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Eventually, she twists, and with fiery eyes, she snaps at me, “Would you fucking stop man-spreading!”
Ahhh, it’s like a sip of cold water in the southwestern desert having her give me those cool jade eyes of hers, even if they are narrowed with irritation.
“If you need more room…” I motion across my lap, and she scowls before crossing her arms and turning to stare at the boxes again.
Another ten minutes go by, and Becca starts trying to stretch out her legs, just as unsuccessfully as she did yesterday. My mouth waters, thinking of getting my hands on her bare thighs and hips again. My cock spits pre-cum in my red athletic shorts, thinking about it too.
I brush her dark blonde hair, which she left down today, over her shoulder and lean in close to her ear. “Are your muscles sore again, Mama? I can help you with that.”
“Ew, Samir! Why would you call me that? And, no, I’m…I’m fine,” she says, even as she squirms again and winces.
I slip my left hand under her knee and drape it over my right leg, spreading her out before gliding my palm up her thigh and digging my thumb into the muscles at the crease. I squeeze her inner thigh, subtly pressing the side of my hand against her pussy, wondering if she’s wet—and if she’s not, maybe my massage will get her wet and ready, just as it did yesterday.
Becca uncrosses her arms, drops her head back with her eyes closed, and moans as I manipulate the area, applying more and more pressure until her jaw goes slack and she’s rolling her hips up, grinding her pussy against my hand.
“That’s it, Mama. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Two things happen at once: Becca’s eyes snap open as she whisper-yells, “Jesus Christ, Samir! Don’t call me that,” while I swiftly slip my hand under the waistband of her leggings and thrust my middle finger as far as it will go into her—fuck yes—slick pussy. She can be mad at me all she wants, but her cunt sure isn’t. Neither are her hips as she writhes while I gently roll circles over her clit with my thumb. “Samir, oh god, why are you doing this to me?” she asks, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I work a second finger into her and curl them as I apply more pressure to her clit. “You hate me.”
I nip the column of her neck and then her ear, careful not to pull on her small, silver hoop earring, and inhale the intoxicating scent of her body lotion. It’s time to set the record straight while I have her trapped in the car for the next six hours as I continue to work her clit, withdrawing my fingers and fully sinking them inside again.
“I don’t hate you, Becca. I’ve never hated you. I’m in love with you,” I confess, getting a little choked up at the overwhelming depth of what she means to me. She is the only girl who has ever had my heart. The only girl who will ever have my heart.
Chapter 5
Samir
Becca blinks twice. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t always be so angry and such an asshole to me.”
I kiss her flushed cheek, wishing she would turn her head a fraction so I could kiss her glossy lips. I slow my thrusts inside her, dragging my fingertips down the particular section of her inner wall that turns her moans breathy.
“I’m sorry. Yes, I’m angry, but not at you. Never at you. And I don’t mean to be such a prick.”
With surprising softness, she asks, “Why are you so angry?”
“At first, it was because I had to leave everything behind when Mom married your dad. And you were such a brat about having to live with us, so it was immature—easy to take that anger out on you. I’m sorry for being such an ass. For making you think I hated you when it’s the exact opposite.”
Becca finally turns to face me. Her eyes shine with unexpected warmth and tenderness. Surprising the hell out of me, she slips her hand behind my head and pulls me in for a sweet kiss, and I taste the vanilla of her lipgloss. I slow my fingers inside her, gentling them as the kiss deepens.
When Becca breaks the kiss and pulls back, she cups my cheek and says, “I’m sorry, too. Not for being a brat, because you definitely deserved it when you called me a ‘blonde bimbo’ and told me I ‘smell like farts’ the first time we met.”
I snicker at that but quickly apologize again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I love the way you smell. Like coconuts and summer sunshine and…” I moan, remembering just how knock-down sexy her curves are in the little bikinis that dig into the flesh of her hips, barely covering her juicy ass. My dick jerks when I remember how often I’ve visualized pulling her into the deep end of the pool we had in our backyard and peeling the triangles of her top to the side so I could suck on her sweet tits.
I’ve dreamed about spinning her around and telling her to grip the concrete edge as I untie her bikini bottoms, spread her plump ass cheeks apart, and sink my cock inside. Pussy or ass, I didn’t care. I just wanted in her so bad. To this day, I can barely tolerate being in the pool with her for more than five minutes before I have to get out and run to my room to jerk off before returning outside, only for it to happen all over again.
Becca bucks her hips and sucks in a deep breath through her nose, then exhales slowly through her mouth when I ease a third finger inside her pussy on my next thrust as I murmur to her about what a good girl she is, relaxing enough to take my fingers.
Her voice is shaky when she says, “Thank you. I…I know I could have been nicer, too, instead of always fighting my—fighting with you.” Then she mutters under my breath, “Definitely would have been nicer if I knew you had such a massive cock.”
I can’t help the smug grin that spreads across my face at that, my ego stroked, knowing how much she appreciates my massive cock. But then we go quiet for a moment, listening to Dad’s terrible choice in music and her low moans of pleasure as we process each other’s apologies.
Not feeling so smug now, I press a kiss to her neck and say, “After that…once we started living together and I fell in love with you, I was angry because I couldn’t have you. We were so young, and with our parents being married to each other, I thought we could never be together. Not the way I wanted.”
She’s momentarily taken aback by my admission, judging by the way she tilts her head, pulling away from me when I try to kiss her jaw. She stares at me with wide eyes for a beat, but then her brows dip, and she bites the inside of her cheek before saying, “Exactly. They’re married, and they’re so damn in love that they’re never going to get divorced. We can’t be together, even if…even if we wanted to.” She’s quick to correct herself when she says, “If you wanted to, I mean.” Becca motions to my hand in her pants and then to my bulging erection, tenting my shorts. “So this needs to stop.”
I pull her hand onto my lap, forcing her to grip and squeeze my shaft through my shorts. We simultaneously suck in a deep breath and blow it out as I pump into her fist. “It doesn’t matter if they stay together or not. We’re eighteen, and we’re not blood-related, so we’re not doing anything wrong. I won’t let their relationship stop me from being with you ever again.”
Becca’s green eyes flare with heat when I yank my hand out of her pants, and though it’s challenging to do so in such a confined space, I tug her leggings off her body, then pull her onto my lap to straddle my thighs, facing me this time. I whistle at seeing her hot pink, lacy thong—one of my favorites of hers—then grip her chin and force her to look at me.
