Dave peeked around the living room entranceway to peer at the front door.  When he saw the blonde hair, the blue eyes looking at him through the decorative glass, he stepped back out of sight.

Shit.

He looked down.  The bottom of his faded Broncos T-shirt brushed the top of his waist and hugged his deltoids and pecs, having shrunken in the dryer over the years.  His fraying blue flannel pajama pants were soft enough to justify freeballing.  Nothing he’d ever want to be caught wearing in public.

“I saw you, Dave,” Nicolette said, her voice tinny through the door.  “Does your wife tell you who you can speak to, also?”

Exhaling, he left the living room doorway.  Closed the last few steps to the foyer, unlocked the dead bolt to the front door with a thunk, and pulled it open.

“Nicolette.”  He squinted in the sunlight at the woman on his doorstep.  “Good morning.”   

She raised a thick brown eyebrow, a hand on her hip.  “Is it?  Because my daughter’s best friend told her she wasn't allowed to hang out with her anymore.  Since when do we forbid our kids from people who are different from us, instead of teaching them how to handle that or trust them to be the great kids we’ve raised them to be?”

He pressed his lips together.

Dave had said the same thing to his wife that morning.  Since they hadn’t agreed on how to handle their daughter’s friendship situation, they’d decided to discuss it later.  Apparently Pam had planned to carry on and convince him later.

Again.

“You know, Pam’s always acted like she’s better than everyone else, but I expected more from you.”  Nicolette tossed her bangs from her eyes, slapped her palm against the door beside his head, and pushed it open behind him.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m here to get Chelle’s hoodie.  Since, ya know, she’s banned from coming back.”

She squeezed past him into the house.

“Hey!”

Nic didn’t turn.

Fuck.  He glanced at the two-story house across the road, then down the street. No one was around to see.  Thank fucking God.

He let out a breath.  Swinging the door shut, he turned around.  Nicolette stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips.  Her low ponytail twisted in little waves down the spine of her black tank top, adding femininity to the tight, tanned little muscles of her back and shoulders.  The loosely coiled hair moved over her back as she looked around the living room.

“Jesus Christ, Nic.”  He wiped a hand down his face, trying to stop looking at her.  “She’s not banned.”

“That’s not what Dawn’s saying.”  She crouched, looking under the couch and chairs.

Dave sighed.  “What does the sweater look like?”

“It’s an emerald green and black tie dye hoodie.  Zips up the front.”  She whirled around.  “Don’t you have any balls, or does she have those in a cage too?”

He flinched.  Stress pinched his shoulders as he fought the urge to defend himself and his wife.  Or even acknowledge he’d thought the same thing. “That’s totally inappropriate.”

“Sure it is.  I bet Queen Pamela doesn’t even get on her knees for you anymore.” 

The tremors started in his hands.  In seconds, his blood was hot.  His balls tightened, his cock thickening at the mention of its pleasure.   

God dammit.

“What the fuck, Nicolette.”  His voice was monotone, hard.

Eighteen years ago he’d slept with someone else.  It was nothing but a slip up for his bruised ego when Pam’s work had taken precedence.  But Pamela was all he’d ever wanted.  He’d sworn he’d never be alone with another woman again, never put himself in the position to lose control.

The hint of a smile danced on Nicolette’s closed mouth.

He grit his teeth.  Stared at her.  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Sure.  After I find Richelle’s sweatshirt.”  She shrugged, her head cocked to the side.

“Fine.”  Taking a deep breath, he counted to three.  Then jacked his thumb over his shoulder toward the tiny hallway across the foyer.  “It’s probably in Dawn’s room.”

When she turned and stalked toward his daughter’s room, he caught sight of her taut, trim ass.  Her toned legs in those tight black leggings.  He felt his cock harden even more, the soft flannel hugging his crotch.

Shit.

He dragged behind, giving her more room and himself more time to will away his erection.  But when he reached the doorway to his daughter’s room, Nicolette was bent over, pawing through Dawn’s chest of drawers, and he couldn’t remember ever being harder.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, grasping the doorway.  Didn’t trust himself to close the distance between them.

“Looking for the sweatshirt.”

“Nicolette.”  He raked his top teeth over his lower lip and exhaled.  Let go of the doorway.  “Look.  You can’t just go through my daughter’s things.  I’ll give it to Dawn to give to Richelle if we find it.  But it’s time for you to go.”

