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MENTOR ME, PROFESSOR

SYLVIA FOX

CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 3. Two Months Later Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Also by Sylvia Fox

Copyright © 2016 by Sylvia Fox All rights reserved.

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CHAPTER ONE

I trudged up the stairs, pausing halfway up the final set

that led to the third floor. It wouldn’t have been so bad without my backpack and the two bags of groceries I was carrying, but for all the good it was doing my calves, having a dorm room on the top floor was awful. As much as tuition costs at Moultrie, you’d think they’d have the decency to install an elevator.

Sure, there was nobody above us to drop things on the floor at all hours, and we had decent views of campus, but just once I’d love to walk across the quad, walk straight to my door (no stairs!) and be home.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, letting my backpack and my bags drop to the floor. The Gatorade could wait to be put in the fridge. I just needed to collapse and relax for a minute. Or an hour. Or until Alexa, my roommate and best friend, came home and woke me up.

I sat, kicked o my flip flops, and fell backwards onto the bed, arms outstretched.

“Why didn’t I listen when they said not to take so many hours my first semester?” I complained to the empty room.

“The same reason as yesterday. And the day before that. And the real question is, why didn’t you drop half your classes when you still had the chance, doofus?”

The disembodied voice of my roommate, Alexa Merriweather, came from behind the closed bathroom door.

“I thought it would get easier after the first few weeks,” I replied.

Alexa exited the bathroom and plopped down on her own bed, across the room from mine.

“You’re too stressed. You need to get laid,” Alexa said.

“How’s that working for you?” I answered.

“Fabulously,” Alexa answered, a wide grin lighting up her face.

I sat up. “Shut! Up! Who?” “Graham. He’s a junior. He’s on the rugby team. He’s from South Africa,” she said matter-of-factly, flicking her hair across her slender shoulder.

“Really short blonde hair?” I asked.

“Yep.” “How did you two…?”

“You know that guy Trevor, my friend from high school?”

“Yeah, I remember him,” I said.

“He’s on the rugby team too. It’s not really a team, it’s a club sport, but whatever. I was at that sub shop across from the theater building, Satch & Irma’s, getting dinner yesterday and a bunch of rugby guys were in there. They had just had

practice. So Trevor called me over to their table and introduced me to them. By the way, is it like, the law that guys who play rugby have to be so hot? And total dicks?

Anyway, I’m standing there talking to Trevor and they’re all cool and super cocky like all those guys are, but Graham starts talking to me, and his accent is just… I mean he could’ve told me I was fat and ugly and he’d just fucked both my sisters with that accent and it would still sound sexy, you know? So he’s asking me how long I’ve known Trevor, if Trevor and I ever hooked up, what classes I’m in, all this stu . And his friends started giving him shit like ‘why don’t you two get a room!’ So he told them ‘fuck o , you tossers’, and-” I had to interrupt. “I thought you said he was from South Africa. Why are you doing an Australian accent?”

“Shut up, are you a linguistics minor or something?” Alexa rolled her eyes at me. “He told them to stop being rude and that he was going to follow their advice, except he’d get us a table rather than a room. So we went to the other side of the counter where they have those booths, you know? And we sat down over there and ate and flirted and yeah. We wound up at his apartment. Where he fucked the shit out of me. And incidentally, I’ve been in the best mood all day. So I highly recommend finding yourself a rugby player. Or an Australian guy. Or South African. Or just a penis with a guy attached to it and blowing… no pun intended… o some steam. This is college. Loosen up.” She raised her eyebrows at me.

Alexa thought I was way too serious for my age. She was probably right.

“I knew you didn’t come home last night, and I didn’t figure you were in the library studying all night, but God, Alexa, did he at least buy your sub?” I asked.

“I paid for my own sub. I’m a feminist. But he came through with the foot long,” she grinned.

“Alexa!” I said, covering my face with both hands. “How do you know you aren’t just a notch on his belt? I mean if you’re okay with that, that’s fine. I just can’t imagine going that fast.”

“Now you’re slut shaming me, Jo? Not cool,” Alexa responded.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come o like that. I’m happy for you if you’re happy. I’m just not as, I don’t know, experienced as you are. I’ve only had one boyfriend. Connor is the only I guy I’ve ever been with.”

Connor Evans grew up two doors down from me. Our moms had us playing together in our backyards by the time we were two. As the only kids in our neighborhood near each other’s age, we inevitably wound up getting closer and closer, and by middle school we were a weird version of boyfriend and girlfriend. Jojo and Connor. It was how everyone referred to us.

My name was in a constant state of flux. I was born Josephine, but as a baby my older brother Je started calling me Jojo, and the pet name stuck. My grandparents insisted on Josephine, but to the rest of my family and to playmates, I was Jojo.

Around third grade, I decided Jojo was a “baby” name, and I asked to be called Joey. After a few weeks of constantly correcting people, I convinced everyone, except my brother, to call me Joey. He stubbornly refuses to ever call me anything besides Jojo.

When I arrived on campus at Moultrie College, I decided on a clean break from high school. I started introducing myself as Jo Faulkner, and since nobody knew me as anything else, I was just Jo. I could reinvent myself as anybody I wanted to be. It was the beauty of going away for school.

In high school, I wasn’t part of any of the traditional cliques; I didn’t do music or theater, certainly not sports, and I didn’t rebel against anything. On Friday nights I wasn’t at the game or the big party. I was reading or watching CNN or C-SPAN. Politics fascinated me from an early age, and my idea of high comedy wasn’t Seinfeld or Modern Family, it was watching British Parliament.

Out of a dozen applicants from my high school, I was the only one accepted at Moultrie. My parents both being alums didn’t hurt my chances, although my grades and test scores probably would have gained me admittance without the legacy factor.

My dream was to one day run a presidential campaign. Not to be President, no way would I want that spotlight, but to strategize and plan and guide a candidate into o ce, sounded amazing to me. I never even ran for student council, because that would mean having to give a speech; to put myself out there. Nope. That kind of spotlight wasn’t for me.

I was a behind-the-scenes kind of person. I liked pulling the strings behind the curtains of life.

I did write speeches for classmates running for various o ces, and I got Scott Carmichael elected student council president my senior year. Maybe I just helped. After all, he was captain of the baseball team and looked like he could be Taylor Lautner’s little brother. It wasn’t exactly tough to get the female vote. Swaying enough guys who weren’t athletes to support him was the only trick.

As a thank you, he made out with me. At his house, where nobody could see him kissing the nerd, he put his big, rough hands all over my body and kissed me like he meant it. He almost made me believe I’d spend my senior year as Northside High School royalty, but alas, the next time we saw each other in school, in front of classmates, I was lucky to get a nod as we crossed paths in the hallway. Wouldn’t want any cheerleaders to get the wrong idea, I guessed.

There might have been one or two he hadn’t hooked up with yet.

Yep. Even with boys, I was always behind-the-scenes.

BY FRESHMAN YEAR of high school, my neighbor Connor and I had been more o again than on again as boyfriend and girlfriend, but we had decided to play the tried and true “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours game.” Which became the “I’ll touch yours if you touch mine” game. By the summer between eleventh and twelfth grade, it evolved, or devolved, to the “if you can smuggle a condom from your dad’s medicine cabinet, we can see what this whole sex thing is all about” game.

Connor and I kissed, and touched, but nothing serious. A few weeks into the summer after our junior year, after a few painful shots of Jim Beam he’d borrowed from his dad’s liquor cabinet, we decided to go all the way.

It was then that life started to make sense to me. And not in a good way.

We’d all been sold the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, and when we got old enough, we figured out that they weren’t real. We were sold that our government wanted what was

best for us, that our government was “of the people, by the people, for the people,” which the more I read and learned, was a complete scam.

And now I’d uncovered the biggest ruse of all: that sex was actually fun. Or pleasant. Or enjoyable in any way. I mean, I knew orgasms were amazing; I was an expert on giving myself those. But sex? Between two people? If it was even half as a good as pop culture and the world would have you believe, the population of planet Earth would be more like one hundred billion people, and nobody would ever do anything but have sex.

But after being with Connor, I now knew the truth. Sex was sloppy, clumsy, painful, and just plain… overrated.

Kissing was fun. Cuddling, laying on the couch all tangled up with Connor while watching Netflix, was fantastic. But having him on top of me, trying to figure out where and how to get it inside me before he finished? Or have his face down there, scraping his teeth on places teeth should never be? Or, worst of all, wanting me to let him put it in my mouth?

Shudder.

Don’t get me wrong, the fantasy still aroused me. But sex with Connor was so terrible that I couldn’t imagine it could be much better with anyone else.

I also worried there was something wrong with me.

By the time senior year started, Connor had found a di erent girl to have terrible sex with and I was happily left to my own devices.

THE PREVIOUS SUMMER, my body had decided it was time for Josephine Isabelle Faulkner to become a woman. It went from what was best described as “skinny-fat” to “Kardashian-lite”. Suddenly, I had boobs. And an ass. And hips. Curves in places I hadn’t even had places the week before.

And the attention was mortifying. I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, hadn’t happened, and I wore the same clothes I’d always worn. I even kept wearing the same sky blue bikini that after being a little big two summers before, had fit perfectly the previous summer.

I’d never forget that first hot June day when I went to lay out by our pool and dig into the Communist Manifesto. Ten pages in, Je and two of his high school friends showed up.

Seven years my senior, Je was home from college, and annoyed that his little sister was hanging out by the pool where he and his friends planned to drink the afternoon away. He made a comment about my choice of reading material, how weird I was, but I just flipped him o and dug my heels in; Mom and Dad had that pool installed for both of us, not just him.

Before long, his buddies (and these were guys in their very early twenties) were showing me an inordinate amount of attention. Which meant any attention at all, since I’d been basically invisible to them my entire life.

I didn’t recognize it at the time for what it was, but they were hitting on me. Which was equal parts flattering and slightly terrifying. Je found it much more the latter, and he got pissed and reminded them that “Jojo” was just fifteen.

Older guys hadn’t really been on my radar before; hell, I wasn’t on anybody’s radar, so why should anybody be on

mine? But that night my mind wandered to the di erence between them and guys my own age. Deeper voices, broader shoulders, stubbly faces, more experience with…things.

By the time school started in the fall, I was acutely aware of the increased male attention, and I did whatever I could to divert it away. The baggier the clothes, the less of my new body anybody knew was under there. I could blend in as I always had, just the way I liked it.

Maybe it was an age thing. After all, whenever I saw couples in movies having sex and loving it, they were never in high school. Maybe I needed a college guy.

Maybe I needed somebody older than that.

There was something sexy about older men, after all. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Confidence? Their bodies were more developed and solid. I didn’t know. But I’d definitely had a few male teachers who’d entered my fantasies from time to time. And my dad’s college roommate, Dr. Hardwicke, or John, as I’d known him ever since I could remember… he was the stu dreams were made of.

Literally.

I TURNED eighteen in the middle of my senior year. That’s when the dreams started.

I remembered when we had sex ed in middle school and learned that guys had something called “wet dreams.” I always thought that as weird as it would be, that I was a little jealous that guys could have an actual orgasm while they slept. It hadn’t occurred to me that girls could have them, too. Until it happened.

And oddly enough, it wasn’t even really a sex dream the first time. Just a weird dream where I was in a field on a sunny day. I was lost and walking, and I heard a voice calling to me.

The voice became more insistent, more demanding, calling me by name, and I wound up walking along the shore of a lake and through a waterfall, and in my dream since my clothes were wet it made sense to take them o . I took them o and went into the cave behind the waterfall, the cave where the voice was coming from. And inside the cave was John.

He was sitting in a chair watching me, and he asked me why I was naked. I didn’t have an answer, so he told me I was a naughty girl, a very bad girl for being naked like that. And the way he looked at me somehow made me want to run away and hide while at the same time wanting him to look at me more. Which made no sense, but it was a dream, right? So he just kept telling me how naughty I was, how bad, how filthy, and the next thing I knew, I was more turned on than I had ever been in my life.

And he just kept looking at me, like a wolf, like something hungry, and I just started coming. In my sleep! It was so unexpected. And so hot. And in my dream he asked me what I was doing, and when I told him I was coming he told me how disappointed he was, how surprised he was at me, which all just made me come harder. I woke up shaking. And after that, masturbation took a serious turn, in both subject matter and in who showed up in my mind.

SO WHEN MY parents drove me down to Moultrie for orientation, and we had dinner with Dr. Hardwicke, newly-

appointed dean of the Political Science department, I knew I was in trouble.

Dr. Hardwicke and my dad were thrown together as roommates from their first day at Moultrie, way back when, and they’d been friends ever since. John had been my dad’s best man when he’d married my mom. He’d taken a position at Oxford University in England prior to my junior year in high school, but after two years, he returned to his alma mater, unbeknownst to me. Inevitably, we’d have to work closely together as I progressed toward what I planned would be my own political science masters or doctorate degree.

John had never married, but according to my parents, in conversations I was never meant to hear, he had a healthy appetite for women and was a bachelor by choice, not due to a lack of female interest or opportunity.

I had explained all of this to Alexa as she sat across from me, her perfectly toned legs crossed as she listened to my pathetic sexual history.

“Then you need to broaden your horizons, girl. Get a college man to show you what’s what and leave the boys behind in high school,” Alexa insisted.

Maybe she was right.

“We’ll see,” I responded. “Just going up and down those damn stairs wipes me out. And my course load is ridiculous. I almost wish high school hadn’t been so easy and that I’d learned how to study.”

“Hashtag ‘smart girl problems’. I don’t feel bad for you. This weekend you’re going out with me. Graham told me there’s an SAE party Friday night. You’re going. No excuses. I’m going to get you the two Ds,” she winked at me.

“Two Ds?” I asked.

“Drunk and dick! Or maybe it could be the two Ls. Loaded and laid,” Alexa said, laughing at herself.

“Why beat around bush? Just call it what it is. Fucked up and fucked!”

We both laughed.

“Exactly!” Alexa exclaimed.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe Alexa was right; I needed to loosen up. Sow my wild oats.

But even as we continued to laugh and plan, I couldn’t help but think of John.

CHAPTER TWO

F

riday arrived, and despite my best e orts to avoid it, Alexa dragged me to the SAE house.

Her high school classmate, Trevor, was there with his rugby buddies, including Graham. I’d managed to spend almost two months on campus without attending any sort of social gathering, so I felt completely out of place among mostly upperclassmen and pretty people.

There was a slight chill in the air, so I wore jeans and a Moultrie hoodie. I knew some of the girls must be absolutely shivering in the barely-there skirts and flimsy tops they wore.

Guys circled like sharks.

The rugby guys I met were total douchebags. White-rimmed sunglasses, way too much Axe body spray, and obnoxious as hell. And that was before they started drinking.

I drank three beers and started feeling buzzed. I’d never been much of a drinker in high school, but my parents often served wine at dinner. I could discern reds from whites and I

knew exactly how I’d feel after the second, or rare third, glass of wine.

Alexa was sucking face with Graham, so I sort of drifted to the periphery of the assemblage and wandered o unnoticed.

My walk back to the dorms took me past the political science building, and as I turned the corner to cut across its parking lot, two men emerged from the back.

The light directly over the door illuminated the pair clearly – Dr. John Hardwicke and a younger man, a grad student or TA, I guessed.

I’d thought about John the previous night. And I mean thought about him. Alexa was over at Graham’s place, and I took advantage of having the place to myself to relieve some stress. My thoughts wandered, as they often did, to that incredible dream. Try as I might, I’d never duplicated that climax, but not for lack of trying.

My face flushed with embarrassment, I dropped my head and bee lined for the safety of the row of hedges on the edge of the parking lot. Once I made it there, I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me.

“Josephine! Josephine Faulkner!”

I was only steps away.

It was John’s unmistakable voice, warm syrup drizzled over gravel.

I turned, and he was striding across the parking lot with his colleague. “I thought that was you!”

