Page 60 of Fly Boy
“Relax your jaw,” I instruct, and she hums, the sound a direct line to my balls.
I should slow down and take it easier on her, but that rational side drowns in the sea of carnal longing to shoot down her beautiful throat, especially when she begins playing with my balls and down to my taint.
It’s electric, the thrill of her hand between my legs. I’m comfortable in my heterosexuality to keep going, even if previous partners haven’t wanted to explore there. It’s not like my brother is exactly quiet about how good the infamous P-spot is, and as she continues farther, my body sings. It’s not penetrating, just the slightest bit of pressure to make itself known, and between her mouth and her hand, I am in heaven.
“Don’t stop,” I groan, cupping the back of her head, guiding her up and down my length, fucking her mouth, her loud slurps as she tries to take me to the base, spurring me on further. When I look down, it’s the end. I detonate at the sight of her frantically rubbing her clit as she sucks me, the act turning her on so much that she needed to touch herself, too.
My release hits the back of her throat, and she moans, her breaths coming in shallow bursts through her nose, her hips grinding as she drinks me down. When I slide from her mouth, she’s panting, her forehead coming to rest my thigh.
We stay like that, sweaty and sated, until she shifts, flopping down beside me, a satisfied grin on her lips, her eyes closing. I don’t give her a second before I’m on her, tasting myself as I push my tongue into her mouth, drinking her groans as her hands fist my hair. My fingers glide down, running through her slick center, gathering up the evidence of her arousal, swirling it around her sensitive clit.
How can something this wrong feel so right? She’s my boss’s daughter, nearly half my age, yet it doesn’t stop me from wanting this. It freaks me out. It’s dangerous and stupid, and the warning bells are ringing—albeit mutely—yet a small part of me wonders how we can continue this when we’re back home.
The answer is we can’t.
I break the kiss much sooner than I’d like, hating and loving the glazed look on her face, her swollen lips, her flushed skin.No one has ever looked as beautiful as Pippa Cartwright. Freshly fucked, tasting of my cum, marked by me.
“I should go,” I tell her, brushing a lock of her hair from her face as she frowns. “People will be looking for you. It’s way past your usual practice time.”
I see her check the alarm clock on the bedside table, releasing a groan when she reads the time. “We don’t have practice on day three of the competition.” Stretching her arms over her head, she yawns. “But I should get up, anyway. Dad will probably be looking for me, and then I have to do the Exhibition Gala before the Medal Ceremony.”
She takes a deep breath, rolling her eyes.
“Hey.” I place my fingers under her chin, turning her head to look at me. “Third place is still amazing.”
She gives me a slight nod as I search her eyes, wishing she would believe that. I want to kiss her once more, but I don’t. Instead, I get out of bed and search around the room, finding my shirt tossed over a chair and my pants in the middle of the floor. The sheets rustle as Pippa adjusts to lean against the headrest, watching me get dressed and shove my feet into my shoes.
Sliding my hands into my pockets, I glance around awkwardly until Pippa laughs and gets out of bed. Her body on display, she stops in front of me, trailing her fingers over my shirt.
“Do you need me to look into the hallway?” She smirks, dragging her nail across my collarbone as she walks around me and heads into the bathroom. Raising her voice as she says, “Make sure the coast is clear for you?”
She returns wearing the hotel’s bathrobe, and I freeze, the all-too-familiar sight making my cock stir behind my zipper. But this time, I know what it’s hiding underneath, and it isn’t a skimpy blue bikini.
It’s Pavlovian at this point, the way I react to her now. A grown man nearing forty should not have this problem, yet here I am,my fingers toying with her belt, using it to tug her closer. Pippa’s hands land on my forearms, the wide sleeves making her hands look tiny.
“Pippa,” I whisper, and her eyes drift closed at the sound of her name. I don’t know what I’m doing, still standing in her hotel room, holding on to her like I don’t want to let her go. Only I have to. “I—"
“I hear the breakfast crepes are to die for,” she interrupts, clearing the fog that has settled overnight inside my head. She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, like she, too, might feel the heaviness that I do.
“Thanks for the suggestion.” I step back, dropping my hold. “I’ll see you after the ceremony. Back at the plane.”
“Where we return home,” she whispers, chewing on the edge of her thumb, watching as I walk to the door.
Home. Where this won’t happen again.
As my hand reaches the handle, I snap it back, my entire body turning to stone when I hear the sound of my boss’s voice coming from the other side. “Pippa, honey? Are you awake?”
Pippa’s across the room and is next to me in a second, shoving me into the wall as she opens the door, trapping me behind it. “Dad, you’re up early.”
“Nancy and I are going for a walk before breakfast,” he says. “We were hoping you’d join us.”
“That’s nice, but…”
“You’ve been holed up in here all night. We won’t take no for an answer,” Mr. Cartwright insists. I put my eye up against the peephole and peer through it. He’s alone, dressed in his usual suit, waiting expectantly. “Phillipa, I did not raise you to feel sorry for yourself. We are Cartwrights. We dust ourselves off and come back stronger after our setbacks.”
“I know, Dad,” she mutters, running her hand through her hair. “Okay, let me shower, and I’ll join you in the lobby?”
I bristle as he steps forward, close enough that if he stretched onto his toes, he could look behind the door. Plastering myself to the wall, I hear the sound of him kissing her cheek before she tells him she won't be long and closes it behind him.