She stood.  Tugged down the hem of her tank and looked around the room as if he’d said nothing.  His gaze dropped to her arms, moved up to her shoulders and collarbones.  Her neck and face.

Nic had barely aged.  Never let herself go.  Never settled, never got too comfortable, never lost the fire of youth.  Took part in protests, knew all the artists in town, all the leaders.  Lived on the edge of everything.

But sometimes… maybe… in reach.

He curled his fingers into fists, his blood raging with lust.

Don’t.

Nic glided over to the doorway of the open closet.  She reached up to the shelves above the rack, upper arm and back muscles flexing as she moved.  Shadows popped and disappeared under her shoulder blades.  Her hair swept her back with the movements of her head.

“Your wife is always talking about her daughter.”

He froze at the topic change.

“How she’s in the National Junior Honor Society and she almost went to the Junior Olympics for swimming, all this crap.  When that runs out, she brags about her own practice and how many surgeries she does every day.  Or the remodeling she wants to do on your giant house and the new fancy car she wants to get.”

“Okay.”

She made it sound so fake.  Shallow.  Something he’d come to feel about their lives but couldn’t figure out why.  They’d worked hard to have a happy life.  Why not enjoy it?

Nic rifled through the clothes on hangers.  “She doesn’t talk about how Dawn has been wanting to surf all her life and Pamela won’t let her even get lessons.  She doesn’t talk about the girl’s interest in criminal justice and that she wants to be a cop.  I don’t know if she doesn’t approve or if she just doesn’t even know her own fucking daughter.”

He blinked.  Stared.

It’d been a conversation of contempt with Pam.  Something he couldn’t get a straight thought or answer out of her for.  So much so, that he’d been thinking of helping his daughter reach for her dreams behind her mother’s back.

And yet, here was the mother of Dawn’s best friend, advocating for his daughter like she was her own.

“Does she even know you?  Or…”  Glancing over her shoulder at him, she scoffed.  “Do you even know yourself anymore?”

The question snatched the air from his throat and shook him to the core, aftershocks rippling through his body.  He couldn’t feel his vows.  Couldn’t feel his marriage, his wife, or the thin balloon of a future that was supposed to appease them.

Shrugging, Nic turned back to the closet.  Her tight little body stretched as she reached up to the hangers again.

“No.”  His voice was flat.

Nicolette’s eyes met his.  Her thick brown brows raised, then her gaze flicked down his body, electrifying each part as if she’d physically touched them.  She met his eyes again, pouty lips parted like an invitation.  “Huh.”

In two strides there was no gap between them.  He seized her hips, yanking back her to him, pinning her taut little body against the front of his.  They gasped in unison, her soft blonde hair tickling his collarbone.  Empty hangers clanged against each other.

Dizzy, he counted his breaths.  Tried to regain himself, knowing how far he’d already gone.

That tight ass pressed his cock through his pants as if stroking him.  A soft moan escaped her throat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, asserting his thick rod into her cleft.  “Fuck, Nic.”

Her head tilted back, resting on his chest.  She bit her lip, wriggling against him.  Then opened her hooded blue eyes to look into his.  “Balls still work, huh?”

He swallowed.

“Make a fucking decision for once, David.”

The air felt endangered, heat raging in his blood. Everything he thought, everything he felt, tunneled into Nic. All into this tight body pressed against him, the blue eyes seeing past all the bullshit. Allowing him, coaxing him, challenging to do exactly what he wanted, be exactly who he was.

Stepping back, he yanked her arm, whirling her around to face him.  Then seized her shoulders, pushed her backward until she hit the wall with a thud.

She giggled.

Dave grabbed her wrists, pinning them to the wall over her head.  Met her wide blue eyes for a heartbeat, then took in her pale skin, the light smatter of freckles on her cheeks.  Her open lips, the way her chest heaved with every breath.  Then he pressed his mouth to hers.

She opened her soft lips, drawing him forward.  He pressed his tongue inside, demanding against her yielding muscle.  Needing to be closer, deeper. To know every part of her body. He released her wrists to feel the lines of her jaw, the hollow at her ears. Then his palm circled her neck, the tiny bones protesting against his skin as he squeezed. He ground his aching cock into her flat stomach as she rocked her pelvis against his body, her hands clutching his ass. Their shallow breaths sounded like they were in a cavern.