I walked toward him, his proximity making me twitch deep inside. Despite his age, he still had a thick shock of mostly

dark hair, just graying at the temples. More gray was sprinkled all over his head and flecks showed up in his closecropped beard.

“Hello, Dr. Hardwicke,” I replied, smiling awkwardly.

He stopped and rolled his eyes. “John,” he corrected me.

“Unless you’re in my class.”

He laughed and held his arms wide. I fell into his embrace, inhaling that same aftershave he always smelled like. At. 6’2, he towered over my 5’4 frame, and his powerful arms felt so good around me.

“This is Josephine Faulkner. She’s a first-year. Her father and I were roommates all through our time as Moultrie men,” he explained to the other man. “Josephine, this is Aaron Rooney, he’s my TA this semester. He worked on the governor’s last re-election campaign.”

I was suitably impressed, and shook his hand, trying to avoid John’s gaze, which made me feel small and vulnerable.

“How’s Moultrie treating you, Josephine?” John asked me.

“It’s tough, way tougher than high school. But I’m loving it.

Any chance you can talk the administration into installing an elevator in Hale Hall?”

John laughed, and Aaron chimed in. “I stayed in Jenkins my freshman year. On the fifth floor. Pure hell.”

“I’m sure on a Friday night you aren’t heading to or from the library, young lady. It’s not safe to walk alone in the dark, as much as I wish it could be,” John advised.

“I was with some friends at a party, I’m going home, I’m nearly there,” I replied.

“Aaron will escort you the rest of the way. I would, but these days it’s not safe for any faculty member to be alone with a student of the opposite sex, even one he’s known since she was in diapers.”

I tried to protest, but he wasn’t hearing any of it.

We hugged goodbye and Aaron walked me home. He made small talk, and I was impressed by his resume and academic achievements, but he wasn’t at all my type. He especially su ered in comparison to Dr. Hardwicke, who I could still smell as I bounded up the stairs.

With Alexa gone, and the beer relaxing me, I set about relieving my stress, knowing I had a long Saturday in the library ahead of me.

Chapter Three

TWO MONTHS LATER

“J

o, bring me back a spoon, okay?”

Alexa and I were at our regular Sunday hangout, brunch at Spuds ‘n More, our one splurge after a week of dining hall food.

As I returned from getting myself a bowl of melon chunks and a spoon for Alexa, I spotted him. Moultrie wasn’t as big as State U, but it was large enough that I hadn’t crossed paths with Dr. Hardwicke (John) since bumping into him that night after I left the SAE party. My parents had come to visit, and taken me and Alexa out to dinner, but John had been out of town that weekend, much to my father’s chagrin.

I crossed the crowded restaurant and debated whether I should say hello or if it would be an unwelcome intrusion. He had the Sunday New York Times scattered all over his table and he was working his way through a plate of french toast.

He wore a dark brown cable knit sweater and khaki pants, his steely eyes engrossed in something on the opinion page.

“Something caught your eye, babe. Who is it?” Alexa asked, raising up from her seat to see if she could figure out what had captured my attention.

“Oh, nothing, I thought I saw somebody I knew,” I fibbed, handing her the spoon.

“Bullshit. You almost walked right into a table,” she scanned the crowd, lots of families, parents taking their Moultrie students out for one last meal before returning home. “You are such a freak!” Alexa teased, sitting down with a smug smile.

“What do you mean?” I asked, defensively, stabbing a piece of honeydew with my fork.

“I never knew you were into girls. But yeah, that girl in the blue is a total hottie. If you’re into girls, that is. Which is totally cool. I just had no idea! But it makes sense, every guy I’ve tried to hook you up wi…”

I had to cut her o . Once she got rambling, Alexa was like a runaway freight train. “Stop it! I’m not into girls. I don’t even know who you’re talking about. But if some girl caught your eye, I won’t judge.”

“Please. If it wasn’t her, then who were you possibly staring at over there? Wait a minute. Not that old guy? He’s a professor. He probably hands out A plusses for blowjobs, ya know? Graham has him, I went with him one time during o ce hours. But he’s probably old enough to be your dad!”

I decided to give up the ruse. “He’s exactly old enough to be my dad. He’s my dad’s best friend. They went here together.

He’s known me practically since before I was born.”

“Wowzers. Ever fuck him?” Alexa asked. Subtlety wasn’t a conversational tool found in her arsenal.

“Didn’t you listen to a word I said?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, of course,” she said, between spoonfuls of her bisque.

“But look at him. He’s got that whole ‘mysterious, handsome older guy’ thing going on. And he’s a college professor. With no ring on his finger. He’s either gay or fucking his way through every coed on campus. And he has a head start with you, since you’re already acquainted, right? I mean, he’s even in your field. You’ll have him eventually. In class, I mean.”

“You are the most ridiculous human being I’ve ever met. I love you, but you’re ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head and laughing.

“Hello, Josephine!” The voice was deep unmistakable. And right next to our table.

and

raspy,

Dr. Hardwicke.

I pretended to be surprised. “Oh my God, hi!” I rose to my feet and hugged him. “Doct-, sorry, John, this is Alexa Merriweather, she’s my roommate. She’s first year, from St. Louis. Alexa, this is John, aka Dr. Hardwicke. Political Science professor.”

John looked at her a moment and pointed his finger at her.

“You’re friends with Graham Nevin, right? Pleased to meet you.”

He extended a hand, which Alexa shook. “Yes. Good memory.

I’m a good… friend of his. Very nice to meet you too, Professor.” She winked at me over his shoulder.

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt anything, I was on my way up to get some bacon. Their thick bacon, with the glazed edge? It’s heavenly. I’m glad you two discovered this place.

It’s a personal favorite of mine, but I don’t make it in on Sundays as much as I like. Enjoy your meal. Always nice to

see you, Josephine.” He smiled at me, as if I was the best thing he’d seen all day.

After he walked away, Alexa tore the crust o a piece of toast and popped the middle in her mouth. “Yeah, he can’t make it in on Sundays because he can’t get himself untangled from the arms and legs of all the coeds he takes home for the weekend with him.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not like that.”

“Always nice to see you, Josephine,” she said, in a terrible attempt to replicate his voice. “Did you see the bulge in his-?”

“Stop!” I put my hand up to cut her o . “He is like my uncle.

I don’t need to hear about his freaking bulge. You need help.”

“What I need is a Bloody Mary. It’s too bad this place doesn’t serve alcohol.”

“Anyway,” I said, desperate to keep moving the subject away from John. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”

“I’m trying to talk Graham into coming home with me. But I don’t want to freak him out, you know? Make him think we’re more serious than he maybe wants us to be?” Alexa looked at me, nervous. That wasn’t like her.

“Aren’t you? Serious, I mean,” I clarified. “It’s been like two months, and you’re over at his apartment more than you’re at the dorm, lately. Seems serious to me. And it’s not like he’s going home to South Africa, is it? Maybe for Christmas, not for Thanksgiving, surely. Do they even have that there?”

“I don’t know, I doubt it. But it would be cool to take him home. Hell, he could stay with Trevor or something. He just lives a few streets over from me. I don’t think Larry would be

cool with me bringing a college guy home to sleep on the couch. Not yet, anyway,” Alexa said, referring to her dad, a genuinely nice guy who made me wonder how Alexa had gotten so wild. “How about you? Going home to Casa de Faulkner?

“I guess so,” I replied. “I mean, I haven’t o cially discussed it with my parents yet, but yeah, I’m sure. My brother, Je , just started a new job up in Baltimore. I don’t know if he’d come home or not. He has a new girlfriend I haven’t met, so that could be interesting.”

We commiserated over orange juice, soup, salad, bacon, and French toast, talking and laughing the early part of the afternoon away. When we couldn’t eat or drink another bite, Alexa stopped our waitress.

“Can we have our bill, please? Separate checks.”

The waitress smiled warmly. “Your bill has been taken care of. By a man in a brown sweater. He was sitting by the window. Very generous, too. You’re all set.”

Alexa and I looked at each other with happy surprise. I shrugged and we exchanged high fives. Free food, especially yummy food like that, was a godsend for broke college students. After our meal, we figured we’d have a combined $11.27 in our checking accounts until one of us could convince her father to deposit more money.

As soon as the waitress walked away, I knew Alexa would jump in with a snarky comment about sugar daddies or some such nonsense, so I stopped her before she started. “Not a word. Totally unexpected.”

“All I was going to say is that we need to come here every Sunday and sit near the window to make sure he sees you!”

“You’re insu erable,” I said.

When we got back to our room, Alexa wanted to take a nap and sleep o the remnants of her hangover, so I went downstairs and sat on the bench next to our building and called my folks. I wanted to tell my dad about seeing John and to find out whether or not Je would be home for Thanksgiving.

“Hey, Joey!” my mom answered. I hadn’t mentioned my college moniker of “Jo,” so I let it slide. “How’s school?”

“School is groovy, Mom,” I said. “It’s hard, but I’m doing pretty well, I think.”

“That’s great. Hang on, your father is going to the basement to pick up down there,” she said. I could hear her shu ing around.

Yes, my parents still have a house phone. Or house phones, actually. Believe it or not, the one in the basement is a rotary phone. My brother says it belongs in a museum.

“Hey, kiddo, how are things at my alma mater?” Dad asked.

He never let an opportunity pass to remind me that he was a Moultrie grad.

“Speaking of that, Alexa and I were having brunch at Spuds earlier and we ran into John. He paid for our meal. Didn’t tell us, it was a total surprise. So thank him for me if you talk to him, okay?”

“I will thank him. Especially since that means I don’t have to put any money in your account this week now, right?” Dad asked me.

“I never said that,” I corrected him.

“Don’t worry, Joey, I’ll make sure he stops at the bank on his way home from work tomorrow. Do you have enough to get by until then?” My mother was always worried about me having enough to eat, despite their overwhelming generosity, my meal plan, and the freshman fifteen which was making my favorite jeans harder and harder to get up and over my ass.

“Thanks, Mom,” I answered. “Hey, have you guys heard if Je is coming home for Thanksgiving? I was hoping he’d bring his new girlfriend. Is it Wendy?”

My dad entered the conversation, his tone di cult to read.

“Actually, baby, that’s something we wanted to talk to you about. I got a bonus at work, and you know our twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up in the Spring, right?”

“Yeah, yes, of course,” I said.

“Your mother and I have decided to take that trip to Europe we’ve always wanted to take. And we found a great deal starting midweek the week of Thanksgiving. So we were going to be gone that week and the following week. We hate to miss Thanksgiving with you, but we thought maybe the weekend after we get back, you could come home and we’d celebrate it then.”

“I’ll cook it all just like it’s Thanksgiving, Joey. All your favorites. It’ll still be Thanksgiving, just not on the same date. What do you think?” My mom sounded so sad, but I knew she’d wanted to visit Europe for years.

It wasn’t what I expected to hear, and my tone was probably brattier than I meant it to be. “What am I supposed to do for break, then? I’m eighteen, I can just stay at the house, right?

Maybe I can go to Janelle’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Janelle was my best friend from high school. She’d gone away to Colorado for school, near where her maternal grandparents lived.

“We actually checked with her family, and they’re flying to Colorado to spend Thanksgiving there. We’re really sorry to put you in a bind. It just worked out this way. But we have a plan. John said you could stay with him if you wanted to. I’d hate the idea of you sitting in your dorm room on Thanksgiving. He’s a great cook,” my dad o ered.

“I don’t know, Dad, I think I’d rather just come home and hang out at the house, honestly. I don’t want to bother John and put him out,” I answered.

“Nonsense. He said he’d be thrilled to have somebody to cook for, for a change. Besides, you two are the only two people I know who could listen to each other talk politics for endless hours.”

Mom cut my dad o , “Robert! Stop being mean. Joey is hurting. John will be spending the weekend at his cabin. We already talked to him about it. It’ll be the best thing. We didn’t want to scare you, but there have been some breakins around here lately. We had a security system installed, but I can’t bear the thought of you being here alone for days and days. Do you remember the Palmers? Somebody came in a window while they were asleep! They woke up in the morning and Chip’s wallet was gone, among other things.

And his wallet had been on his dresser, which means the robber was in their bedroom while they were in there! Isn’t that terrifying? And they have a baby. I was almost sick when I heard about it.”

I sighed. It sounded like there was no convincing them of anything else but me staying with John. The man I

frequently masturbated to these days.

I resigned myself to the strangest of Thanksgivings; John and I at his cabin in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains.

I’d never been there, but I’d seen pictures my parents took when they’d visited. It looked beautiful, up a steep, twisty road and surrounded by trees. If nothing else, I could catch up on reading and sleep.

I could just imagine how merciless Alexa’s teasing would be.

“Okay, okay. John’s it is. But only if you promise you aren’t planning to pawn me o on cousin Gary for Christmas.”

My parents both laughed.

“Heavens, no. We will absolutely be home for Christmas, and Santa will be very good to you,” Mom said.

“Deal. But I hope his idea of good is the same as mine!”

“Part of our trip is going to take us through Italy,” Dad replied. “I’m pretty sure Santa speaks Italian.”

So, it was set. I’d be spending Thanksgiving break at a cabin deep in the woods with a man I’d been masturbating to almost since I’d discovered I could do it. What could go wrong? Or what could go right? And was I completely sure which was which?

CHAPTER FOUR

C lasses were scheduled for Monday and Tuesday, and due

to some work on fire suppression systems in the dorms, we had to be out first thing Wednesday morning and the dorms wouldn’t reopen until Saturday morning. John had o ce hours on Wednesday and meetings in the early afternoon and wouldn’t be able to leave until around three.

I’d attend my Tuesday morning classes, then John would pick me up later in the day when he was finished, and I’d spend the night at his condo and hang out there during the day Wednesday until he was ready to leave for the mountains.

My parents had called from London, the jumping o point for their European odyssey, and they sounded ecstatic. I was happy for them. My parents were good people and deserved this adventure.

I arrived home from class on Tuesday and had started packing when Alexa walked in.

She dropped her books on her bed before sitting down on mine, next to my open suitcase.

“So, I know older women who go for younger guys are cougars. What are older guys who go for younger girls? Or, better question, what are younger girls who go for older guys?” she asked, playfully.

“Whatever, Alexa. I’m going to eat Thanksgiving dinner, sleep for approximately forty hours, and enjoy the scenery.

Not all of us are sex crazed, you know. What’s the deal, is Graham going with you, or what?”

“As a matter of fact, Graham will be dining on my father Larry’s world famous deep-fried turkey Thursday evening.

He actually has a friend who graduated last year who lives in the next town over from mine, so he’s going to stay at his place,” Alexa replied, going through texts as we chatted.

“Introducing him to your folks, eh? That’s a big step. Do I hear wedding bells?” I asked. My turn to needle her.

“I don’t know; we’ll see how it goes. My mom excels at scaring guys away. At least in high school she did.”

“At least your parents will be on the same continent for Thanksgiving, Lex. Mine are-” Alexa cut me o with a squeal of delight, reaching into the neatly-folded stacks in my suitcase and pulling out my blue bikini.

“And what is this all about, Jo?” “Oh, shut up, he has a hot tub. I’m not you, I’m not going to get in naked,” I yanked it from her hands and stu ed the top down between two pairs of jeans and a sweater I’d packed.

“You may as well be, Jo. That looks like it would have fit you when you were twelve.”

“It fits me fine. I wore it when we laid out together a couple months ago, you dork.” I corrected.

“Yeah, and you were spilling out of it then. Do you want to give Professor Hotness a heart attack?”

“He’s seen me in a bathing suit before. You are ridiculous.

Now can I finish packing, please?” I closed my opened suitcase so she couldn’t snoop anymore.

Alexa kicked her shoes o and tucked her feet beneath her, turning her attention to her phone. “I’m just saying. Alone at his cabin in the woods, hot tub; come on, Jo.” I wadded up a sports bra I didn’t intend to take with me and threw it at her. “Like I said. Ridiculous. Don’t you need to pack?”

