Page 21 of Nash

How can a young woman as smart, beautiful, and sexual as Vale not know what true connection, true love feels like?

Then again, I’m guilty, too.

Sure, I can come with a woman, but I’ve never felt a connection. I’ve kissed plenty, but it was never love.

Maybe…

No…

Definitely, it’s because, for so many years, I’ve felt connected to my daughter’s best friend.

Guilt drops me onto her loveseat by the door. I drag my hand down my face as if I could wipe away the shame.

What have I gotten us into?

Vale’s in my world now, and I’m in hers. We shared secrets tonight, but we can never share more. I can imagine the hurt in Alena’s eyes if we ever do.

We can’t.

We won’t.

The click of the bathroom door opening lifts my troubled stare. Steam billows out before Vale appears, and a thousand bullets wouldn’t hit me this hard.

She’s naked and wrapped in a white towel, water droplets glistening on her alabaster skin. Her long raven hair falls like a silk sheet, free from its braids and trapping my stare.

I can’t help it.

I never could.

The sight of Vale hardens my cock so fast; shame lashes my heart while she marches across the room, taunting, “Please avert your professionally, puritanical eyes, lest they burst into flames while, according to you, I must find something appropriately asinine to sleep in.”

I clench my jaw and turn away, slamming my eyes closed because the thunder of my pulse is deafening. I don’t need sights tempting me, too.

Drawers to her antique dresser open and slam shut.

“I can dress like a nun,” she teases, “but it’s a Bad Habit Nun costume and probablynotwhat Father Allen had in mind. Oh, wait. I have a Sexy Chef Apron. Food’s not your fetish, is it? Oh, and I have some virginal bridal nighties, too. They’re safe because marriage turns you off, right? Since you’ve never done it. You’ll never commit. Or?—”

“Commit your fucking ass to that bed,” I growl. “I don’t care what you wear; just stop talking.”

Stop driving me mad. Stop putting images in my mind. Stop making me want to toss you on that bed and show you how your sweet little pussy is the only food I crave.

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll compromise. A tank top and panties, it is.”

Great. Raise a white flag, and my dick even higher.

Her tank tops and panties are my poison.

It’s what Vale started to wear when she and Alena were in college, and they’d spend their holiday breaks together. They’d prance around my house in cute spirit wear from their colleges, and on my daughter, I worried Alena would catch a cold.

On Vale?

She looked so hot, I’d have to excuse myself. I’d have to commit my biggest shame in the shower, jerking off to the image of Vale’s luscious tits and hard nipples under a thin, white Clemson tank top.

I keep my eyes closed, hearing her make a long production of settling herself into bed. Finally, when she clicks off the lamp, I open them.

“Here.” In the moonlight glowing through the sheers over her windows, I see her toss a pillow onto the floor beside her bed. “And here.” She throws a blanket beside it.

Shrouded in shadows, I can disguise the raging erection in my pants as I near her bed. I conceal it more, resting on my stomach. The wood floors are hard like me and what I need. They’re brutally uncomfortable, matching how I feel inside.

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