"David," she whispered.

He released her throat to dip a hand below her waistband, stretching the delicate fabric beneath until he found her fleshy folds.

She was sopping wet. 

Her sharp inhale cut the air. She wiggled in his grasp. "Let me—"

Kissing her throat, he shoved her pants to her knees.

“Wait, wait,” Nicolette gasped. She ripped her leggings off one leg, losing her balance and holding tight to his bicep.

He roamed her smooth neck, shoulders and arms, dipped into her tank to cup her small breasts and beaded nipples. Kissed and tasted every part of her skin he could reach, aching to be deep inside her. 

When she kicked her leggings off, Nic threw her arms around his neck. Dave gripped her slim hips and lifted her off the ground.  He backed her against the wall, her legs wrapping tight around his waist, and shoved the front of his pants down.  Nestled his face in the curve of her neck as he grasped his thick, throbbing cock and fit between her slippery thighs.

Her heat begged him forward.  He felt her head tip backward, her exhale in his ear as his cock parted her soft pussy lips and nudged inside.

Her low, feminine moan was like flint to spark.  He inched further, battling the need to bury himself within her snug channel.  Her hands clawed his scalp, hips writhing in his hands, her breath a staccato rhythm cradled in soft, moaning chords.

“God, Jesus Christ,” he murmured, his voice fracturing.

Nicolette raised her head, pushed his shoulders back until her blue eyes met his with a ferocity that made him feral. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

He drove into her.  Her head fell back and just as it began to raise, he pulled out and rammed into her again.  Over and over, he buried himself in her wet friction, heat and surrender.  Her legs dangled from his elbows, his forearms under her flexing quads.  She moaned higher and louder with every thrust, her hands clawing the walls, his arms, his face, his head.

Balls boiling, he pulled back.  Strained to see through the bewildering haze of lust.  Nic’s eyes glazed, her head dropped, and he adjusted his grip.  He pulled out, the tip of his cock waiting inside her, until her eyes met his again.

Heat built in his gut, scoured his veins in fire as he surged inside her.  Harder.  Deeper.  Faster.  More.  He pounded into her, grunting with exertion, sweat slicking his chest as her pussy milked his needy cock.

“Yes.  Yes!  Give it to me!”  She gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders.  Fingernails raking his skin, moans arching from her throat, the octaves higher and higher the harder he drove.

All his muscles clenched.  He rammed deep inside her, packing every inch of her pussy with cock. Scorching, raging cum blasted down his stalk, firing deep inside her hot, honeyed pussy.

He sagged, forehead to her shoulder, catching his breath at her heaving chest.  Her nails combed through his hair.  His balls were soaked.  Cum trickled between them, down the inside of his leg even as he felt the last drops kick his shaft and fill her clutching cunt.

Jesus Christ.

His wedding ring pinched his finger and he realized he was still gripping her waist. In the home he shared with his wife. Surrounded by his daughter's clothes, balls deep in the mother of her best friend.

Dave's blood ran cold.

Tilting his hips, he pulled his expended cock from her drenched cavern.  A feminine grunt protested in his ear, but he lowered her feet to the ground, unable to meet her eyes.

A moment pressed between them. 

He couldn’t move.

“I see.”  Unwinding her arms from his neck, Nic stepped away from him.

Dave peeked up, watching the bones and muscles move in her back as she turned her pant legs right-side out.  Leaning back against the wall, she pulled the leggings up her thighs and shimmied the waistband over her hips. Locking in the sperm soaking her pussy.

He yanked his pants up over his cock.  The wetness made the soft fabric stick to his dick.

“So your balls still work.  Good to know.”  Her voice was stronger, but still out of breath.  “How about not letting your wife keep your two daughters from being friends.”

Staring at the creme-colored carpet, he flinched.  Hated himself even more.  “I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.”  She stepped closer.

He stared at her white polished toenails, the tanned toes.

Nic’s lips pressed against his cheek for the span of a moment, replaced by the stream of her fingers down side of his face.  “I don’t need you.  I never asked you for anything.  But do this for them.”

When she pulled away, he shut his eyes.  Tried to preserve the feeling of her mouth on him, the strength he felt in her presence.  Tried to push away the feeling that he’d chosen wrong, that the bond of his marriage was as strong as a house of cards.

The front door clicked shut.