“Yes. Just putting it o as long as humanly possible. I think I’ll just take a trash bag filled with dirty laundry home with me, anyway. Give my mom something to do while I’m out with Graham.”

We bickered and bantered the early afternoon away until I lugged my bag downstairs to wait for John. I immediately regretted the number of books I’d tried to bring and returned to my room to lighten my load. By the time I made it to the ground floor, John was waiting for me in a sleek black BMW. “Josephine!”

He always seemed super-excited to see me. It had been that way ever since I could remember.

He wrapped me up in a bear hug and then popped the trunk, easily lifting the suitcase I’d struggled down the stairs and across the lobby with.

“Sorry it’s so heavy, I probably overpacked,” I o ered.

“Heavy? P t. Is it the only one?”

“Just that and my backpack,” I replied.

“The number one fashion accessory of the season for the stylish Moultrie coed,” John joked.

He opened the door for me and I slipped inside, easing onto the most comfortable car seat I’d ever encountered. John got in and pulled away from the curb, heading toward his condo.

He glanced over at me, letting his hand come to rest on my yoga pants-clad thigh, just above the knee. Goosebumps rose on my skin.

“I know you must be disappointed that you don’t get to spend the holiday with your folks, but I think we’ll have a good time,” he said, and his hand lingered a heartbeat longer than I expected it to. Not that I minded. His car was sexy. He was sexy. I decided that while I was with him, I’d leave uptight behind and have fun. I wasn’t a child anymore; I was a college student. Practically an adult. So why not enjoy graduating to the grown-up table for the holidays? In this case, the very grown up table.

When he removed his hand, and put it back on the steering wheel, I felt more than a little disappointed. My body craved a man’s touch. John wasn’t the man, of course; he was practically family. But seeing him through Alexa’s eyes, he was Professor Hotness.

The condo was fifteen minutes from campus, a gated community filled with expensive cars and huge, old trees. He showed me inside, to a space that reminded me of a boutique hotel you’d see on TV or a movie. Someplace in New York, maybe. The whole place was filled with the heavy fragrance of something cooking, something delicious. Everything was immaculately clean and organized. He gave me the tour,

showing me the master bedroom, dominated by a huge bed and a walk-in closet the size of my dorm room.

This was nothing like the bedrooms of the guys I went to college with. Their rooms consisted of movie posters as decor, empty beer cans, and the mushroomy smell of dirty underwear. No thanks.

I preferred John’s lifestyle.

The second bedroom had been converted into an o ce, with a large desk that looked like it belonged in the o ce of the president of a law firm, bookshelves circling the room, and a futon along the far wall.

“I don’t have many overnight guests. I suppose the options are the futon, which is very comfortable, despite how it may look, the leather couch in the living room, or my bed. You tell me what works for you,” he o ered.

His bed was plenty big enough for the two of us, and looked like just about the comfiest I’d ever seen, but it would have been much too forward to ask for it. “I’ll take the futon. That way, I have my own space, my own bathroom, and I can sleep in while you go back over to school in the morning, right?”

“Absolutely. I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ll be bored to tears here tomorrow, but duty calls.” That smile again. Damn.

“I’ll catch up on sleep and read and who knows, maybe even study,” I joked, and he laughed. “Do you have Netflix?”

“I may be old, but I’m not totally uncool,” he claimed. “Yes, I certainly do have Netflix. So, after dinner tonight we can, how do you kids say it? Netflix and chill, right?”

“Well, honestly, ‘chill’ is kind of a versatile piece of slang, and when coupled with Netflix, it means something a little di erent than just hanging out,” I clarified, and he turned the color of a stop sign.

“And that is why I’m not an English professor. Or a college student!” He shook his head and slapped his massive palm against his forehead.

God he was sexy.

I’d always found him funny, and the coed version of me, Jo, laughed along with him just as easily as Jojo and Joey had.

AFTER I’D SETTLED in and killed an hour on social media, John told me dinner was ready to be served. What I’d smelled when I walked in was a slow cooker filled with chicken and dumplings, an “old family recipe.” It had been simmering since morning, and from the first forkful, I was blown away.

“Oh my God, this is delicious! I didn’t know you were such a great cook!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, this is nothing. The crock pot did all the work. You just have to know what to put in it, how much and for how long,” he replied. “What I’m much more proud of is my turkey. It’s been soaking in brine since this morning. By the time we carve it up on Thursday night, hopefully it’ll be the juiciest bird you’ve ever tasted.”

Everything about the way he spoke seemed to imply sex. You just have to know how much to put in and for how long. Juiciest… you’ve ever tasted.

Fuck. I imagined John knew exactly how and for how long to “put it in.” I stared at his mouth as he ate, and once I caught him staring at mine.

“As much as I love to cook, I so rarely get to do it for anyone else. So, watching how much you enjoy it makes me happy.

Sorry for staring.”

We both awkwardly looked back down at our plates.

We drank wine with our chicken and dumplings, although beer or sweet tea seemed more appropriate for such a country dish. Maybe even moonshine. I had half a second bowl and started a third glass of wine, and I was stu ed and walked over to his leather couch while he worked clearing the table.

In the reflection of the dim television screen, I caught him, unmistakably, checking out my ass.

My ass is something I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with. It developed early, and middle and high school boys didn’t know what to make of it. They were fans of my boobs, of course, but none of them seemed to appreciate my prominent posterior. One particularly cretin from 8th grade delighted in calling me Rudy. When I asked him where he got Rudy from Joey, he could barely get the words out between his wheezing, gasping laughter: “You know, Rudy. Big Booty Rudy!”

The gulf between what 8th grade boys find funny and the rest of humanity finds funny is immense.

But to a clique from my school, I was forever “Rudy.” Or, to the cleverer of my classmates, well, their limited version of clever, anyway, “BBR.”

By the time I was in 10th and 11th grade, and a growth spurt flattened my tummy without changing my breasts or butt, men noticed. It was sometimes silly, pumping gas when somebody would drive by and yell, “I like big butts and I cannot lie!” or the like, and sometimes creepy, when a guy would follow me around at the mall making no attempt to hide what he was staring at, but I hadn’t embraced it until I’d arrived at Moultrie. Alexa was fascinated by it, smacking my ass the first week we roomed together, totally out of the blue.

“I’m sorry, Jo. I’ve just been dying to do that since the first day of school. I just had to get it out of my system. You’re like Serena Williams or something,” Alexa said.

“Oh, shut up. You are so weird. If Serena Williams woke up and looked like me, she’d want to kill herself,” I replied.

“Just be grateful,” Alexa countered. “I can do squats all day and night and all I have is this flat, boring white girl ass.”

“Yeah, well, this,” I palmed and lifted as much of my butt as I could, “is all natural. Ice cream and pizza. No squats required.”

BACK TO THE PRESENT, it was undeniably intoxicating to have drawn the attention, especially as forbidden as it was, of a man like John Hardwicke. I liked the feeling of being desired, being stared at. I stood up and walked over to grab the remote for the television, pretending to drop it. I bent at the waist to pick it up, letting my eyes raise to the screen so I could see John’s reflection from the kitchen. He was mesmerized. I stayed bent over like that as long as I dared,

straightening up and stretching to emphasize my curves as I turned and faced him.

Our eyes met, and for the first time in my life, I saw what a flustered John Hardwicke looked like. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat.

“Are you okay?” I asked, a demure lilt to my voice.

“Okay? Yeah, of course, quite alright. Yes,” he stammered.

I knew I was playing a dangerous game, but I liked it. I decided to push the envelope.

“I’m so full. Dinner was so yum. I know it’s early, but I’m going to change into my pajamas,” I walked past him and turned into his o ce, pulling the door only partially closed. I wanted him to be able to look inside if he was so inclined.

I pulled out a short pair of silky running shorts (in which I never ran) and a white cotton tank top. I glanced at the doorway but he never appeared. I went into the bathroom to appraise myself in the mirror, finding my nipples obscenely swollen. I tugged at one for just a moment, gasping and realizing that I was wet. It had been a few days since I’d had the opportunity to work o any stress, and I knew I’d have a hair trigger. I must have been giving o all sorts of pheromones.

I walked back out, an extra sway in my hips, to find John starting the dishwasher. He had composed himself, and although his eyes darted to my chest when he saw me, he was no longer under the spell I’d cast on him by bending over so suggestively.

He excused himself and went into his room to change, returning in a light green t-shirt stretched over his chest

and biceps, and black workout pants with a white stripe down the side.

We sat on the couch, him scrolling through his phone while I surfed channels on his giant TV. I stopped on Bravo, on the Real Housewives of Atlanta, one of my guilty pleasures.

He glanced up at the screen, then over to me. “I like Cynthia and Kandi. Kenya is awful.”

“You…watch Housewives?” I asked, in disbelief.

“All academic literature and lecture and no trashy reality TV makes John a dull boy,” he replied. “I watch now and then.

Only Atlanta. The rest of them, I can’t stomach. And when Kim was on, it was unwatchable. But the Atlanta women are much more… interesting than the other casts.”

“Interesting?” I asked, genuinely curious. “In what way?”

“Maybe ‘interesting’ isn’t an entirely accurate or truthful description. Okay, I’ll just admit it. If you aren’t going to judge me.”

“Judgement-free zone, right here,” I said, waving a conspiratorial hand between the two of us.

John chuckled, stared at the ceiling, and exhaled. “Two words. To keep it completely germane to the show. Great.

Asses.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“What happened to the judgement-free zone, Josephine?” he asked, playfully tossing a pillow at me.

“You’re telling me you watch RHOA because of their butts?”

“No, what I’m getting at is we’ve both had too much wine tonight and I should get to bed, is what I’m telling you,” he stood up, clearly embarrassed.

I rose to my feet and walked over, wrapping my arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s a defense mechanism. I’m not one to talk, anyway. I have my own big booty problems.”

His arms had returned my hug, and one of them slipped down to the small of my back. He made an exaggerated show of leaning across my body to look down my back at my ass.

“Indeed you do,” he said, letting his hand linger just above my posterior.

As we separated from our hug, I did a slow pirouette. “But they make millions of dollars from theirs, and all I get is made fun of.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” he replied, making no secret of the fact that he was checking me out.

I told him about the whole Big Booty Rudy thing from school, and his mouth twisted into a frown.

“I hope you realize that those boys just wanted you, but that they realized you were too scared to ever dream of asking out, right?” John asked. “You intimidated the hell out of them. Boys are idiots.”

“No, I just sort of assumed I was some sort of freak,” I replied. I was standing close to him, close enough to touch.

There was something in the air between us, something electric. Our tones had turned serious, and everything seemed to have grown quiet except our voices.

“I’m totally out of line for saying this, for even noticing, really, but Josephine, you’re the most beautiful girl at

Moultrie. I mean that. From head to toe.”

If he’d have pursed his lips to blow out a candle atop my head, he’d have knocked me right over at that moment.

“Me?” I asked, incredulous.

“Absolutely, you,” John raised a hand to touch my face, to push the hair from my cheek back behind my ear, and his knuckle grazed my nipple. Intentional or not, the e ect was immediate and overwhelming. I gasped and looked down at the erect tip through my shirt. His hand found my cheek, and his eyes traveled from my face to follow my gaze to my nipple. We stood silently, staring at it. I was frozen.

He reached down and let the tip of his finger trace a circle around it as I held my breath and trembled. He went back around it in the opposite direction, and it became painfully hard. Just when I thought I’d die if he didn’t touch it, he placed his hand on the small of my back again, pulling me tight against him.

His mouth was an inch from now, and he studied my face, hesitating like a small boy reaching the end of a diving board for the first time.

He wanted it. I needed it. But we both knew nothing could ever be the same again if we went through with it.

We were on the edge of a cli we were both desperate to jump o of, but also terrified to. Because there’d be no going back. Once you jumped, there was no un-jumping.

Our defenses crumbled simultaneously, and we kissed wildly.

Phaedra babbled about something in the background, and he fumbled past me for the remote, muting the set.

We fell onto his couch, me on my back, never breaking our kiss. He used no tongue, just a hungry, consuming mouth. It was nothing like the sloppy high school kisses I’d experienced before. John’s kissing was slow and purposeful, and his hands roamed my body, mauling my breasts and reaching around to cup the bottom of my ass. I was like wet clay, his to mold or sculpt in any way he desired.

The passion and the heat was unbearable.

I tugged at his shirt, and he lifted himself long enough to allow me to remove it. I wanted so badly to feel his chest against mine. When I started to pull my own o , he took hold of my wrist and locked eyes with me.

“Josephine, I want this. Desperately. But I must know that you want it, too. We can stop if you’re in any way uncomfortable,” he said. “I should stop it, but I’m not strong enough to. Even if it’s wrong. If the brakes have to be put on, it’ll have to be by you. Because I want you. More than anything.”

I could feel from the way he was throbbing that he was every bit as aroused as I was.

Between kisses, I reached down and yanked my shorts down, kicking them away. “Make love to me. I’ve never wanted anything more. Please.”

There would be no brakes. Not tonight.

His cock sprung from his pants when he lowered them landing with a thud on my mound. He reached down to position himself, and with one searing thrust, he buried himself inside me.

I yelped and whimpered, rolling my hips in time with his withdrawals and subsequent entries. He filled and stretched

me, and my ankles crossed behind his ass to keep him where I needed him; inside my soaking wet pussy.

He pulled down at the top of my shirt, ripping it to release my breasts. They poured out through the gash, and his hands were rough on them, groping and pulling.

“You’re so fucking tight, Josephine. Relax so I can get all the way inside,” he commanded, his voice more growl than human speech.

All. The. Way. Inside?

I’d never felt so full, experienced such deep, powerful thrusts, and he wasn’t even all the way inside?

I tilted my pelvis forward and tightened the grip my legs had on his waist, and he reached a new place deep in my core, heretofore untouched.

I sank my teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming out, letting the first orgasm take me.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he whispered directly into my ear as I thrashed on his cock. “Right into another one, Josephine.

Come again for me. Let it happen. My good girl.”

He was pounding me savagely, but speaking in such a controlled, calm manner. My body had no choice but to obey.

As soon as the first climax waned, a second, stronger one replaced it, and my thighs trembled from the shock.

“A d-double. A fucking double!” I gasped as my body responded to him in a whirlwind of bliss. I clutched at him, needing every inch of my body to touch his, wherever and however I could.

He fucked me slowly and passionately after that, reaching behind me to hold my ass, his aim true each time he bottomed out inside me, hitting a place that sent a wonderful series of pleasure bursts up and down my spine.

He pulled back a bit, never leaving me, and reached for my ankles. He crossed them in front of his chest, pushing my knees back to my shoulders, and he got a rhythm going in this new position. This new, fucking indescribably amazing position.

The orgasms were rapid-fire and high-caliber, ripping through me from deep inside. I was overwhelmed. He finally released my legs, kissing my feet softly before letting them slide slowly down his sides.

My eyes were glazed with lust.

“I’ve never felt anything like that. I never knew it could be like this,” I said, softly.

“It can be so, so much better, Josephine. I have so much to teach you. This body of yours is capable of wonders you can’t even imagine. But I have a request…” His voice was deep now.

A request? Anything.

“When I fuck you,” he said as he pushed himself inside me again. “I want you to call me Uncle John. Remember when you used to call me that? I want you to tell me how much you need to get fucked by me. How much you need this cock of mine to take your pussy whenever it wants to. Because I’m old enough to be your father, aren’t I?” I was shocked. It was so wrong. Yet I was already coming from the filth flying from his mouth.

Just like that, my innocence was long gone. I now understood the allure and desire for primal sex. I would have given him whatever he wanted.

He leaned down and whispered, “It’s just a fantasy, baby.

One I have been having about you for the last two months.

Since I saw you walking back to the dorm. That night I wanted to take you back to your room so badly, Josephine.

