Oh.” He gave a brief nod. “Right. Sure. Not a problem.”

He listened to her climb the stairs. The house was so quiet he heard the familiar creak of the fifth step, the snick of their door closing. He should be devastated. Horrified. Panicked. Something.

But for some reason, all he could think about was his stepdaughter. He thought about her, upstairs in her room, how coolly she had handled herself, how composed she’d been. He thought about her mouth, her hands, her eyes, although he knew he shouldn’t. His marriage was crumbling and he couldn’t think about anything but fucking his stepdaughter—and his wife… his wife was worried about the fucking hamster.

That told him a hell of a lot.

* * * *

His office overlooked the backyard, which was a small affair, crowded with a little pond—ridiculous in the middle of Texas, the water constantly evaporated in the heat—and a huge trampoline. Christa used it regularly for cheerleading practice, and because he worked from home, he had the perfect vantage point for her after school antics. Today, though, Christa didn’t have school.

He knew that spring break week meant both his wife and stepdaughter would be home with him all day, although this morning his wife had left for Florida and his stepdaughter had taken off in her brand new 2011 red Mustang convertible to meet Ashley at the mall, leaving him alone, which was how he usually spent his days.

Work waited while he brewed coffee, searched the Internet, dabbled on World of Warcraft for a while and even played a few rounds of Solitaire. He couldn’t concentrate. Rachel had been in a better mood before she left, even kissing him goodbye and saying she’d call him when her plane landed.

“We’ll talk when I get home,” she’d whispered, hugging him tightly before getting into her Intrepid and heading off to the airport. He’d offered to drive her, but she had refused. He stared after her, still unshaven, standing there in his bathrobe, more confused than ever.

Before he knew it, the afternoon had rolled in, and he still hadn’t touched any of his editing, although he had managed to shave and shower. That had taken far too long, because his cock had insisted on remembering the feel of his stepdaughter’s hand and mouth, her velvety tongue and achingly soft lips.

Fuck. He was a bastard. A deviant.
Rachel was right to leave me
, he decided, trying to decode words on the screen in front of him, but nothing made sense. The Internet’s siren call lured him and he found himself surfing and, clear admitted deviant he was, somehow clicking on a porn site. His cock made it to half-mast almost immediately, but the more he clicked, the more dejected he became. None of them looked like Christa.

And Christa was all he could think about.

As if on cue, the top of her blonde head appeared above the window ledge. Jim blinked in amazement, and then realized—she was practicing her cheers on the trampoline. Christa was so small and light that they used her to form the top of all their pyramids. He’d seen the girls during practice on the few occasions he’d picked her up from school, his stepdaughter balanced precariously on a pile of female bodies, like the fine top to a trophy, or the goddess Venus rising out of a surf of flesh.

He could see her clearly enough. He’d sat back and enjoyed this show on several occasions, had even once let himself masturbate to the spectacle from the bathroom window when Rachel wasn’t home. Christa in her cheerleading outfit was a sight to behold, all slender curves and jutting hips, the black and gold skirt so short it flipped up every time she leaped, higher and higher on the trampoline. Today she had braided her hair into two long, blonde pigtails on either side of her head, the effect of which was mesmerizing.

His window was closed—the air conditioning was on, because it was at least ninety-five out there—but he could hear her through the glass. She was cheering loudly, giving it her all, her pom-poms shaking, her feet first kicking out into a split, spreading so wide it made him dizzy, then she tucked them off to the left, her heels so high they touched her ass, then off to the right, repeating the delectable process again and again.

“Let’s get physical!

Get down, get hard, get mean!

Let’s get physical!

And beat that other team!”

Jesus.

Had cheers had gotten naughtier since he was in school? His stepdaughter whooped and hollered, shaking her pom-poms with fresh enthusiasm, and he found his eyes drawn to the yellow V at the crotch of her uniform under the pleated black skirt. She was like a tiny bumble buzzing around the yard, distracting him.

“Stronger than steel!

Hotter than the sun!

Jim won’t stop

’Til he gets the job done!”

He stared at her, his jaw dropped, as she jack-knifed down on the trampoline, letting herself collapse into a fit of laughter. He watched her roll on the surface, giggling, finally lying still, spread-eagle, her skirt flipped up, the distracting yellow V between her legs taunting him. Her legs were pale against the black surface, her thighs slightly splayed, her knees sweetly rounded knobs, her shins smooth and shiny with sweat under the hot Texas sun.

She wasn’t talking about him, of course. That’s what he told himself. Some guy on the football team was probably named Jim.
It was a pretty predictable name for a quarterback at a Texas school,
he reasoned. Still, the gentle tease of her cheer, the way she sat up and shaded her eyes against the sun, looking up at his office window, as if knowing he would be watching…

Jim stood, closing his laptop and pushing away from his desk. He needed a break. What he really needed was a long, freezing cold shower. His cock definitely felt stronger than steel and hotter than the sun, that was for sure, and he damned well wanted to do the job. And he most certainly wouldn’t stop until he was done.

Get a hold of yourself.

His cock encouraged him to do just that and he groaned, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his office door, his hand on the knob. Then he straightened up, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs in search of some sort of distraction, whether it was a sandwich, coffee, or a nice, stiff drink would be determined by his state of mind by the time he got to the kitchen.

He stood at the fridge for five minutes before deciding, but once decided, the familiar action took over. For Jim, cooking was like meditation, and when Christa banged through the side door, he was practically zen. She shook her pom-poms in his face, making him sneeze, which only made her laugh as she tossed them on the table and toed off her sneakers.

“I’m starving!” she declared, peering over his shoulder. “Is that bacon? Oh my god, that’s bacon!”

He lifted the paper towel he’d used to cover it to soak up the grease. “Help yourself.”

“I’m all sweaty.”  She picked up a piece of fatty meat and chewed happily as he started to make his sandwich. “I need a shower.”

“Glad to be on spring break?” He spread mayonnaise on his toast, arranging tomato slices, just so, totally in the zone. Christa was once again just his stepdaughter, and he was making an ordinary lunch, paying no attention to the way she peeled off her socks and wiggled her pink toes, the way she grabbed a greasy handful of bacon and sat at the kitchen table, thighs parted, skirt forming a U between them. No, he wasn’t noticing the way she licked the grease off her fingers, the hungry little monkey, rubbing her plump lips with the tips of her fingers.

“Are we making small talk?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows as she watched him stack bacon on his lettuce. Zen. Totally Zen.