My Dad’s Best Friend (A Touch of Taboo)

It takes all of five seconds in Jonas’s bed to realize I’ve made a horrible mistake. The feeling starts when I brushed my teeth in his bathroom with the spare toothbrush, and only gets worse when I pull back the sheets and the scent of him hits me. He must have more than his fair share of pheromones or something, because just that hit has my thighs shaking. I almost march back downstairs and demand to take the couch, but it would mean another interaction with him, and I’m not certain I can do it without making an ass of myself. Again.

I grit my teeth and climb into his bed.

Oh, fuck, it’s amazing. The sheets are flannel and instantly banish the chill of the room. It would be positively cozy if I wasn’t so horny that I’m about to come out of my skin. Every shift of my body has the sheets rubbing against my bare legs, my arms, and sends another hit of Jonas’s intoxicating scent straight through me.

I bite my bottom lip hard, but it does nothing to dispel the lust weaving its way through me. I should just close my eyes and count my exhales until I drift off, but I’m too restless. I’m a night owl by nature. If I were home, I would still be up for hours yet. Obviously, that’s not an option here. Better to close my eyes and will myself to sleep until morning and my escape from this house.

Easier said than done.

I twist one way and then another. It’s a lost cause. I’m too rattled to go to sleep like this. I know what will help take the edge off, but masturbating here with Jonas under the same roof feels even more reckless than anything I’ve done so far.

It’s not like he’ll know.

I can be quiet. I mean, sure, it’s the exception, but I can do it this once.

Maybe I’m a liar, but it’s too late. I snake my hand down my stomach and drag my fingers through my pussy folds. I’m so wet, I’m half surprised that I’m not making a mess of his sheets. The thought is simultaneously funny and so hot, I can barely stand it. I spread my legs more and tease myself, tracing my opening and spreading my wetness up and around my clit. It won’t take much to get me off, but I’ve always liked to savor my orgasms. Hard and fast does the trick in a pinch, but it doesn’t really accomplish the same thing one that I build slowly will.

On impulse, I grab the pillow and roll over. It’s crossing so many lines to be fucking myself with my fingers while my face is buried in Jonas’s pillow, but I’m too turned on to care. Besides, I can muffle any sounds I make this way. It totally makes sense.

I tease my opening and press two fingers in. It feels good, almost too good, so I trail my fingertips over my clit and back down again. I’m making little whimpering sounds now, but I can’t help it. I have to lift my hips a bit to get a better angle to fuck myself with my fingers, and the sheet slides off my ass. The bite of the chilly air only heightens my pleasure.

This just feels so dirty. I shouldn’t be doing it, so I want to do it more. I have been so good for so long. It’s not my fault that wild abandon sneaks through the cracks sometimes. I’m usually very careful to let off steam on a regular basis, but there hasn’t been time since I took over my father’s company. I’m working long, stressful hours in between collapsing face-down on my bed and sleeping like the dead.

I just need one little orgasm to get myself back under control. It’s such a simple ask. No one but me will ever know.

A creak of a floorboard is the only warning I get that I’m no longer alone. I open my eyes and freeze. Jonas is standing in the doorway, his fist raised to knock, the door hanging wide open. I must not have closed it all the way…

Why the hell am I thinking about that right now?

I should be moving, should be scrambling to cover myself, should definitely remove the two fingers I’ve penetrated myself with, but the look on his face freezes me in place. He’s staring at me like he can’t decide if this is dream or reality, but he really wants it to be reality.

I clear my throat. “Did you need something?”

“My toothbrush.” His voice is lower than normal, low enough that the faint rumble in it threatens to curl my toes.

Apparently we’re just going to pretend he can’t see what I’m very clearly doing. “Um, go ahead.”

But Jonas doesn’t walk to the bathroom. He slowly makes his way to the side of the bed and stares down at me. “Blake,” the quiet censor in his tone nearly makes me come on the spot. “You couldn’t wait five minutes before you started fucking yourself with your fingers in my bed?”

How am I supposed to answer that? I’ve been trying to make my peace with him rejecting me—again—and there’s no frame of reference for whatever’s happening right now. It’s like my brain skips and all I can do is blurt, “You weren’t going to do it.”

“Mmm.” His face is in the shadow cast by the open door, which means my body must be clearly outlined by the light. Jonas exhales slowly. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”

Surely I didn’t hear him correctly.

Except he’s sinking down onto the mattress behind me, and holy fuck, this is happening. Desire overcomes whatever brakes I have left and I begin to move again. I can’t see him, but I can feel him watching me.

Jonas tsks. “You’re doing a terrible job of it, baby girl.”

The endearment lashes me like fire and I moan. I can’t help it. “Think you can do better?”

“Oh, I know I can.” His voice changes a little, that dry tone going deeper yet. “I’m going to touch you now.”

“I might die if you don’t.”

His rough chuckle sounds as strained as I feel, and then it doesn’t matter because the mattress gives beneath his weight as he moves and he’s smoothing his hands over my ass. He slides my shirt higher up my back. Exposing me. “Better,” Jonas murmurs. He squeezes my ass as if measuring me, his rough palms dragging over my sensitive skin. “This gets to be too much, then you tell me to stop and I stop. Got it?”

Stop? Is that a joke? I’ve been waiting six years for him to touch me and I’m a little afraid that I’d bite off my own tongue before I uttered the word. Still, he’s obviously waiting for an answer, so I clear my throat. “Got it.”

“Good.” He drags his thumbs over the lower curve of my ass, using that tiny pressure to guide my legs wider. “What a little slut you are, Blake. Rubbing all over my sheets and playing with your pussy. Were you going to fuck my pillow next?”

Humiliation lashes me and I whimper, arching my back, working my pussy with my fingers. Fuck, why is that it so hot to have him talk to me like this, like I’ve disappointed him? I don’t know, but I don’t want him to stop. “Sorry, Daddy.” The words just slip out. I don’t mean to. I really don’t.

Jonas pauses his idle stroking as if I’ve shocked him, and for a moment, I think I’ve taken it too far. He’s already pointed out our age difference in a way that suggests it bothers him. Calling him Daddy is just shining a spotlight on it and amping it up to a million.

“Get your fingers out of your pussy when I’m talking to you.”

The snap in his voice has me obeying instantly, but I’m me, so I only move them to my clit. I don’t stroke, but there’s no way he missed that I’ve obeyed the order to the letter, if not the spirit. Jonas tsks, and the disappointment in the sound has me turning my face into the pillow to keep from moaning out loud. Finally, he says, “Answer the question. Were you going to fuck my pillow next?”

“Yes.” I don’t even know if it’s true. It doesn’t matter. I suddenly want him to punish me, to pull on this delicious thread of humiliation until it undoes me completely.

“Thought so.” He brackets my upper thighs, a bare half an inch below my pussy, and squeezes hard enough to hurt. I jump a little and then shamelessly lift my ass higher. Offering myself to him, and there’s no denying it. I catch myself holding my breath as I wait for what happens next.

Jonas doesn’t make me wait long. He sighs as if already bored with this. “If you’re going to fuck something inadequate the second I leave the room, I’ll give you something with more substance to fill that needy pussy.” And then his fingers are there at my entrance. Not teasing, not doing anything but pressing lightly where I need his touch more than I need my next breath. When I freeze, he releases an exasperated breath. “Well, baby girl? You want to fuck something? Fuck my fingers.”