Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
One month. In one month, she’s become the only thing I want to think about, and the one thing I absolutely cannot have.
When I come back around, Eliza is at the folding table again, arranging a tray of little meatballs on toothpicks. I catch her eye, and this time, she doesn’t look away. She just stands there, arms folded, her weight on one leg, the hem of her dress catching the breeze. Her eyes say “come here,” but I don’t. I can’t.
So she does.
The young woman steps up beside me, not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that I smell her perfume—a light, flowery aroma that cuts through the odor of charcoal and lighter fluid.
“You having fun?” she says, low so only I can hear.
I keep my eyes on the grill. “Always a blast, hanging out with a bunch of guys who peaked in high school.”
She giggles, a real one, not for show. “You should see my mom and her friends. It’s like the middle-aged PTA meeting from hell.”
We stand there, silent for a second, the air between us electric. I can feel Gerald’s gaze flicking back and forth between us, but it’s not him I’m worried about. My buddy couldn’t see a grenade if it landed right in front of him. It’s Eliza’s mom that I worry about. Nancy is talking to two other women, but her eyes are laser-guided; she’s tracking every move.
Then, her daughter leans in, voice even lower. “I can’t stop thinking about last time, Jack.”
I grip my beer harder because the last time we were together, I took her double again, but this time with the dildo in her pussy and my dick crammed into her ripe peach. Eliza moaned and squealed before coming like a hurricane, the dildo practically slipping out from her powerful pussy convulsions. It was a beautiful sight, and I plan on doing it again, but right now, I can’t be visualizing such filthy scenes. Not with her mom and dad in close range.
“You’re not making this any easier, you know,” I growl, my cock jerking in my pants.
Eliza shrugs, a small smile curling at the corner of her lips. “I don’t want to.”
There’s a tension in the air, an electric hum that makes me want to reach out and take her hand, consequences be damned. But I hold still, and after a second, she moves away, back to the picnic table.
I try to join the conversation at the grill, but I’m not really present. Gerald tells a story about high school football, about the time he and I got drunk and crashed a pep rally dressed as cheerleaders. The other men hoot and shout, but I can’t remember any of it. All I see is Eliza, sitting with her legs crossed, arms bare and golden in the sun.
Then, she does it.
I’m talking to Gerald, but I see her out of the corner of my eye: she stands, balancing her plate, and as she passes me, a meatball rolls off her plate and lands right near my shoe. Yeah, a fucking meatball. I get those things are spherical and roll easily, but shit, really? I know my little girl is graceful and dexterous, and would never let a fucking meatball roll off her plate without knowing exactly what she’s doing.
“Whoops!” she says, bending down to pick it up with a sweet smile.
I do the gentlemanly thing and bend down at the same time. We meet, face to face, inches apart, her hair brushing my cheek. We reach for the meatball at the same time, and our fingers touch—linger even. It’s less than a second, but it feels like a live wire.
“Really, sweetheart?” I rasp under my breath. “A meatball?”
“I love meatballs, Daddy,” Eliza giggles softly in return. “Especially when I have your meatballs dangling in my mouth. I love sucking on them.”
It’s then that I hear a sharp intake of breath. Oh shit. Sure enough, Nancy’s watching us, her eyes narrowed and suspicious. She’s standing by the lemonade jug, but it’s clear as day what she saw: two adults, alone, hands lingering over a dropped piece of food. In any other context, it’d be nothing. Here, her mama bear instincts have gone off and the sirens are wailing.
I pull away fast, pretending to dust my hands off. “I’d toss that,” I say, too loud. “It has grass stains on it.”
Eliza straightens, her face carefully blank, but there’s a flush on her cheeks. “Oh, you think?”
Gerald grins, oblivious. “My daughter always was a klutz,” he says, and pats me on the back. “You’d think I’d have taught her better.”
I force a laugh, then mumble something about needing to check on the beer situation in the garage. I leave, fast, my heart hammering.
Inside the carport, the air is cool and quiet, the fridge humming in the background. I lean against the door, try to get my pulse under control.