And make you mine. I wanted to own your body and have it in every way a man can have a pussy.”

I was crying with ecstasy. He was thrusting inside me again as he spoke.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say you want to fuck me.”

“Yes,” I whispered, my pussy clenching onto his massive shaft. “Uncle John, please. Fuck me.”

My fingertips ran up and down his sides, admiring the rippling muscle they found there. I’d found his magic spot, as his pace quickened and his eyes rolled back, pumping me full of his own gasping climax.

“Uncle John!” I yelled. “Come inside my pussy. Please. I need it. I’m your good girl. Your little fuck doll.”

When he finished, and caught his breath, he apologized for finishing the way he did. “I’m so sorry, Josephine. I didn’t mean to… it wasn’t right to let it happen inside you like that.”

“I hope it felt so good,” I replied, my legs still holding him tight to catch any final pulses he might have had for me.

“Like heaven,” he said. “I never wanted to stop.” We kissed and lay there a while.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I make you uncomfortable? My fantasy, I mean.”

“No,” I said, turning over to face him. “I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

I confessed to him about my dream. Which only made him hard again.

“Can Uncle John come in you again?” he asked. “You’re my princess, Josephine. I need to come inside you and fuck you hard. So you know who you belong to.”

“Mmmmm,” I said as he yanked my hips up toward his angry cock. “Will it hurt?” I asked in a faux little girl voice.

“If I fuck you right, hell yeah it’ll hurt,” he said as he began to pound me. I screamed in both pain and pleasure as he took my pussy much harder than before.

We’d been making love before this. Now he was fucking his good girl. Just as he’d wanted to for so long. Even though it was so wrong.

Actually, because it was so wrong.

CHAPTER FIVE

H is luxurious bed was way more comfortable than the

bed in the dorm, and by the time I woke up, it was after 11:00 AM. I stumbled out into the living room, rubbing my eyes, and found a handwritten note he’d left me.

Josephine – I hope you slept well. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. I should be back between 2 & 3. Call me if you need anything. – John

I thought about dialing him up to order another dozen orgasms, but thought that might be a bit crass. I felt a twinge of unease about the previous night. After all, John was my dad’s best friend. This whole thing couldn’t possibly lead anywhere but disaster, could it?

But then I thought about how he’d known just what to do to my body… just how to make it respond. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It had been the best night of my life.

I ATE leftover chicken and dumplings and watched parts of several movies, but nothing could keep my interest. Nothing but memories of John fucking me.

I went back to his bed and lay naked, touching myself softly all over, thinking about the fact that he was still, in a very real sense, inside me.

A series of unfulfilling masturbatory orgasms later, I realized I had a problem; everything I’d done to myself before and had clumsily been done to me by guys before, paled in comparison to the ecstasy John had delivered to me.

I couldn’t duplicate it. I needed more. More of him.

Was this what that first hit of heroin was like? John was my human heroin.

I glanced at the clock and realized he’d be home soon, so I scrambled to get dressed and gather my things.

At quarter after two, he opened the front door to find me on the sofa checking my Facebook. He smiled warmly.

“It’s so nice to come home to find a beautiful woman on my couch for a change,” he said.

I looked left and right, feigning confusion. “Oh? Should I go, and leave the two of you alone?”

“You’re her, Josephine,” he laughed. “And we’ll be alone all weekend at the cabin. It’s very secluded. I’m looking forward to it. Are you packed?”

I got up to walk to my room for my suitcase and backpack.

He stopped me with a hand around my waist, pulling me in for one of his devastating kisses. I melted against him, hoping he’d have me again right there. To my chagrin, he let go and walked across the condo to his back porch. “I’m

going to grab the turkey and my stu and we can get on the road. I want to beat the tra c out of town.”

He carried everything outside, where his BMW had been replaced by a rugged-looking blue truck. It looked like the grandfather of the modern SUV. John grinned when he saw me looking at it. “This time of year, I dust o the old Bronco. It’s got the 4-wheel drive and power to get up the mountain even if we get snow. I know it’s probably not what a fancy Moultrie girl is used to, but I promise it’s more comfortable than it looks.”

He lifted my suitcase and hefted it into the back of the truck.

He slid a large Yeti cooler, containing our turkey, and two smaller coolers in alongside it, then piled in a box, and two bags of his own.

“Lots of food, and plenty of wine,” he said, patting the box next to my suitcase. “We’ll have fun. Ready to go?”

The thought of drinking with John, especially in a hot tub under a starry sky, far from civilization, excited and aroused me.

I nodded, and he walked over and opened the door for me, taking my hand to help me up into the truck. Once inside, I found that it was, indeed, more comfortable and modernized than the Spartan exterior would have led me to believe.

“Purists would be aghast at all this,” he said, waving at the stereo and modern dashboard. “It’s a ’71 Bronco, the engine is pristine, and I have yet to meet a road it couldn’t handle, paved or otherwise. But I prefer some conveniences. This came equipped with just an AM radio as standard when it came out. That just doesn’t work for me, so I spruced it up.

But it can still perform as intended.” He revved the engine, making the entire truck shake as proof of its power.

“It’s very cool. Guys back home would kill for a truck like this,” I said.

He shifted into drive and we rolled out of the parking lot.

“Sorry, I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind for Thanksgiving, but we’ll have an adventure. Tell me about your classes. Who do you have?”

I was surprised he wanted to talk to me about something normal. But also… relieved. I had always loved my talks with John.

We spent the drive comparing notes on my professors. His opinions of them fell mostly in line with mine; Dr. Bechtel was a colossal bore even to her colleagues, and Professor Deimling was apparently as entertaining in his personal life as he was in class. The drive seemed to take no time at all, friendly debate regarding political theory filling in the gaps and lulls, and before I knew it we were in a cute little town in the shadow of the Smokies, three hours from campus.

He pulled up in front of a small Asian restaurant. “I don’t feel like cooking tonight. This place is fabulous. Do you like Thai food?”

“I have to confess, I’ve never tried Thai food,” I explained.

“Do you trust me, Josephine? If you don’t love it, I’ll get you whatever else you want. I just always make it a point to eat here when I come up to the cabin. Believe it or not, and I know, this is rural western North Carolina, but besides a place in Vegas, this is the best Thai food I’ve had in the United States,” he smiled.

“I trust you implicitly. My virginity is yours to take.”

He gave me a look, and I realized that I’d allowed my inner Alexa to escape.

“My Thai virginity. Oh my God. I’m sorry, that sounded awful,” I backtracked and tried to distance myself from my faux pas.

“The obvious Freud joke is low-hanging fruit. It’s all forgotten. Let’s feast,” John joked, opening my door. He was about to lead me inside but not before he whispered, “After last night I would think there’s nothing virginal about you anymore, my good girl.”

My legs quivered. I needed him so badly. Fuck eating Thai. I wanted him to eat me.

But he was as cool as ever. As we walked in, I noticed women staring at him; he was just that sort of handsome that even women dining with their husbands couldn’t help but take a second look. It made me feel proud in some weird way that it was me he was with, although I figured they would all assume I was his daughter, not his love interest.

We were seated at a booth in the back, and the next two hours were a dizzying mix of exotic flavors and aromas, paired with fascinating conversation and John impressing me with his command of the Thai as he ordered and joked with our waiter.

“How did you learn Thai?” I asked, as it became apparent he could do more than read a menu. The speed at which he spoke and understood the completely alien tongue blew my mind.

“It’s just something I picked up,” he claimed. “I studied it in my spare time and I practice when I get the chance.”

Everything about John left me star struck. I took four years of Spanish in high school, honors Spanish my senior year, and I couldn’t hope to match his Thai fluency with my own Espanol, despite having gotten straight A’s in it.

By the time the meal ended, darkness enshrouded the mountains and stars filled the sky. I was slightly tipsy from the Singha beer we’d consumed with dinner. I’d tried some of everything, following John’s lead, and found it all delicious. Had this been a date date, I’d have spent it pushing my food around and pretending not to be hungry. John, however, put me at ease. I had nothing to prove, no reason to put on airs or pretend to be anyone but myself. I ate and drank my fill and made a mental note to find a Thai place near campus.

John expertly navigated a series of steep, windy roads up onto the mountain, before driving to the of a narrow gravel driveway. He pushed a button and a heavy wooden gate slid open, granting us access.

He drove down a slope and made a sharp turn behind his cabin, perched on the side of a cli , overlooking the valley below. I could see my breath when I emerged from the truck, looking up in wonderment as the tall pines and spectacular starlit panorama above me.

“Wow,” I said, immediately thinking it was the dumbest thing I’d ever said. “This is amazing.”

John was busy pulling my suitcase from the back of the truck. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice, right? I love it up here.

Whenever I retire, this is it. I’ll only come down o the mountain for Pad Thai.”

I reached for my suitcase, but he waved me away. “You’re my guest. I wouldn’t dream of you carrying anything. Go

inside and relax. I just want to get the coolers inside and move that stu into the fridge. Sit out on the porch or watch something on TV, whatever you like. Just give me a few minutes. Please make yourself at home, Josephine.”

He opened the door and turned on some lights, and I sank into his leather sectional, soaking in my cozy, unmistakably masculine surroundings. Natural wood was everywhere, a modern kitchen o the living room, a fully-stocked bar opposite floor to ceiling windows on the far wall that overlooked the valley below.

A hallway led to the bedroom, and spiral staircase downstairs. I checked my phone as he hauled in his coolers and moved the contents into the refrigerator. When he finished, he led me down the corridor, where I was surprised to find a small guest room next to the master.

He took my suitcase in and set it atop a low dresser next to a huge bed in the master. “This will be yours. I’ll be in the guest room.” I tried to protest, but he’d hear none of it. “I know you miss your parents, I want this to be a vacation for you. Everything first class. Queen for a weekend. No arguments. If you have any requests, just let me know.”

I was still trying to protest taking his bedroom when he left to go to the truck for his own things. I had assumed we’d be in the same room together after last night, and I was slightly crushed he didn’t have the same assumption.

I walked into the master bathroom and was blown away by a shower set back behind a clear glass door complete with multiple shower heads and a bench. John was apparently doing very well for himself. I sat down on his bed and the memory foam immediately contoured to my ass. Weekends at

John’s cabin might have to become a regular event, I thought to myself.

My suitcase flopped open, and I started going through it, removing my books and phone charger. A knock on the door startled me, and when I turned to look, my breath caught in my throat.

John stood there with a rolled up towel draped across his broad shoulders, is chest bare, pecs sprinkled with salt and pepper hair trailing down his stomach. He was in what looked like an old pair of green swim trunks, maybe a size too small, tight around what hung heavy between his legs.

“Sorry, this old thing was the only swimsuit I could find up here. I thought I had another one, but it’s almost always just me up here, so I don’t usually wear anything in the hot tub.

Anyway, if you want to join me, that’s where I’m heading.

I’m taking a bottle of Cabernet down with me. Should I take one glass or two?”

He was all man. It took my brain a minute to realize he’d been speaking actual words, and not just modeling his chest, abs, and obviously impressive cock for me.

“Oh, yeah, yes, that sounds great. Two glasses. Sorry, I think the beer or the altitude or something is getting to me.”

The longer he stood there, the wetter I became.

“When you’re changed, just go down the steps, there are towels by the door, just come on out,” he smiled at me, knowingly.

I nodded and watched him turn and leave. His calves flexed as he walked. I wanted to bite them.

My body thought it would be a wonderful time for an orgasm, and I toyed with a quick one as I heard the backdoor

downstairs shut behind John, but I resisted the urge. I pulled my bikini from the suitcase and walked into the bathroom, stripping out of my clothes to find my nipples hard and the dew between my legs more than just my imagination.

I reached behind my shoulders and struggled to clasp my top shut, cursing for not having tried my suit on before I’d packed. If my bras were barely fitting these days, what did I expect my bikini top to do? I knew the bottoms wouldn’t stand a chance, and I briefly debated claiming I’d forgotten to pack my suit, despite John making a point to remind me to bring it since with the chill in the air the hot tub would be a heavenly way to enjoy evenings at the cabin. We’d made love, but he hadn’t exactly seen me naked, head to toe, and that was still a bridge I wasn’t quite ready to cross. I wanted to preserve some scintilla of modesty.

Once I managed to get the top situated, I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing every teenage boy’s wet dream looking back. A cheap whore disguised as Jo Faulkner, breasts obscenely stu ed behind tiny triangles of fabric. The scene was made worse by my angrily swollen nipples, ready to puncture through at any moment.

I picked up the bottoms and sighed, stretching the seat in hopes that it could somehow do a better job covering my ass than the top was doing containing my cleavage.

Wriggling into them, I pulled and shimmied until they were as high as they’d go. I turned my back to the mirror and nearly fainted from shame. The worst part wasn’t the bottom of my ass swallowing up the back as if it were a thong, which it wasn’t meant to be, it was the fact that my butt cleavage was quite possibly deeper than that of my breasts. A porn star wore more conservative swimwear than I was wearing, moments before I was to join John in his hot

tub with a bottle of wine. My dashing, handsome, confident “uncle”, the very sight of whom had me aroused.

The beer wasn’t helping. Wine would surely be a knockout blow.

A deep breath filled my lungs and I stared at the girl in the mirror. I had to admit, I looked good. And if this was Spring Break in Panama City, I’d be the belle of the ball. The pounds college had added to my frame all seemed to be in the right places; I was curvier than I’d ever been and I laughed at imagining myself as being mistaken for the long-lost fourth Kardashian sister.

The spiral staircase led to a rec room of sorts, with two doors at one end, a small workbench, and an opening out to the deck. True to John’s word, I found a pile of flu y white towels near the doors. I wrapped one around my midsection and carried second tucked under my arm, stepping out into the chill of the night.

If my nipples hadn’t been hard enough to drive nails through plywood already, they were now. John had his back to me, steam rising from the water, his muscled arms stretched wide, a bottle of wine and an empty glass near his left hand.

A half-filled glass was in his right hand. The tub itself was surrounded by low lights, but otherwise only the light from the house penetrated the darkness. A sliver of moon hung among about a billion stars overhead.

“There you are. I was beginning to think maybe you’d gotten lost,” John said.

I approached and set down the towel I was carrying, hoping I could somehow slither from the towel to beneath the cloudy water before being seen. John’s eyes, however, were locked on me.

“Oh, no, I was just unpacking a little. Your house is unbelievable,” I said, delaying the inevitable.

“Listen,” he said, in a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you hear the owl?”

I cocked my head to the side and focused on the sounds of the forest, hearing a distant call penetrating the silence.

“Hoo-coo-hoo-hoo.”

John smiled. “I love owls, but in all the time I’ve had this place I’ve never seen one. Bats, deer, raccoons, possums, elk, eagles and hawks, even black bears, every kind of critter you can imagine, but never an owl. One of these days.”

“Bears?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too terrified.

“They never come around here. I’ve seen them up the mountain a bit. There’s a stream they like. I’ve taken some good pictures up there. You should come visit in the Spring.

This place changes so much with the seasons. But enough boring wildlife talk. Come on in. It’s perfect.” He patted the deck, his eyes never leaving me. I’d waited for an opening, for him to be distracted for a second so I could surreptitiously slip in, but it wasn’t happening.

I surrendered and dropped the towel.

John’s expression immediately took on a more serious tone, and he sat up a bit straighter in the tub, looking like he wanted to say something, but reconsidered. The cool air raised goosebumps all over my ample exposed flesh, and I let my foot drop into the water, followed by my leg and then the rest of me.

The heat was a shock, stinging me at first, but once I adjusted, it was fantastic. I’d placed a hair tie around my wrist, and I removed it used both hands to pull my hair back

into a pony tail. As I raised my hands behind my neck, and my chest thrust forward, I caught John’s eyes widening and his nostrils flaring.

I was in trouble. How much, exactly, I didn’t yet know.

“The Moultrie men must be lined up from Hale Hall halfway to Spuds waiting to ask you out, Josephine,” John said, filling my glass with Cabernet.

