Page 27 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad
Hell yeah. “More.”
“Fuck me hard.”
The tension in my dick coiled tighter, pushing me closer to the edge. “More.”
“Oh, God! Fuck me, Brett. Come inside me.”
Jesus fuck. In an instant, my balls drew in and my orgasm shot through me.
“Yes, Brett.” Her pussy grip my cock like a fucking vise.
“Fuck!” My voice echoed out through the backyard. Chances were good someone could hear us, but I didn’t give a shit. Pleasure skyrocketed through me until every cell in my body was humming with it.
Miranda moaned and mewled. Her pussy pulsed, milking my dick until I couldn’t see straight. I collapsed over her, pulling in deep breaths. I felt like I’d just sprinted a marathon.
Finally, I sat down, pulling her with me, taking us both deep into the water to warm up.
"Is it always like this?"
My heart stopped in my chest, worried about what that question meant. Was she attaching some sort of emotion to sex?
"What do you mean?"
"Is it always so... intense, explosive?"
I couldn't stop the satisfied smile on my face. A man always liked hearing when he'd rocked a woman’s world.
"Not always. But when there's high levels of attraction and chemistry, like there seems to be between us, plus a sense of adventure, then yes, it can be intense and explosive."
"Is it the same for you?" Her courage to ask questions or reveal her inexperience was sweet.
"I wouldn't be fucking you if it wasn't."
The smile that spread on her face matched mine. She might not have experience, but there was no doubt about what she brought out of me.
"I'm going to get the towel and robe and we can go inside. I'll make us something to eat."
"That's why I came down here. I was going to offer to make lunch for us. I still can."
"We can make something together."
I exited the tub, hurrying as I grabbed the towel to wrap around me and the robe for her. I picked up her clothes for her, and we hurried out of the cold and into the house.
Once we were both dressed, we met back in the kitchen, making tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. We worked together well, moving in the kitchen without getting in each other's way and yet efficiently getting the food prepared.
I made a fire in the fireplace again, and we ate our lunch out there, talking about anything and everything unless it involved Lindsay. I learned that Miranda had a very eclectic taste in music and movies and books.
"The creative arts always have a snapshot of society in them," she said. "I can read Dickens or Jane Austen to learn about life in their day. They weren't writing historical fiction. They were writing contemporary fiction for their time. Writing today is the same. So are music, art, and even movies."
"I hadn't thought about it like that." Her insight made me realize just how intelligent she was. In my mind, studying history was all about boring dates and people who’d been fortunate enough to make history. But to her, history was a way to understand the world. She viewed history not as dates and events but about people and society.
"You can see how social norms change through the arts," I commented.
"Yes. What used to be taboo a hundred years ago may not be today. With that said, there are still some taboos that will never change."
"Like having sex with your daughter's friend?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think better of it.
She blinked and looked down at her sandwich. "Maybe. Although two hundred years ago, a widower would very likely marry a woman even younger than me, who might have been his daughter's friend. But that would've been a matter of having an heir."
