Page 14 of Crushing On Dad's Best Friend
8
Liam
Knowingwe’ll only be together for a few days makes me want to spend as much time with her as possible, but it also makes me want to push her away. A few brief, secret encounters would never be enough forme.
I stand on the far side of the pool and watch the festivities as they play out on the lawn. The bride- and husband-to-be are sitting in lawn chairs. Everyone is doting on the bride, while cousins, nieces and nephews run around well-supervised in their cute summeroutfits.
The scene is a perfect one, but I don’t feelcomplete.
I wonder how many kids Katherine wants. I wonder what she wants to do after law school. I want to ask her all of these questions and so many more: big and small, important andmundane.
When I see her walk through the door, my jaw hits the floor. She is wearing an outfit made to be peeled off her incredible curves inch my inch. It’s a little white skirt and matching polo shirt. On the surface it’s simple. It’s modest. But to me, she looks like the sinful incarnation of a country-club wife, innocence and curiosity running through her like the tail of a rattlesnake, her big, expressive brown eyes taking in thescene.
She’s just heading to the courts for a friendly game of tennis with a neighbor, her prim and proper demeanor making her look like a good girl on the surface of it all. But there’s a wild streak inside her just waiting to explode, ripping at the seams of her innocentfacade.
Jesus FuckingChrist.
I want to be the one to rip at the seams of that facade she’s playingup.
I once admired her for being the one at the table ready with a quip or a comeback. Never one to let herself be walked over, she assertsherself.
But at the same time she is so bright, optimistic, and sweet. Not rough around the edges atall.
I remember one time when her dad and I took her to the mall after a break-up during her freshman year of college. I’d expected her to be in a foul mood. I quickly learned how wrong my expectation was. Instead of sulking, she bought us all pretzels and talked to someone from Greenpeace for twenty minutes, drawing a crowd to the man with the clipboard outside the lingeriestore.
Men were looking ather, an excited little bundle of passion, and not one of them was looking at the provocative signs hanging in the windows right behind her or all of the little pieces of lace and silk hanging from daintyhangers.
Katherine was far morecaptivating.
I watch closely as she tosses her silky, long brown hair over one shoulder, tousling her fingers against her scalp in one smooth motion. As she walks, swaying her little ass back and forth in what seems like slow motion, I see more than one in-law checking her out. One of the women at the party even back-hands her husband playfully in the chest for checking out anotherwoman.
When she gets to where I’m standing, I feel myself grow harder in my shorts. I am achingly, desperately,insanelyhard for her right now. I nearly cut off the circulation in my hand when I white-knuckle the tennis racket her mom gaveme.
“Cute outfit,” I say, my cock twitching withexcitement.
“I’m not very good at tennis,” she says as I throw my arm around hershoulder.
“We are going to have to practice a lot,then.”
When we get to the tennis court, far behind the house and hidden behind a gate and thick row of trees, she bends down, putting her duffel bag on the ground at the edge of the court. She’s doing it on purpose, arching her back and sticking her ass in the air. I let my gaze travel to her perfect, round ass, and I can see a flash of her white panties pulled tight between her two delectable ass cheeks, just a strip of fabric preventing me from seeing everything. She pull out a fresh tube of tennis balls, takes one out, and tosses it to me softly,underhand.
“It’s your serve,” she says, walking to her side of the court with a swing of her hips. I go to the other side of the net and bounce the ball on the pavement a few times. She readies her stance, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her fierce eyes looking at me, determined to take medown.
I toss the ball into the air and lob my racket toward it, a swish and a thump sounding through theair.
Katherine darts toward the edge of the court, serving the ball back to me with a one-handed backhand. The ball pops against the racket and she grunts, her brow furrowed and lips parted. When the ball comes back to me, I hit it over the net with an easy forehand, the ball bouncing once before she runs to hit it with alob.
We spar back and forth. I haven’t played in a few years, but when James and I were in high school, we went to the YMCA all the time and played on the roofcourts.
James never made me sweat the way his daughterdoes.
I am distracted. Every little grunt she makes, every time she dives for the ball, I become more and more captivated by her every little move. When she pushes stray hairs behind her ears, she looks innocent and adorable. When she dives for the ball, her long, toned and tanned calves look so freakingsexy.
It’s like she’s putting on a little show for me — until she hits the ball with a fierceness that sends it straight toward the center of my forehead. I try to duck, but I can’t move in time. I’m sent reeling from the shock until my ass is on the ground and I’m breaking my fall with my outstretchedhands.
“Oh my god!” Katherine shouts, dropping her racket and running over tome.
