One Shots

Don't Hold Back / Charlotte's Dad

TW: Age-gap, unprotected sex (protect yourself from STDs friends, wrap it up)

***

I sat beside him on the couch, close enough that I hoped it made him squirm. Our knees touched. He was hot through the jeans on his legs.

When I leaned forward to grab my soda off the table and my skirt shifted higher up my thighs, I didn't adjust it. In fact, I arched my back, exposing even more of my skin.

Cold aluminum can in hand, I risked a glance at him from over my shoulder, delighted by the red blush that crept up his neck as he tore his gaze away from my ass.

"So," he cleared his throat, "Are you nervous about the competition tomorrow?"

Charlotte's dad always tried so hard to act unfazed by my flirtations, always changing the subject or scooting away. I knew he wanted me though. I could tell by the way his breath would catch in his throat whenever I brushed my leg against him, or his eyes would drop to my tits when I adjusted the neckline of my shirt.

Watching him fight his desire only made me crave him even more though. He wanted to be good, I could tell, but I wanted to be the one to show him how bad he really was.

Exhaling dramatically, I sank into the couch cushion, gently brushing my arm against his as I passed. Smoke from the bonfire in the backyard twirled through the hallway into the living room. The voices of the rest of the cheer team were a chorus, filling the kitchen, backyard, and living room.

I wished I could send everyone home. Everyone except him.

"Very," I responded, openly staring at his lips as I spoke. Mr. Morgan had a beautiful mouth, with downturned edges that simply begged to be kissed.

He cleared his throat again, looking over the back of the couch towards the backyard, where the rest of the cheerleaders and coaches were.

"Ya, I could imagine. Charlotte says you've been practicing this routine for months."

"We have," I said, nodding slowly. "You wouldn't believe how tense I am. Moving like that every day takes a toll on the body."

"Mm," he nodded, "You must be pretty strong, getting hours of movement in every day."

An idea had popped into my head, much more forward than my usual approach with Mr. Morgan, but my usual approach had yielded no results. It was time to try something new.

"I am. Here, feel," I grabbed his hand and placed it on my strong inner thigh, holding on when he flinched.

Mr. Morgan's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away, letting me guide his hand higher and higher up my leg.

My heart was hammering in my ears, but I didn't stop until his big hand was flat against my püssy. He was breathing hard and slow, like he was trying to control himself.

Mr. Morgan wasn't nearly as sweet or innocent as he pretended to be, I could tell. The sweaters and smiles couldn't hide the hunger that I knew lurked inside him, the hunger for pleasure. I had the same hunger in me, so it was easy to see it in others. Easy to spot in him.

Without any prompting from me, he pressed the heel of his hand against my clït, sending a rush of heat through my limbs. "You are such trouble," he said, his voice almost as strained as his cöck was in his pants.

He smelled like laundry detergent and something earthy. It made my mouth water.

With a delighted smirk, I checked over my shoulder that no one was coming to ruin this perfect moment, and thankfully saw no one. They must have been too busy making smores or diving into the pool.