A familiar scent flooded in as I pulled the door open, instantly making my cock stir and my heart jump. There she was, standing on my porch, wet hair over her chest, her uniform on and a white envelope and a cellophane bag of little blue cookies hanging from her bandaged hand. Dark half-moons rested under her eyes and I wondered how long she had to wait in the emergency room last night. Tired or not, she was still fucking beautiful. But she looked so young, so fucking young.
“Hello,” she spoke quietly and I could see how nervous she was, her free hand unable to stop tangling with the hem of her polo.
“Hello,” I repeated, surprised she’d come back to my house. Surprised, shocked, and getting quite fucking hard, too.
“My cousin told me that you want to pay for the hospital bill,” her voice trembled as she spoke, her eyes gripping mine.
“I do,” I said, and before I could stop myself, I pulled the door open all the way. “Please, come in.”
She took a cautious step forward then froze. Her eyes flitted between mine as she gnawed at the corner of her mouth, seeming hesitant.
“I shouldn’t. I don’t think the agency would like that,” she said, stepping back.
“Britta,” her head jerked up when I spoke it, as if she didn’t think I knew what her name was. Oh baby, I know your name. And I know the face you make when you suck my dick… well, in my fantasies at least.
“Brooks,” she replied. She got the card. If she knew my name, her cousin had given her the card I left, not just told her I’d come by.
I was normally a man of manners and restraints, but that man was gone. He’d been replaced by a man made of only primal and carnal urges. It would’ve taken a divine intervention to stop the feelings that were coursing through my veins after hearing my name on her sweet lips. I couldn’t stop myself. I was growing unrecognizable.
“Come in, now.”
My tone was rigid and low and her eyes flared. She wasn’t scared. Was she? Or was she excited?
She stepped inside and I closed the door. It was silent for just a moment, her lip trembling slightly as pink crept up her chest and into her neck and cheeks. If she didn’t want this and if she were scared, she wouldn’t have come here.
I needed to know if she tasted as good as she smelled. And here she was, in the flesh, nipples hard, batting her lashes at me, those lithe legs twisting nervously underneath her.
Gripping her by the hips, I lifted her up easily. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around my neck as I backed her up to the front door, pinning her there between the wood of the door and the wood in my pants. It usually took me some foreplay and fucking around to get as hard as I was right now, but something about Britta instantly turned me into a rock. Pushing my body tight to hers, she moaned quietly, as my cock pressed up against her through her shorts.
“Do you like macarons?” she asked, breathless, her eyelids growing heavy with need. Seeing her so turned on floored me, blood surging through my thighs, my body awake, buzzing, skin growing hot under her erotic gaze.
“Never had one,” I snarled, slanting my mouth over hers, fast, desperate. She opened her mouth to whine, a cry of her need, and I took the opportunity to drive my tongue inside, hotly, destructively.
Fuck she tasted so good, sweet, sugary and warm. And cake, always there, the scent and taste of cake. She kissed me back, hard, our passion growing out of control. Her hands drifted down my chest and struggled at the buttons of my dress shirt. She wanted me, she wanted to touch me, feel me, but not yet. I needed her too much first. Reaching out, I grabbed her wrists to still her.
“Not yet,” I growled, burying my face into her neck, dragging my tongue down, kissing along her collarbone as she panted and moaned. With my arms wrapped around her back, I carried her into the kitchen and sat her down on the counter top.
“I wanted to do this to you yesterday,” I whispered, not scared to let her know just how much I wanted her. In the past, I’d always been hesitant, even coy, but with Britta, I didn’t want to play any fucking games. I had to have her and I wanted her to know it.
“Oh,” she breathed as I worked the buttons on her shorts while kissing her ear, followed by her cheek, then finding her full sugary lips again.
“Stand,” I commanded, and she did instantly. Pulling down her shorts, I saw she had on pink cotton panties with little yellow daisies on them. It made me stall for a moment—she felt and looked so innocent, so young. And right when I started to wonder if she was too young and if this was wrong, she reached out and placed her hand over the bulge in my pants, my erection swelling brutally from her touch, my breath now rapid, uncontrollable.
“Oh my,” she seemed surprised, her voice was low and quiet, almost shy.
“Not yet,” I said.
Maybe when I was twenty, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. I’d probably ripped those panties clean off, spun her around, bent her over my counter, parted her lips and fucked her hard until I came, not caring at all about her getting off or if she even enjoyed it. But at my age, I knew the beauty of foreplay.
I lifted her up and