“I’m not so much into the social scene. Honestly, the guys I’ve met are mostly the same as the high school ones back home. They just want one thing; they’re mostly, pardon me for insulting them, since you were once one of them, but they’re mostly douchebags,” I took a long sip of the best Cabernet I’d ever tasted.

John just stared at me, in a way that made my pulse race. He swirled his glass and sni ed at it before taking a sip.

“My TA, Aaron, is quite smitten with you. He asks about you quite often. He isn’t a douchebag, at least not according to my definition of the word, but, frankly, you’re out of his league. I’ve always thought you were mature for your age, Josephine. High school boys, and even college men, aren’t what would ever be enough for you. Am I right?”

I let the nearly-scalding water soak into my pores and took another drink of my wine, nodding my head at him through wisps of steam.

“Now that I’ve had dinner last night with you and then our ‘dessert’, and most of today with you, if I can be perfectly blunt and hopefully not too crass… Now that I’ve seen you in this setting, seen what a striking young woman you’ve developed into, I’m more sure than ever that you could never

be happy with anything but a man. I mean that as a compliment. Are you familiar with Antonio Stradivari?”

My foggy brain thought the name sounded familiar somehow, but nothing made sense right now besides John’s piercing blue eyes, perfectly-trimmed salt and pepper beard, and glistening shoulders just above the water. I shook my head no.

“Antonio Stradivari was an Italian luthier in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. He made all sorts of stringed instruments, but he’s most widely-known for his violins.

They fetch millions of dollars in the marketplace today.”

I nodded my head in recognition. The name Stradivarius meant something to me, even if the word “luthier” would have had me scrambling for dictionary.com without the context John provided.

“Any violinist could play a Stradivarius. I mean pull a bow across the strings, the physical act. Even a student at his first lesson. But to allow a beginner or an amateur to handle such an instrument would be criminal. Even virtuosos sometimes pause when confronted by such a masterpiece of craftsmanship, sure their ability will found wanting. The hubris of youth or the novice would allow wanton disregard for the perfection of the instrument and the result would surely be disastrous.

“Likewise, allowing a high school boy, or even a college ‘man’, access to a heart such as yours, or to touch such an exquisitely, and again, forgive me if I’m trespassing where I ought not tread, an exquisitely developed body such as yours, would be tragic. They’d surely be found wanting, and could only damage you, never explore your vast, full potential.”

I stared at him, amazed at how he spoke of me. He’d fucked me the night before, used my body for his own wicked pleasure… But he spoke of me now in such reverent tones.

As if he loved me.

I’d finished my glass and as he spoke, he’d moved nearer to me, refilling both our glasses.

He watched me bring mine to my lips, an intense stare as my mouth opened to accept the wine. My mouth was more than ready to accept him, to receive his kiss, or his cock, than I dared admit.

The wine and the earlier beer, the heat of the tub, and listening to this man, who I idolized, describe me with his deep voice as “exquisitely developed,” had turned my body to liquid. I felt as one with the water, my muscles flowing into my bones, my relaxation complete.

My head fell back onto the side of the tub, gazing up at the stars. I let my eyes fall shut, listening intently for the owl to call again, when I felt the bristles of his beard at my throat.

He was kissing me there; in a place he couldn’t possibly know was my kryptonite. Up and down the side of my throat, to my jawline and back to just beneath my ear. I whimpered and clutched at him with my right arm, wrapping it around his shoulders to let him know I didn’t want him to stop.

Below the surface of the water, his hand reached across and enclosed my ribcage, holding me fast. His left hand reached for my pony tail, sliding the holder o and letting my hair fall loose, his fingers tangled up in my hair, gently, but firmly holding my head back, my neck exposed to him. All the while, he never stopped kissing me down to my collarbone and across to the front of my throat. He took his

time, not missing an inch, his beard rough against my skin, his lips soft and full, consuming me.

My mind swirled, struggling to process what was happening.

As desperately as my body wanted and welcomed it, the voice in my head, tiny and getting smaller every time my heart pounded inside my chest, was screaming at me that it was so very wrong for so many reasons.

His hold on my hair lessened, and his mouth found mine. He moved in front of me, his hands cradling my face as he rose out of the water, steam and droplets of water accentuating the manly tone of his shoulders and arms. He pulled my face to him, kissing me on the mouth like I’d never before been kissed.

His knee found the bench where I sat, landing firmly between my legs, where my hips ground wantonly against it.

My body was no longer subject to my whims, only to lust. To need. To achieving maximum pleasure, no matter the cost.

So I rubbed against his thigh as if I were in heat, kissing him desperately.

I struggled to rise with him, to press my body to his, and I felt his hand at the small of my back. He took hold of the top of my bikini bottom and pulled upwards, making everything tight against my aching sex. I yelped at the liberty he took with me, but his mouth just swallowed up the sound.

It seemed he’d never stop kissing me.

I was sure I’d die if he did.

His fist wrapped itself around the fabric of my bikini bottom, holding it tight as I rutted on him, my frantic style of kissing giving away the orgasm threatening to overtake me.

He stopped kissing me only long enough to press our foreheads together, his eyes an inch from mine, just long enough to pose a question.

“Do you need to come, Princess?”

I bit my lip and nodded, trembling as I clutched at him, his muscles my anchor to reality as the waves of pleasure washed over me.

“Good girl. Good girl.” He repeated into my ear again and again, his words sustaining my climax much longer than I’d have expected.

When the aftershocks subsided, I sank back into the water, followed by John. He knelt between my legs, smiling, looking up at my flushed face.

“Was that okay with you?” he asked, kindly.

“Yes. Yes, very okay,” I rasped in reply.

“Good. Turn around and let me get a good look at your ass, Josephine.”

It wasn’t a request or a question, it was a command.

I stood and turned, slowly, both hands on the side of the tub, the cold air sending a chill down my spine, causing me to shiver for just a moment.

“Glorious,” John stated, his hands again taking liberties with my body, palming my ass, one hand sliding down the back of my thigh and the other massaging the small of my back.

“Feet together.”

My body was now taking commands solely from John Hardwicke, not from me. I shu ed my feet toward one

another, and when they were near enough, I felt his thumbs pull the sides of my bikini bottoms down in one long smooth tug. They disappeared as soon as they reached my ankles, and I anticipated his next command but waited to hear it before following it.

“Legs apart now.”

As far as I could, I let my feet slide away, leaving me bent over the side of the hot tub, my ass up in the air, everything exposed and available to him.

“This body of yours needs guidance, Josephine, doesn’t it? It craves a firm hand. Discipline. It’s very lush. It needs to be tamed. Am I right?” The entire time he spoke, his hands roamed over and around my ass, up and down the backs of my legs, absolutely every place except where I needed his touch so badly, the furnace between my thighs.

My head dropped between my shoulders as my hips rolled in circles under his ministrations.

“Yes. Yes, I need you so badly, please!” I implored him.

“Tell me, Josephine. Tell me exactly what your body needs.

What you need. What you had planned coming out here dressed like this. Knowing what it would do to me. Tell me.”

His open hand crashed down on the right cheek of my ass, a stinging exclamation point. He rubbed his palm over the area in a soothing motion as I whimpered and bit my bottom lip.

“I… I need… I need you. I need to get fucked by you. I need you to fuck me. Please fuck me!” My voice was deeper than I recognized, sultry, husky. He spanked my ass again. Then again, alternating hands, each impact sending a jolt up my spine and back down directly to my searing sex.

“Kneel on the bench. Ass high in the air. Be proud of your succulent ass. I’ve never seen its equal.”

I lowered myself into a kneeling position. My torso flat on the deck, the cold air no match for the heat my lust was producing. I felt him move behind me, change positions. I expected to feel his cock, the girth Alexa had noticed straining against his pants at Spuds, the hammer I couldn’t help but notice swinging in the basket of his old swim trunks upstairs in my room.

The cock that had fucked me last night, like a young whore. I was his whore. Forever. Until he was done with me and even if he ever was done with me, I’d still be so grateful to have been fucked by him.

To be owned.

But when I felt his hands on my ass, they spread me open not for his cock, but for… his tongue.

Every muscle in my body tensed at once and I jolted upright, but his strong hands held me in place and his approach was unchanged.

His flattened tongue covered my opening in long, slow licks, and I knew that he must be able to taste the arousal he’d been building in me all afternoon and into the evening.

From his position, each time he covered the length of my sex with his tongue, I knew his nose had to be… oh, God, it was right there… I could feel it, there was no mistaking it, his face was right there by my ass. Not by it, in it.

Nothing and no one had ever been there, touched me there, seen me there. But in the flickering light of the hot tub and the moonlight bathing us, I knew he was experiencing the last virginal part of me, my most private sanctuary. Waves of

shame coursed through me. The tricks a mind can play set my entire future out in a nanosecond; get out of the tub, get dressed, get home (my mind couldn’t quite connect the dots between the cabin and home, I blame the alcohol), withdraw from school, and leave the country. Maybe, one day, I could face my parents again. With luck, I’d never have to look at Uncle John’s handsome face ever ag- oh, fuck…

Fuck, fuck fuck.

He wasn’t intent to just grope, spank, look at, and smell my ass.

No, that wouldn’t be mortifying enough.

He was kissing it.

I don’t mean the cheeks, either.

Although he was kissing them, too.

He held me there, kissing all over my ass. His hands running up my back and down my sides, in wide, circular massaging swaths. While he moved up and kissed the small of my back, and then down to the top of the crack of my ass, where I have a tiny mole that nobody on Earth knows about except… well, I used to be the only one. But now he was kissing it.

And lower. And deeper.

And the entire time, I was as wet with arousal as I’d ever been in my life.

I writhed and leaked like a faucet as I felt his beard scratching at the most tender flesh on my body, between the cheeks of my ass, and I let myself collapse back down onto the deck, whimpering, letting him have his way with me.

His kisses became more insistent, changed to licked, tighter and tighter circles. Nearer and nearer to where I so desperately needed to feel his tongue.

To a place on my body I’d never before been so acutely aware was surrounded by the most delicious nerve endings.

He licked me… there.

And suddenly, everything in my life I thought had been pleasure was suddenly, laughably insignificant.

That mysterious owl, every bear on the mountain, and all the creatures in the forest could suddenly have descended on the cabin, on John’s deck, and I doubt I’d have noticed.

My focus was absolute. On the tiniest, tightest bundle of nerves in my body.

His insistent tongue swirled ’round and ‘round before setting on the task of probing. Invading. Extending inside me. Where, impossibly, the sensations of forbidden pleasure were magnified a thousand fold.

I could feel wetness everywhere. My feet and calves were underwater. My cheeks were stained with tears, the genesis of which was my body’s complete inability to process the wonderful euphoria washing over me. And my inner thighs were an entirely di erent matter. My arousal may well have filled the tub all on its own.

John pressed his face in deeper, until he was, quite literally, French kissing me there. Enthusiastically French kissing my ass.

Not only had I never experienced anything like this, I’d never heard of anything like this.

I had friends in high school, and my Moultrie roommate Alexa, who were, by degrees of magnitude more adventuresome and experienced sexually than I. But none of them had described anything like a man devouring them from behind.

My mind boggled. And then an orgasm erupted inside me that threatened to incinerate my soul.

It began, quite impossibly, in my ass. My prior orgasms had all been from my clit, entirely self-administered. I’d read enough Cosmo to understand that I had a “g-spot” and that if it were stimulated properly that it could produce a powerful climax. And somewhere on-line I recalled the theoretical “a-spot” at the very back of a vagina. Of course, my nipples had given me hours of fun. But my ass could come?

Yes. Yes, it could.

The muscles in my ass started clenching and clamping down, all over John’s face, and I squealed, an embarrassing sound I couldn’t duplicate for a suitcase full of cash, but a sound over which I had absolutely no control.

I thrashed and squealed, my ass orgasming around his tongue, until everything was just too sensitive, too tender, too overwhelming, and I tried to pull myself up onto the deck further, to escape his maddening tongue, if only for a moment’s respite, just to take a breath.

He withdrew his face, but his grip on my hips was unrelenting. He lifted my ass back into the air, and his hand was between my legs. In the sticky, quivering wetness that used to be my pussy.

His middle finger and then his ring finger found no resistance and slipped inside me. His palm was down, toward the deck, and the two fingers inside me began to massage and strum at me. At a wonderful, hidden place.

How did this man know my body better than I did? How could he know these parts of me that I, living in this body for almost nineteen years, knew nothing about?

His fingers were pressing and aggressively rubbing something in me that sent deep surges to my core. Jolts of pleasure that were steadily increasing, getting more powerful, growing.

I heard myself whimpering again, begging for him.

“I need your cock,” I whispered. “Uncle John… Please. You’re old enough to be my father. Don’t you want this young pussy?”

“Good girl, Josephine. Just relax for me. You’ve done so well.

Let it build. Don’t give in to it yet. Hold o as long as you can. It will be so much better. Trust me with your body,” John’s voice was commanding, but soothing. He was here with me. I had to trust him. He knew what was best. He knew my body better than I did, that much was obvious. I tried to nod, my whimpering became a guttural sort of humming.

He was sawing those two fingers in and out, finding that place inside me again and again, massaging it then pumping.

Then rubbing it again.

I was in darkness, a winding passage. A light flickered somewhere. Up? Over there? No, straight ahead… it was frustrating, but it was there. Right in front of me. Just reach out and grab it.

Slap!

His hand crashed down on the left cheek of my ass, even as his left continued its wicked work on my cunt.

The spanking made me lose sight of the torch, the mysterious light, the release for which my body so desperately clamored.

Just as I settled into the rhythm again and found the path, he spanked me again. I gasped at the force of the blow, and the heat from where his palm landed surely must have exceeded the temperature of the water.

Again and again, he let me get close, so close, fingertips from what I needed more than the crisp mountain air I was sucking in by the lungful. But then he’d force my focus to shift to my ass. To the sharp, punishing spanks with which he was tenderizing my full, round ass.

My tears were a combination of the overwhelming climax I’d had, the pain his hand was delivering, and the frustration bubbling over inside me. Words tumbled from my mouth.

“Please, please Uncle John, oh fuck, please, I need to oh, oh, I need so badly, I, please…”

His palm massaged my ass in soothing circles and he replied in a calm, quiet voice. “What, Princess? What do you need.

Tell me and I’ll deliver you. Just tell me, sweet girl.”

At this point, neighbors or not, distinguished professor at my school or not, best friend of my father or not, I didn’t.

Fucking. Care.

I screamed.

“I need to come! John, I need to fucking come!”

And what did he do? What did this man, who had demonstrated complete mastery of my body do, when I expressed, with every fiber of my being, what I needed?

He chuckled.

“Good girl,” he said. “Yes, you do.”

The fingers inside me assaulted that place, what must be the g-spot Cosmo was so fond of. And then I felt his beard again, between the cheeks of my ass. He was licking me back there again, while at the same time pounding away at my spot.

I was reminded of a scene in a movie. That movie about the soccer team or rugby team or whatever it was in the plane crash in the Andes. A group of them climbed to the summit of a nearby mountain, hoping to see their foundation, and instead they were faced with miles and miles of ever-higher, more imposing peaks.

Orgasms I thought were good and satisfying just hours ago, were molehills. What John had done to my ass a short time ago was a mountain. What his fingers and mouth were doing to me was dropping me at the summit of Everest.

I screamed myself hoarse, bucking and twisting there on his deck, while he calmly massaged my g-spot.

And ate my ass.

And the agonizing ecstasy that wracked my body and rocked my soul short-circuited everything. I lurched and quivered and almost blacked out.

And then.

His cock, slowly pressed against my most sacred of holes. It wasn’t my pussy, no. Not my swollen, desperate pussy that

needed him so much.

John was slowly penetrating my asshole with his cock.

At first I wasn’t sure. His tongue had felt so good, yet still taboo. But John’s size and girth was something else completely.

