Page 83 of Wanting What’s Wrong

Like him. I struggle with the first step until his hands are on my waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing, helping me up without a second thought.

The blush on my face spreads down my neck and blooms over my chest as his fingers dig into my waist. The reassuring firmness that connects to something deep inside me. My heart, maybe. My pussy for sure. He doesn’t let go right away.

"You’re smaller than I remember. I’d have expected you grew up a little. A big girl, right? After all, you’re an adult now."

I choke on a laugh. "You trying to flirt with me? A big girl…you know how to pile it on, cowboy.”

His gaze drops to my chest. Lingering. Something dark flashes in his eyes.

"Well, I’ve never been one to not call it like I see it," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "But not every part of you is smaller.”

My tits respond with a burning tingle, the same familiar let down feeling I would get when Morgan would cry.

I run my fingers along the v-neck of my denim cami. “Bet there are parts of you that aren’t getting smaller right now, either. Am I right?”

He snorts, eyes flicking to mine. “Still a brat, I see.”

He slams the passenger door shut and walks around the hood with that insanely sexy swagger only a man of his stature can pull off.

My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe.

I clutch the backpack with my pump inside to my lap, legs pressed tight together, as the truck rumbles to life and pulls onto the dirt road, praying the shop is close and I can beg off fast and take a pumping break.

My body is on a Morgan the Voracious schedule, and without Morgan, my tits are a disaster waiting to happen.

I press my upper arms against the sides of my breasts on a little wince as Cal dangles his arm across the back of the seat, the tips of his fingers brushing on my shoulder whenever we hit a bump.

I remember his hands well. That first night when mom came home from her Vegas trip with her new husband in tow, it wasn’t his height or the size of his thighs or his chest I noticed first.

It was his hands. Jesus, those hands. The one he has dangling over the top of the steering wheel right now as only guys can do, with the veins shifting under his skin, is about to make me moan out loud.

As we chug down the dirt road to RR1, he doesn’t say much, but his eyes aren’t just on the road.

Every time he looks over, I can feel it in my dang nipples. Because he’s not looking at my bruise now.

His glance dances between my bouncing boobs and the exposed skin of my thighs.

Like I’m the Country Buffet and it’s all you can eat night.

My thighs clench. My nipples burn and tighten against the saturated cotton pads. I shift in the seat, but it only makes it worse as my backs of my legs sweat, sticking to the leather seat, pulling at my skin.

What would he do if I climbed into his lap right now? Pulled my shirt down and showed him my secret?

Secret s really. Plural.

Dripping. Aching. Sensitive.

Would he be shocked? Disgusted? Or would he latch on like his life depended on it? Tugging my nipple halfway down his throat and pulling, pulling, pulling the sweetness from me like it’s his saving grace?

God, I bet his mouth is filthy when he fucks. I bet he talks the whole time. The big, burly silent ones are the dirtiest talkers, I bet. Not that I have any real-world experience in that department, but some things, a woman just knows.

He palms the wheel, turning toward town as I imagine him gritting out every nasty word right into my skin as he bucks every inch deep, taking what he wants.

Would he call me his good girl?

Would he make me beg?

My breaths are coming in uneven sort of gasps between swallowing down the spit gathering under my tongue. I press my thighs tighter, like I can hold the heat in, but it’s no use. It’s flooding me. Soaking through the edges of my shame.

“You have a problem there, little girl?” Cal gives me this look, sort of bored, but not really. Like behind his eyelids there’s a full-on porn show happening, and I’m the star.

I sit up in the seat, doing a quarter turn that has his fingertips now resting solidly on my collarbone. “I have a little problem, yeah.” I gather my hair in one hand, and pull it down over the other shoulder, so there’s nothing between his fingers and my skin. “You think you can fix it?”

I run my tongue along my lower lip, the old dance of teasing brat and stoic step-father coming back like we’re both riding a bike.

I’ve imagined what it would feel like fucking him too many times to pretend I don’t want it now. Every inch of him, from top to bottom, side to side and root to tip.

I wonder if I could take it. Would he take me on my side, missionary, bang me like a bitch in heat from the behind, shoving those thick fingers into my ass then making me lick his cock clean before my loosed-up ass takes his meat for round two?

Oh yeah, I’ve imagined it all.

“I’m pretty sure I can fix whatever ails you, yeah. My question is, is your teasing ass gonna be ready for what it’s asking for? ”

“Time will tell,” I answer as he turns the truck into the parking lot of The Last Shot, the gun shop his grandparents started, that I only ever heard about in stories. His parents were both killed when he was younger. That’s all I know.

As he throws the truck it into park and shuts off the engine, the fingers that were brushing my shoulder slide to the back of my neck, and he takes a handful of my hair to tug my head back.

I hiss on a shocked inhale.

“Listen here.” He smacks his lips together, eyes narrow, the green a thin line around the black hole of his iris.

“I did my best to put up with your teasing when I was with your mother, but Imma tell you right fucking now, you keep that up? Shit ain’t gonna end like it used to, with me walking away.

So, keep it up, little girl. Those big girl tits of yours grew about ten sizes since I went away.

But so did my dick. You’re eighteen now, and my cock knows it. ”

He's calling my bluff and with all my bravado, I’m not sure I’m ready for what he’s bringing to the table. But, at the same time, I’m not so smart I can’t get myself in more trouble. “Ever wonder what it would be like? Fucking the daughter after you had the mom?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “We’ll never find out. Me and your mom never consummated our union so to speak. You know what that means?”

I swallow hard. “I know.”

“Right. Never touched her that way. So, be a good girl and behave for three fucking seconds, okay?” he snaps, and my panties take a direct hit.

This is going to be a problem.

A dirty, soaking, delicious problem.