“I can’t…” I started. He ran his hands up my naked back.

“Please,” he begged me. “I need to have your ass. I need to pump it with my seed, Josephine. It won’t hurt for long. But if you give it to me, you’re truly mine. Has anyone fucked your ass, Princess?”

I shook my head as he slowly pushed in further, causing me to wince a bit. It was so tight there. I didn’t know how he’d fit.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said. “I won’t be able to stop, Josephine. My good girl. Can we role play again?”

I nodded. “Yes, Uncle John.”

He leaned in, pushing even further into my ass. Tears sprang to my eyes. It hurt, but it was an exquisite kind of pain. I wanted to give him it. I was desperate for him to have it.

Then he’d really be mine.

“Instead of Uncle John,” he whispered. “Why don’t you call me Daddy? Because this is so dirty, Princess. And you screaming out for your daddy to fuck you in the ass would make me come so hard, baby. I think it would make you come too. Wouldn’t it?”

Fuck. Yes. This fantasy would be my undoing. My nipples ached with the arousal at the forbidden thought.

His slow thrusting suddenly became faster, making me feel as if I was being split in two. But I bit my lip and I clutched the side of the bench, knowing that I was giving John the greatest pleasure of his life.

“Oh, my good girl,” he said as he buried himself in my ass.

“It’s the tightest thing I’ve ever fucked. I can barely fit. I’m going to come so hard inside your ass, Princess. Do you like when Daddy fucks your ass?”

“Yes!” I screamed out into the night. “Your princess just wants to please you, Daddy. Please. Fuck my virgin ass. No one fucks me like my Daddy.”

“Fuck!” he cried out. I’d said the magic words.

He clutched my hips. He pounded my ass as if it was my pussy. He was relentless and I cried out with him, feeling his seed fill me. I could feel him throbbing and emptying himself into the most forbidden part of my body.

I could have died then and been happy. I’d given my all to the man of my dreams. He’d cried out for me as he’d finished and in that moment, the power roles were reversed.

I held the power when it came to John. Because he needed me as much as I needed him.

And that was scary.

THE NEXT THING I KNEW, I was in bed, between the softest sheets and beneath the heaviest, thickest comforter I’d ever felt.

It took me a moment to realize where I was, but the exposed wood all around me, the pure, rustic masculinity of

everything, brought it all rushing back to me. I was in bed, in John’s master bedroom.

The door was open, and I could see shadows dancing on the wall outside, which made sense when I inhaled wisps of smoke from a fire that must have been roaring in the living room.

I lay there, replaying the drive, the dinner, and the hot tub in my mind. I ran my hands up and down my body, to find that I was completely naked. Brushing my fingers across my nipples made me shudder, and I let my hand linger between my legs a moment, finding everything there hyper-sensitive.

And needy. Hungry for more.

I’d had two orgasms that defied description, that bankrupted the English language with any attempt to properly describe them. And my clit had been left completely untouched. I touched it now, coaxing it out to play, gently caressing it. A small orgasm arrived quickly, and if I’d hoped one more climax would extinguish the fire in my loins, I was sorely mistaken. My body was on fire.

Only he was equipped to extinguish it. Only John knew what I needed, knew how to help me.

But first, I needed something for my head. I hadn’t realized how my head was pounding, a byproduct of beer and wine and blacking out.

I pushed myself up onto an elbow and surveyed the room. I smiled when I glanced at the nightstand. Three bottles of Gatorade, red, green, and blue, next to bottles of two di erent over-the-counter painkillers.

A hand-written note was folded between the pills and the drinks. I opened and read it by the moonlight and flickering

firelight spilling in from the next room.

Josephine, I wasn’t sure which flavor you preferred or what you’d want for your headache. If you need something stronger, I either have it or will get it. Sleep as long as you like. Wake me if you need anything. Happy Thanksgiving – John I shook three capsules into my hand and washed them down with a red Gatorade, sitting up in bed. I ran both fingers through my hair and stretched my arms above my head and then out in front of me.

I had a splitting headache, but my body felt fantastic. The food and sleep and the orgasms had me feeling like I’d spent a month at the spa.

A clock hanging on the wall with either a moose or an elk on it read 5:14. Had to be AM, I surmised, although in this new world of mine, a world of Thai food and mind-bending sex in which a man old enough to be my father made me chase orgasms.

I wasn’t sure if time mattered. All that mattered was John, and the secrets he knew about my body.

I slipped my legs over the side of the bed, my feet falling straightaway into the furry slippers I was sure I’d left packed, but that had somehow been placed perfectly on the floor.

I smiled and shook my head. If only I had clothes on, I was ready to go in search of John.

But did I really need clothes? He’d seen every part of me.

Done things to me that not only had no man ever done, he’d done things to my body I could scarcely imagine.

In case I’d been dreaming, although the dull soreness in the muscles deep inside me, dormant sinews not used to such vigorous clenching, led me to believe it had all been very real, I couldn’t face him naked.

I stepped silently over to the dresser where my clothes had all been put away, and I pulled on a pair of black yoga pants and a Moultrie hoodie. Not my sexiest ensemble, but comfortable, and I didn’t figure John could possibly protest a shirt splashed across the front with the name of his alma mater and employer.

I found John on his sectional, stretched out in front of the fireplace, his shirtless chest serving as a bookmark for a thick novel he’d fallen asleep reading. He had on blue pajama pants, slung low, and it appeared nothing else. I stood and stared at him, his features sharp and handsome in the light of the fire. I glanced out the window to see heavy, wet flakes of snow falling through the pines.

My attention returned to John, and the wisps of salt and pepper hair traveling down from below his belly button in a straight line to the top of his pants. I’d heard that hair referred to as a “happy trail,” but had never given it much thought until now.

In my hyper-sexed state, it was a fucking jubilation trail.

What it led to, consumed me. I bit my bottom lip and absentmindedly let my right hand dip between my legs, rubbing myself through my yoga pants while staring at him.

Stop it! What the fuck was wrong with me? As soon as a started, I stopped, overcome with shame. Was I really going to stand here and rub myself o staring at a sleeping man?

Old enough to be my father? Basically my dad, 2.0? I couldn’t.

Unless he told me to, of course.

I was his. After what he’d done to me, I was smitten.

Obsessed. My body was making the decisions now. My libido was in charge. He’d planted something in my soul, my orgasms watered it, and it had grown like wildfire as I slept.

Whatever, whoever, I had been before I got picked up for my trip to the mountains, that girl was gone.

I watched a video once of a colt, a young horse, who’d been born and was raised in a zoo or something, somewhere he’d lived his entire brief life on concrete, maybe dirt, but had never set foot on grass. He was taken to his new home in a trailer, and when the doors opened and ramp was stretched out to allow him egress, he gingerly padded down until he encountered this strange, soft, green stu . He was terrified.

He sort of half-stepped onto it with one hoof, but quickly withdrew. He bent low and smelled the blades of grass, shaking out his mane. He let his hoof again settle onto the ground, testing it to make certain it could support his weight. A few more steps, and it seemed safe. Within moments, he was the happiest pony you’ve ever seen, bouncing and frolicking in the pasture. What he’d been missing his entire life, but never knew it, was grass. And outdoors. Room to run.

Watching that video, I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced happiness to match it. Maybe if all my Christmases and birthdays were stacked up on top of each other. Maybe. But probably not.

I needed to frolic. To experience more of this wonderful, new world John had introduced me to. I glided around the sectional and knelt down in front of John’s prone body.

Any chance the events of last night could be blamed on a drunken mistake, or left undiscussed, chalked up as a moment of madness, were about to vanish. I needed him.

Now. I swallowed hard and reached a softly trembling hand for the crotch of his pants.

CHAPTER SIX

I stopped short a fraction of an inch from touching John.

If there was no turning back before, which it seemed there surely wasn’t, I would surely be jumping o the cli with this. I held my hand there and inhaled deeply, trying to slow my pounding heart. The whole room felt charged with electricity, like during a storm, but in reality snow was falling quietly outside, a fire heading toward dying out a few feet away, popping and crackling, and John’s impressive chest rose and fell slowly.

Only I was in an excited state, it seemed. An aroused state, to be certain. I looked at his face, where the slightest hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Was he dreaming?

Of me?

His pajama pants had a button fly on them, and summoning all of my heretofore unrealized safecracking skills, I let my fingertips find the top button, slipping it free, my eyes watching John’s face for any sign that he’d been disturbed by my activity. He remained deeply asleep, his breathing unchanged, so I let my fingers drop to the second button, which would prove to be a challenge. The material around it

was stretched, straining to contain what was inside. Resting heavy, laying there. My prize. His cock.

The opening I’d created would allow a finger inside, maybe two, but it wouldn’t allow me to reach what I so desperately needed. Perhaps there was a way I could adjust him, take pressure o that second button.

I let my index finger slip inside, still monitoring his handsome, sleeping face. My finger encountered an obstacle almost immediately, a spongy softness I knew could only be one thing. I dragged the nail slowly along, feeling like I could jump entirely out of my skin at any moment. I was strangely giddy at my naughtiness.

I let my finger caress and explore, and although his breathing remained deep and his eyelids clamped shut, his cock began to respond. I watched as it slowly unfurled, searching for somewhere to move to stand tall and erect, to harden completely. Searching for something to fuck.

I withdrew my finger, finding the second button was no unencumbered, and I popped it loose, creating the opening I needed.

My heart was absolutely pounding in my ears; if Id turned to find a guy dressed in full marching band uniform behind me hammering away at a bass drum, it wouldn’t have surprised me. I’d never before been so aware of my own heartbeat.

I could now access John’s manhood completely, and my hand reached in and took hold of his hardening shaft pulling it out into view only moments before it would have been too long and too hard to remove without taking his pants o completely, surely awakening him.

It sort of lazily rolled across, all on its own. It was somewhere between halfway there and fully hard and throbbing. But already a mouth-watering thickness. The number of penises, erect or otherwise, that I’d seen in my life was a pitifully small number. But I knew, in that moment, that I’d never see one more perfect. More masculine.

It was flared and muscly, and even over the aroma of the fire, I could smell the essence of John. The faintest aroma of sweat along with an undefinable musk that could only be pure testosterone.

I was mesmerized by his cock, letting my index finger gently caress its length, feeling the heat radiating from it; its weight. Its power.

My hand opened around the shaft, encircling it right in the middle. There was plenty of room left at each end even with my hand on it, and my thumb and index finger couldn’t touch without putting some pressure on it. Pressure which caused it to yield a bit. It wasn’t even all the way fucking hard?

I subconsciously licked my lips, giving it a slow stroke with my fist, feeling a deep throb course through it as it swelled a bit against my fingers.

“Put it in your mouth, Josephine. Suck Daddy’s cock.”

My blood turned to ice water.

John was awake.

Awake to find his good girl on her knees, stroking his cock.

I felt like someone in a horror movie, who just heard the slasher behind her, but who knows that if she turns around and sees him, that it’s over. As long as she doesn’t look, he

won’t really kill her. Right? My eyes remained transfixed on the large cock in my hand, and I hoped against hope that the voice I’d heard was just my mind playing tricks on me.

The old joke about dogs who chase cars revolves around wondering what they’ll do with them if and when they catch them. I was the dog who’d gotten her teeth onto the bumper of that SUV down the street; what was my next move?

“Josephine, I can tell by the way you’re staring at it that you want to taste it. Do it now. Your daddy needs his girl’s mouth on him. You want to please me, right? No one will know. It can be our secret, baby. Mmmm. Yes. That’s very good, my princess.”

He’d already demonstrated that he knew things about my body that I never knew. Now he could read my mind, too? I did want to taste it. To suck it. To take it as deep down my throat as I possibly could. To submit to it. To him. I loved when he asked me to suck my daddy’s cock, loved pretending to be doing something so dirty.

As if it wasn’t already dirty enough to fuck him.

I stroked it again, lifting it perpendicular to his body. I leaned down, closing my eyes and opening my mouth.

“Good girl.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Just hearing him call me that made me flood my now-ruined yoga pants.

I engulfed him with my mouth, inhaling as much of him as I could, my hand still wrapped around the shaft. I bobbed once, then twice rolling my neck and swirling my tongue, wanting to taste every square millimeter of him. He fit into

my mouth perfectly, his head resting against the roof of my mouth as I withdrew, whimpering with pure, undiluted lust.

I’d given blowjobs before, and that’s all they were – jobs. I was duty-bound to give some boy a thrill, a few minutes of pleasure in exchange for him telling me how pretty I was.

The typical bargain struck by sexually-active adolescents and college kids all over America.

But I’d never sucked cock. And I mean eagerly. Lewdly.

Sloppily. Like a starving slut deriving sustenance for her very soul through the tip of my lover’s manhood.

He grunted and adjusted himself on the couch, getting comfortable, settling back to be serviced. That’s what I was, at that moment. Someone, something, to give his swelling, pulsing cock pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less.

He reached down and pulled the hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear to survey the job I was doing.

I could feel my face flush hot with shame knowing he was watching me, knowing that he was seeing me, the little girl he’d watched develop and grow up, attending my every graduation, a few recitals here and there, birthdays and ballgames, and now he was watching me slobbering all over a huge cock as if I were in heat. His huge cock.

“I had no idea you were such a slavish fellatrix. You enjoy sucking my cock very much, don’t you, Josephine?” His words touched me like electric shocks, making me writhe beneath his gaze.

I tried to nod and make a sound that resembled “yes,” without letting his now immensely erect cock leave my mouth.

He chuckled. “Such a very good girl.”

If he said that again, I’d come. I had no doubt. Each time he called me a good girl, it felt like he was thrusting into me.

And I redoubled my e ort at pleasing him.

I paused for just a moment. “Daddy? Am I doing a good job?”

He moaned. That was answer enough.

I sucked and mewed and licked and whimpered, worshipping the length and width of him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he’d set his book aside somewhere and he’d placed his hands behind his head, elbows out. Completely relaxed.

Only he wasn’t. He reached for the end table behind him and retrieved his phone, scrolling through it, paying me no mind.

While I should have been crushed by his indi erence to the desperate way I was using my mouth to make love to his cock, the contrary occurred. I was enveloped in sexual flame.

He was ignoring me. He’d happened to wake up and he needed to check his texts, catch up on his e-mails, maybe review his portfolio. Who knows? All I knew was his cock, and that I had to please it. Sucking, fighting to get every inch into my tender throat that I possibly could, and my only reward from John was the occasional sigh of contentment.

I’d been rolling my hips, rubbing my thighs together, but I needed more. My left hand had been clutching the sectional cushion with a white-knuckled grip, but I let it fall to my lap, into the waistband of my yoga pants, its destination the sopping mess my pussy had become. I needed a climax in the worst way.

“Ah, ah, Josephine. Focus on the cock. Your pleasure comes at my discretion. Not yours. I’m your daddy. Do as I say.”

What. The. Fuck.

This man, this beautiful, brilliant man, who had been completely ignoring me, was telling me I couldn’t even touch my own pussy? While his cock throbbed in my throat and gushed what seemed like gallons of sticky-sweet precome into my mouth, so much, in fact, that it ran down my chin?

Yes. Yes, he was. And my only option was to obey. His voice, not my mind or desires, controlled my body. With a moan of frustration, I removed my hand from my pants and added to his shaft, all of me now focused on John’s manhood.

“We’ll have to train that petulant little whimper out of you, Josephine. Take me deeper now.”

Deeper? Was he fucking crazy? I was already gagging on him, my face and throat wet with my e orts.

I struggled to accept more of him, and I felt his hand at the back of my head, gently, but firmly, guiding me.

“The key is surrender. You have to surrender yourself fully in order to sublimate your gag reflex, Josephine. That reflex is an act of self-preservation. You can only be free by abandoning ‘self’. Only pleasure matters now. My pleasure, and the pleasure you get from being the source of mine. My orgasm must be paramount. It must mean even more than your own.”

As he spoke, without me realizing it, he applied steadilyincreasing pressure to the back of my head, and as the word “own” left his delicious mouth, I realized that my face was pressed against his crotch, the fabric of his pants, and that I’d take him deeper into my throat than I ever imagined possible. The sense of pride I felt was overwhelming. The arousal absolute.

“Good girl. You’re pleasing me very much.”

I squirmed, rapturous tremors rippling through my thighs and around to the small of my back. He’d given me yet another orgasm without touching my pussy. A deep, rolling climax as I nestled my face against him, ignoring the burning in my throat and lungs. Tears rolled down my cheeks. The tears weren’t fueled by any sort of sadness; they were just a sign that my body was on some sort of overload again.

I slowly rose, releasing his wet, majestic cock with a loud gasp. Everything was silent, but for our collective heavy breathing. Wordlessly, he rose and divested himself of his pajama pants, kicking them away.

“Up on the couch, Josephine. On your knees. Show me your gorgeous ass again.”

I pulled my hoodie o and tossed it away, shedding my yoga pants as I stood. They were was wet as if I’d swam in them.

Standing before him, he looked down at me with the sexiest smile I’d ever seen, closed-mouthed and crooked, completely cocksure and satisfied with himself.

I clambered up onto the couch, my elbows on the back, knees on the cushion, arching my back in a way I imagined and hoped he’d find sexy.

He stepped behind me, taking a great handful of my ass.

“I’ve been all over the world, Josephine. From Copacabana Beach to New York City, from Tokyo to London, and I’ve never seen such an ass.” He lifted the flesh he held, letting it fall, and then he spanked it with his open palm. Hard.

I yelped with surprise and pain, and he responded by spanking the other cheek, even harder. I clenched the rear

cushion of the sectional, my mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

“I mean it’s just magnificent.”

Spank!

“I could never tire of spanking it” Slap!

“And eating it.”

Oh my God. Spank!

“I loved fucking it.”

Slap!

At that, my body became liquid. The searing heat of his hands on my ass, the slick wetness of my starving cunt, the raw ache in my throat, it was all too much. I found my voice.

Or maybe my voice found me. I didn’t recognize it. But it had to be mine. It was more animal growl than human speech.

Low and steady, as if I were possessed.

“Fuck me. Fuck my ass, fuck my cunt, fuck me anywhere you want, just fuck me. Fuck me so hard with your big cock. But please fuck me into oblivion.”

“Oh my,” he chuckled. “As you wish.”

He plunged inside me and I cried out, “Daddy! You’re so hard!”

A telephone pole. He was fucking me with a telephone pole.

It couldn’t have been anything else. A baseball bat would have been a toothpick next to what he’d put inside me.

He grabbed hold of my hips and drove himself into me, fully, and a lump formed in my throat. He left it there for three heartbeats. I counted them. His, not mine. I felt them in his cock. Pulsing, throbbing heartbeats.

He withdrew and slid back in, slowly, letting me feel each inch. I was so fucking wet. So horny. So desperate.

Within a few thrusts, he was pounding me. Standing, hands at the small of my back, ravaging my cunt. Driving deep inside, shifting his angle to hit places, tender, magical places, battering my sex relentlessly.

“John…” I called to him, our role-playing over for a moment.

“I love when my lover takes what’s his.”

Self-preservation returned, fight or flight, and I felt myself trying to scramble up and over the back of the sofa to escape his punishing cock. But his grip remained steadfast. All I could do was take it. Receive it. Surrender to it.

With pile driving thrusts, he stretched and bruised my pussy, plundering it for orgasms, wrenching them from my soul again and again. The world began and ended with his marvelous cock. I was screaming incomprehensibly, trying to thank him and beg for more and exclaim how fucking amazing he was and how I felt all at once.

Sweat poured o us, and despite the fire having burned down to glowing embers, the room felt consumed in an inferno.

His hands had moved up to my shoulders, and each thrust made a deafening loud sound of wet, crashing flesh. His balls smacked against my clit setting o fireworks each and every time.

My muscles ached and cramped, and I went limp, a ragdoll on the end of his cock.

“The next time you come, I’m going to stop thrusting and let your orgasm massage my shaft until I come. Do you understand, Josephine? Your body is going to make me come.

Do you want that? Do you want me to come?”

Exhausted, I nodded my head, hair plastered all over my face with sweat and saliva.

I was soaring somewhere between orgasm and ultimate ecstasy, something on the horizon with which I was unfamiliar and unprepared. The climaxes were constant, each one rolling into the next.

I got lost in the fantasy. I was his young little whore, the one he’d brought in from the streets in order to use me to fuck.

The thought of my duty and purpose only being to pleasure him made the orgasms that much more intense. I wanted and needed to be his good girl. His princess. His Josephine.

He was my Daddy, the man who took care of all my needs, and in turn I was the one that took care of his carnal ones.

Until.

He reached down and circled my asshole with his fingertip, never changing his rhythm. He fucked me hard and fast, and on one particularly aggressive thrust, his finger went inside.

Inside my ass.

Where, up until last night, nothing had ever been.

Until his tongue.

And then his cock.

As it commenced, he reached for my hair, taking a handful of it and pulling my head back, his other hand working my tight asshole.

My climax was more seizure than orgasm. My thighs trembled and quaked, my back arched like a contortionist, and I had an orgasm to end all orgasms.

The contractions inside my sex were powerful and intense, clutching at him. True to his word, he pushed deep inside and stood very still. As the waves ripped through me, he bellowed. Not words, just a guttural scream that sounded more pain than pleasure, but I didn’t care what it was. My own orgasm was endless and shattering, body slamming my very soul.

I felt him pulsing, emptying himself inside me, as if a fire hose had been shoved deep inside me. It seemed to never end, our mutual eruption, mine feeding his and vice versa.

My muscles tensed and relaxed, all over my body, again and again. As our screams died down, he let my hair slip through his fingers, and my head came to rest on the back of the sectional. Likewise, his finger disappeared from my ass as if had never been there. He remained solid inside me, and as sort of a cool down he pistoned his cock in and out of me slowly as I whimpered.

Finally, mercifully, he eased out of me, helping me to collapse onto the wide cushions, facing inward to the back of the couch. He pulled the ottoman tight against the front of the cushions to give himself more room, and he curled up behind me, an arm beneath my neck and the other wrapped around my middle, fingers intertwined with mine. The room, once the temperature of the inside of a furnace, was suddenly very cold, what with the fire having gone out

completely. He pulled his hand from mine and reached back to tug a quilt draped over a nearby chair over the top of us.

Once content that we were both covered and comfy, he kissed my shoulder and the side of my neck.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. How can I ever be without you? We’re in so much trouble.”

I was too exhausted to speak much.

“I’m yours, John,” I said. “I always have been. I’m starting to think its the reason I exist at all. To belong to you.”

And with that, I fell deep asleep.

All had been said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

H ours later, the sounds of cooking, lids hitting pots and

oil sizzling in pans, pulled me forth from my hibernation.

The fire was roaring again, and I lay still and watched the flames dance for a while as I listened to John humming a tune I didn’t recognize as he busied himself in the kitchen.

He couldn’t see me where I lay, so I let myself wake up slowly, stretching languidly and rolling over onto my back. I stared up at the ceiling and stifled a giggle as I recalled the events of the early morning.

My hand drifted between my legs, finding a sticky mess, a coating of my own arousal and his orgasm all over my inner thighs. Just brushing against my vulva made me shudder.

Everything was super-sensitive and tender.

I caressed my sides with my fingertips, rolling my right nipple casually. I was supercharged with lust. Nothing mattered except fucking. And coming.

Whatever John was preparing in the kitchen smelled fantastic, and I was famished, but all I could think of was my

next orgasm, my next sexual rendezvous with this man who had turned my world completely upside down in just a few short hours.

I was hopelessly obsessed. Addicted. I could think of nothing but John, and I did a quick calculation in my head to figure out how many hours I had left in the cabin with him. Then, roughly how many minutes. Large as the numbers seemed, they were too small. I didn’t ever want to be anywhere but within arm’s reach of John. Mouth’s reach. Cock’s reach. I was created to give him pleasure.

Pulling the quilt around me, both for the comfort and whatever remained of my modesty, I rose to my feet.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead,” John said to me, swirling and sipping a glass of wine as he stood, shirtless, near the stove.

I wondered how I must look to him. How messed up my hair must be. “Hey,” I said, in a soft, raspy voice. “That smells so good.”

“Well, everything’s coming together. It’ll be just a little while yet, but we ought to have ourselves quite a feast. Hope you packed your appetite.”

When he said the word “coming,” I felt a clench between my thighs. I wanted to broach the subject of our sex, but John was speaking to me as if none of it ever happened. As if I was just his guest for the holiday, someone for whom he was preparing Thanksgiving dinner, not as someone he’d just fucked completely senseless.

Someone he’d confessed his love to.

“I am starving,” I replied, stepping around the sectional, careful to keep the quilt around me.

He dipped a fingertip into some concoction on the stove and placed it on his tongue, tasting the product of his e orts.

“Perfect,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if he meant what he’d tasted, the fact that I was so hungry, or both.

I ran a hand through the mess atop my head, trying to gauge just how wild and freshly-fucked my hair must look before I faced myself in the bathroom mirror. I glanced at John, and he was staring at me with a puzzling smirk.

“What?” I asked, smiling weakly. The few shu ing steps I’d taken toward my room found me sti and sore. I looked forward to a soak in the tub after dinner. Just a soak. My body couldn’t handle more of John at the moment.

“Oh, nothing, Josephine. I’m just disappointed in myself.”

I cocked my head, hoping I wasn’t on the brink of the abyss, that he wasn’t about to tell me what a crazy mistake everything had been.

“I wish I’d been able to finish up in here more quietly. I wanted to reward you by waking you up the same way you did me,” he said, staring directly into my eyes.

I bit my bottom lip as a tremor rolled through my very messy pussy at the thought. I couldn’t speak.

He stepped around the counter and out into the living room, where I was rooted to the spot. He wore the same pajama pants I’d found him that morning, and nothing else. He arrived in front of me, placing a hand on my cheek, cradling my face as he looked down at me.

“You’re such a rare beauty, Josephine. Everything about you is sexy. It’s e ortless. You can’t even help it. Can’t turn it o .

The way you move, your voice, the way you smell; I just have to have you. I can’t stop having you.”

He was so close to me that even through the quilt I could feel his arousal pressing against me. He was hard. Again.

I staggered back half a step and leaned against the back of the sectional. The quilt slid from my shoulder, and he helped it along. It puddled on the floor at my feet.

He took my face in both hands and kissed me passionately, a long, deep kiss. I trembled.

I kissed him back, my arms on his shoulders, pulling him into me. His hands slid down to my hips, and one of them dipped between my legs, finding me soaked.

“Oh my, Josephine.” I squirmed, opening myself to him.

He sank to his knees, and when his intentions became clear, I tried to warn him away. “I’m sorry, I should clean up first, I haven’t had a chance to get to the bathroom yet, it’s very“ He cut me o . “Exactly.”

And he buried his face in my pussy. The pussy he’d stretched and battered with his cock, and flooded with his load just hours before.

I leaned back against the sofa and he forced my legs wider apart. He knelt there, lapping at the leaking mess he’d created, and it was divine.

Everything was extra sensitive, but his tongue seemed to know when the pressure was too much, and he’d change position or pace. My hands were in his hair until he took my wrists and guided them up to my breasts. I rolled and tugged at my nipples, squealing as I began to grind against his face, my body seeking release.

I was rutting, obscenely mashing myself all over his mouth, and he proved more than equal to the desire in me, which had spun completely out of control. He placed his hands on my ass, holding me in place as his oral assault began to center on my clit. He sucked at it, flicking his tongue up and down as he held it between his lips.

The orgasm hit me quickly, boiling over unexpectedly, and I reflexively tried to push him away as the electricity coursing through my body made my clit too sensitive for further stimulation.

He was having none of it. He ignored my attempts to make him stop, and there was nowhere I could escape with his powerful arms holding me in place.

My frantic, pleading eyes found his, but I found no mercy there. Only raw, animal lust. He meant to slake his thirst at the altar of my womanhood, and my pleasure was secondary to his desire. He was, as usual, firmly in control of my body.

I was writhing, my feet lifted and pressed on his thighs, trying to push him away, and my voice begging him to relent, when a curious thing occurred.

The painful ultra-sensitivity of my pussy waned, and I caught some sort of a sexual second wind. The initial orgasm, which ended too soon as he overwhelmed all the nerve endings in my clit with his tongue, came roaring back tenfold, burning away the pain and tenderness. I screamed and clutched at his head. He took hold of my wrists to keep me from tumbling backwards over the couch, never ceasing his oral worship of my pussy.

When my trembling ended, I slumped into his arms, my body a sexual void, completely tapped of energy, desire, and need. He lifted my face to his, smiling warmly at me.

“Taste yourself, Josephine. Taste your orgasm,” he kissed me powerfully, claiming any last shred of my being that had eluded him, his conquest of me now complete.

He led me into the bathroom and turned on a hot shower. He kicked away his pants, revealing a thick, semi-erect cock. I regarded it with wonder, tracing its length with my finger as we stood under a pair of nozzles bathing us with scalding water.

He had me turn my back so he could shampoo my hair and wash my body. His hands were rough and strong, and they felt especially good on my scalp as he rinsed away hair products he supplied, more expensive than anything I owned or used.

I held his cock in my hand as he stood behind me, just rolling it across my palm, feeling its weight, giving it causal tugs.

Once I was clean, he spun me back around and we kissed deeply, letting the water soothe our muscles and wash away all the stress that the first few months of the school year may have caused us.

“Let me have you again,” he whispered. “Under this water.

Your body is heaven, Josephine. Let me make love to you, my princess. I want you to feel so good.”

He lifted me up against the slippery wall of the shower, his hands under my ass as I wrapped my legs around him, allowing his cock to enter me easily. He slowly thrusted in and out of me as I wrapped my arms around his neck, whimpering from the pleasure and pain of being fucked again.

“I like being your Daddy,” he growled against my ear. “Is that so wrong? It makes me come so hard to fuck such a young little pussy, baby. It’s the tightest I’ve ever had. I’m ruined for any other. I want to fuck you for the rest of my life.”

I cried out, my orgasm one of my most intense.

“I love you,” I said. “I love being yours. Your princess. I don’t want anyone else to touch me. Ever.”

His thrusting sped up as he pressed me against the wall. I knew he was going to come.

And that made me happier than anything else in the world.

WE SPENT the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, John talking me through the final steps toward preparing and plating his version of Thanksgiving dinner. Mercifully, we were clothed for the cooking and the eating, and all that had happened between us, the countless climaxes, kissing, fucking, and sucking, were put to bed for the time being.

We talked school and politics, my family and favorite authors, travel; both places we’d been (him, seemingly everywhere, me, virtually nowhere) and where we’d like to go. Conversation was easy with him, and as we cleared the dishes away from the most delicious turkey dinner I’d ever tasted, I said something I knew I might regret before the words ever even left my mouth. But I couldn’t help it. As weird as it was to think, or say, I was so far beyond smitten that I couldn’t help myself.

“John?”

Elbows deep in soapy water at the sink, he turned his head, fixing his impossible eyes on me.

“Yes?” “I don’t know how to say this, or even if I should say it, but I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t say something.”

“Are you sure you didn’t just eat too much turkey?” he joked.

“Because you aren’t allowed to burst until you’ve tried my pecan pie. It’s an old family recipe.”

I smiled. “No, not that kind of bursting, although yes, I definitely ate too much,” I said, rubbing a palm in circles over my belly. “No, what’s going to burst isn’t my stomach, it’s my heart. I can barely stand here next to you without touching you, without wanting to kiss you. Make love to you.

Everything these past two days…. It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it, but everything is di erent now. Like an entirely new world has been revealed to me. The things you say to me, the things you’ve done to my body. I feel like I’m in a fairy tale or something. I don’t know what it feels like to be in love, I’ve never been, and I know I can’t be in love with you, you couldn’t feel that way about me, but I just-” He raised a hand and cut me o , mid-ramble.

“Josephine,” he dried his hands on a kitchen towel and tossed it onto the counter, walking over and placing his hands on my face. “I love you. I do. I said it last night, and I meant it. More than I have meant anything. Despite how wrong it might be, for a thousand reasons, I love you. Maybe it can never work, no matter how much I want it to, or how much you may want it to, but I feel it anyway.”

His words reached my mind, his eyes looked directly into my soul, and his big hands on my skin gave me familiar tingles.

My nerves melted away. I nodded my head.

“You’re so much… I mean I’m so-” I mumbled, my words hanging in the air.

“What? I’m so much older than you? It’s true. I am. And you’re a student where I teach. And, likely one of my students soon. Not to mention the fact that I’m best friends with your father and that I’ve known your mother just as long. It’s downright scandalous. But what if we ignore all those things and focus on what we’re feeling in here?” He lowered his right hand to my chest, patting it over my heart.

“What if we did that?”

I took the hand he’d placed on my heart into my own and I squeezed it.

“John, if I never had to leave this cabin or come down o this mountain, I’d throw every stitch of clothing I brought with me into the fire and just let you keep feeding me delicious food and teaching me everything you know about politics and having your way with me. And many years from now, I’d die a very happy, fulfilled old lady. But, unfortunately, the real world is down there somewhere, through the snow. So, what do we do?” I asked.

“I think,” he considered his words, pausing between them, “that we have two and a half more days up here to get to know each other as lovers and adults. With the way the snow is falling, it may be longer than that. I say we take advantage of this extended vacation from the ‘real world’ and that between the two of us we can figure out a way out of this mess that this,” he put a hand on the small of my back, pulling me close, and then he reached down and landed an open hand onto my ass, collecting a handful of it, “has gotten us into.”

I yelped at the way he took me so roughly, writhing against him, my body responding on autopilot to him being, again, so near to my sex.

“Josephine, I’ve known you your whole life. From the time you were very young, it was clear that you’d grow to be a breathtaking beauty. And you didn’t know this, but your father and I talked about you, your academic pursuits and interests. He’s shared some of your work with me, essays and such. I was blown away. I’ve taught grad students who lacked the keen understanding of fundamental political theory and history that you displayed in papers I read that you wrote in your early days of high school. You fascinated me. And then the charm and elegance with which you carry yourself; I always wished I’d somehow been born twenty years later, so that I could have joined the fray, the scrum to date you, to court you, to claim you.

“But I knew it could never be, that I’d be cursed to admire you from afar. I’ve had lovers, there have been women in my travels, but none who’ve had what you have. That undefinable it. And if a woman had the intellectual necessities to hold my interest, she inevitably lacked the physical beauty to arouse my admittedly insatiable libido.

“Then, you came along.

“I knew so much about you prior to yesterday, but just the conversation we had on the drive and the dinner we shared in town, after that, I knew I had a problem. And like I said, when I saw this ass of yours,” he punctuated the word ass by smacking mine again and letting his grasping hand linger there. The burn from the spank went directly to my core, causing familiar tremors, “I was undone. I knew it was hopeless. The sight of you in those yoga pants… I had to kiss you. Nothing in the universe could have stopped me. But if

you’d resisted in anyway, or given me reason to pause, as crushing as it would have been, I’d have stopped. I love your father like a brother and I could never intentionally do anything to hurt him. But Josephine, I am in ruins around you. Your every move, simple things like watching you sip wine, the way you let the sleeves of your sweatshirt stretch down over your hands and then ball them up, those two little moles on your right shoulder, every fucking thing about you, drives me wild. I make no apologies, and I can’t pretend I don’t feel the things I do.”

He kissed me, and I melted into him. We slowly discarded our clothing and made love again on the sectional, slow, face to face, passionate love. Hands exploring, mouths kissing, tasting, and biting. The thrusts were slow and deliberate, deep and powerful, unhurried. He told me he loved me and I wept through the subsequent orgasm, clutching at his back, never wanting it to end.

We limped down the stairs to the hot tub, pausing only long enough to grab two spoons, the pecan pie, and a gallon of vanilla ice cream.

The snow had stopped falling, but it hung in the branches as we soaked in his tub and shared our dessert right from the tin. He was right, I’d never tasted anything like it.

When we dared not spend another moment in the tub, lest we shrivel into prunes, we braved the cold to go back inside and retire to the master bedroom.

Our cuddling turned into kissing, and I felt his cock throb against my leg.

“John! I thought men your age had certain limitations. How do you do it?” I asked, taking him into my hands and feeling the muscular throbs I loved so much.

“You’re all the Viagra any man could ever need, Josephine.

Your body is what does this to me. Turn around, I need to be inside you again.”

I rolled over, letting him spoon me, his cock slipping inside me from behind as we lay on our sides. His hands explored my back and around to my nipples.

“I’m so, so sore. I don’t know how much I can take,” I pled softly with him.

“What’s sore, Josephine? Tell me exactly.” He held my hips, driving up and into me, making me mew, pitifully.

“My pussy. My pussy, Daddy. You’ve made it so sore. It’s so tender.”

He thrust into me powerfully, three times, then remained lodged into me as he spoke directly into my ear. “This pussy, the one I’m fucking, belongs to me. Doesn’t it?”

I winced at his thrusts, but his words were a balm. If it was his, what di erence did it make if it was sore, if it hurt?

What mattered was his big, beautiful cock. Pleasing it.

Making it come.

“Yes. Yes!” I shrieked as he suddenly increased his pace, an arm wrapped around my throat and the other across my hip, the heel of his hand rubbing that special, secret spot right above my mound. He pulled me against him tightly, our bodies melting into each other.

He wasn’t long in finishing, and we fell asleep just like that, my head on his bicep, his knee pushed up into the back of mine, and his cock inside me.

The best thirty-six hours of my life had come to an end.

CHAPTER EIGHT

W e didn’t fuck at all that Friday. Exhaustion claimed us,

and we stayed in bed until nearly noon. That afternoon, we hiked a bit along snowy trails, laughing and flirting. He made spaghetti for dinner and we watched a Clark Gable movie together, laying in each other’s arms on his plush sectional.

The storm was completely gone, and by Saturday all roads were clear. We did some antiquing in the afternoon and Saturday evening he gave me an exquisite massage that ended with me astride his pulsing cock, filling me with what my body had come to crave so desperately – his seed.

The first time he’d finished inside me, a little voice in my mind screamed at me for being so irresponsible. The ecstasy of the moment, however, drowned out that voice with a cacophony of moans and screams.

I began to daydream about what he’d put inside me, of always having him in me, no matter where we were or what we were doing. Those thoughts, inevitably turned to the possibility, and the practical guarantee, of my impending pregnancy. Unless Dr. Hardwicke had had a vasectomy I

didn’t know about, continuing down the dangerous path we traveled together was leading to something happening that would make hiding our relationship altogether impossible.

We’d decided that for the short-term, we’d have to keep things quiet. I wasn’t yet sure how to tell my parents, and the appearance of impropriety of a tenured professor fucking one of his students would shine an unwanted spotlight on us both.

Sunday morning, he woke me up with his tongue. I’d fallen asleep on my stomach, which he took as an invitation to go down on me. I’d never been a morning person, but this was an alarm clock I could grow very fond of. I writhed and clawed at the sheets through three orgasms that way before he yanked my hips up from the bed and pounded me from behind. I lost track of the climaxes as I held on for dear life.

He slammed into me relentlessly, leaving bruises on the backs of my thighs. Well worth it.

He drove me back to campus that afternoon, and a few miles out of town we enjoyed a torrid make out session. He drove me past his condo, a place we planned to spend lots of time over the coming weeks before I went home for Christmas break.

ALEXA WAS downstairs chatting with a friend when I got dropped o , and she spotted me before I saw her.

“Oh my God, Jo, how hard did he give it to you?” she asked, as she walked across the lobby toward me.

I must have turned bright red, as several of the girls in my dorm stopped and stared. Full of couth, Alexa was not.

“What?” I asked, feigning not having a clue what she was talking about.

“You’re walking like you either just rode in the Kentucky Derby or you just got fucked senseless. And I know where you spent Thanksgiving break. Spill it!”

“You. Are. Crazy,” I replied. “How did everything go with you and Graham?”

“Ugh. He sucks. We hung out with Trevor and a bunch of my high school friends and he spent the night hitting on Jill fucking Sanders.”

“What’s a Jill Sanders?” I asked, as we trudged upstairs.

“Only the biggest slut in my hometown. So, it’s over between Graham and I. I hooked up with a high school boyfriend the next night anyway. But now I must live vicariously through you and Professor Hotness. Like I said downstairs, spill it!”

We arrived at our room, dragging bags inside and collapsing on our beds.

“Well, we had fun, that’s all I’ll say. I had a great weekend.

Sorry about Graham.”

“Graham shmam,” Alexa replied, bouncing across the room and falling onto my bed, propped up on her elbows six inches from my face, wearing a silly grin. “Tell me everything.”

I gave up. “Okay, but this is all top, top, top secret. Like, you’re sworn to secrecy under penalty of gaining fifty pounds by Spring Break.”

“Deal. Cross my heart.”

I went on to tell Alexa, in graphic detail, about my weekend with John. By the time I finished, she was fanning herself.

“Okay, I need to change my panties now. Good lord, Jo. Does he have any colleagues who look like that and cook like that and fuck like that?”

“He has a TA I can introduce you to. Best I can o er at this point,” I joked, knowing she’d never in a million years be interested in Aaron Rooney.

“No, I think what I need is an older man. I’m thinking midforties sounds about right. Handsome, big dick, endless orgasms. Somebody like that,” she said, getting up and walking over to her suitcase to start unpacking.

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” I said.

“Bullshit. You’ll be too busy getting knocked up by the good doctor to worry about the little people, like me,” Alexa joked.

Little did she know.

DR. HARDWICKE TOOK a trip to London over the holidays, and Christmas went smoothly in the Faulkner house. My brother and his new girlfriend came home, and I actually liked her.

As promised, Santa was very good to me, and we had a dusting of snow on Christmas morning.

It was during the break that I realized I’d missed my period.

I attributed it to school and travel stress, but John and I had been fucking constantly, and prudence always took a back seat to lust.

A pregnancy test upon returning to campus confirmed my suspicion. I made Alexa read it first, and her way of telling me the result was classic Alexa.

“Looks like I’ll need a new roommate next year. You’re going to need my side of the room for the nursery.”

We laughed and cried, hugged and danced, and I didn’t get truly nervous until I had to tell John.

He’d prepared a delicious salmon dish, and he noticed that although I was eating as normal, I hadn’t touched my wine, going for water instead.

“Don’t you like the wine, Princess?” he asked, between bites.

“I’m sure I’d love it. You’re a genius when it comes to pairing wine with food. But I can’t drink it.” I sighed, so nervous. “I didn’t know how to tell you this, but maybe this is divine providence. John, I’m pregnant.”

He chewed slowly, inhaled deeply, and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Without saying a word, he got up and left the room. I was terrified.

He returned with a smile in his eyes, dropping to one knee before me.

“Josephine Isabelle Faulkner, in a life filled with adventure, glory, and good fortune, will you bless me with the happiest and luckiest moment of my life, by agreeing to spend the rest of yours with me?”

He produced a ring, a beautiful diamond in a simple platinum setting.

I was too stunned and overjoyed to reply, so he asked again, in simpler terms. “Will you marry me?”

Through tear-filled laughter, I fell into his arms. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, I’ll never stop saying yes to you, John! I love you so much!”

His idea of celebrating our engagement was going down on me for what seemed like hours that night. I’m not sure which part made Alexa more jealous; the rock or the orgasms.

All that remained was facing my folks, and that very weekend, John drove me home for a surprise visit.

MOM AND DAD were both home, puttering about loading the dishwasher after their Friday night meatloaf when we pulled in the driveway. I was conflicted as to how they’d respond. I could see it going either way; John would either be welcomed into the family with open arms or he’d be leaving our property in an ambulance.

I walked around to the back of the house, letting myself in, startling my poor mother in the process. They were a little confused, but excited to find the two of us there together, and we broke the news after Dad and John went out to the garage to select a beer from the refrigerator filled with bottles my dad had acquired from microbreweries for the holidays.

They came back in with two bottles of a lager from Maine that my dad had recently discovered and fallen in love with.

“To what do we owe this unexpected visit?” my dad asked. “I need something to toast to, what’ll it be?”

John took the lead, reaching over and taking my hand in his.

“Bob, Wendy, we have news.”

My parents looked understandably puzzled, even more by the word “we” than by John holding my hand, it seemed.

“You’re going to be grandparents. I know this is all very strange, and it surprises me most of all, but Josephine and I have fallen in love. I’ve asked her to marry me. I should have asked you first, but things moved very quickly, and I feel toward and about her like I never have for anyone in my life.

So, after asking her, unfortunately, I’ve come here to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage. But I also understand if you’d rather… hurt me.” John looked at my father nervously. Dad stood stone faced.

My parents were silent, and my mother reached over and pulled the bottle from my dad’s hand and took a long pull on his beer.

They looked at each other with searching expressions, as if they expected to find the answer written on the other’s face.

My dad got up and walked out to the garage, and I feared he was going to return with a baseball bat. Instead, he carried a third bottle of beer and a bottle of apple juice.

He sat back down and opened both bottles, making sure all four of us had a drink. He wiped tears from his cheek and lifted his beer.

“I can’t think of anything better to toast to than two of the people I love most in the world finding happiness together.

Joey, if you can make this old man across the table from me half as happy as your momma has made me, he’ll be a lucky man, indeed. And you, John, you take care of my little girl. I don’t have to remind you that we were roommates at Moultrie, and I know where you’ve buried all the bodies.”

I was shocked. It wasn’t what I’d expected.

But that’s how it always seemed to be with the Professor.

We all laughed at Dad’s macabre sense of humor, and we spent the evening explaining how we’d come to fall so quickly and deeply in love, leaving out, of course, the sordid details.

Spring Break is going to be involve a hastily-planned wedding, before I show too much.

Alexa was pissed that I was bailing on her and our planned trip to Panama City Beach, but I got a better o er. A Hawaiian honeymoon (and babymoon). Cliché, but I can’t wait.

Josephine Isabelle Hardwicke.

Maybe one day Doctor Josephine Hardwicke.

After all, it seemed all my dreams were coming true. Why not another?

THE END Want to hear about the newest Sylvia Fox release? Sign up for my newsletter! No spam, just fun! And to learn about my other books, check out the next page.

ALSO BY SYLVIA FOX

My dad’s best friend Colt is hot as sin. Like, late night vibe-fest kind of hot. Sure, he’s older, but that doesn’t matter one little bit because Colt Barrett is a man that deserves his own classification. Older. Younger. He transcends it all. He’s one hell of a man and my attraction to him was inevitable the minute I became woman enough to notice.

An early snowstorm traps us alone together in my parents’ house over Thanksgiving and the heat between us is more than either of us can handle. It should all work out just fine, right? I mean, we’re both adults and my parents don’t have to know anything about our little a air.

Until I get pregnant. All I want is a happily ever after with the man of my dreams.

It could all be mine as long as my dad doesn’t kill him first.

I’ve had my eyes on my best friend’s dad for years. Brett’s a pilot, but beyond that, he’s all man.

I’m saving myself for him … even though my fantasies may never be realized. I get o to the idea of us so many times — I’m literally aching for his touch.

But then I need a ride home for Thanksgiving break … and Brett’s in town with his plane.

I finally have a chance to see his cockpit … and damn if I’m not hoping to join the mile high club with this pilot.

I’ll let him fly me anywhere … I just hope he wants to take me away.