Old Temptations: Dad's Best Friend Romance Novella (Experienced Men Book 1) Read online

  OldTemptations

  A Dad's Best Friend Older Man Romance

  Experienced Men Book 1

  by

  Savannah May

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Copyright © 2016 Savannah May. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

  Version 2016.10.18

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  OldTemptations

  ChapterONE

  A match made in hell – that's me and weddings. Maybe I attended too many of Daddy's nuptials as a little girl. While he was all wrapped up in the latest Step-Monstrosity, I was left swinging my legs at the head table alone. My dad knows better than to invite me to a wedding these days.

  “Blair, I have a huge surprise for you,” he calls to tell me at ten pm. Oh Christ, he's getting married again. I wonder whether I'll be older than this latest bride. “You know I have my client's daughter's wedding tomorrow?”

  Actually I didn't. But seriously? The night before? Like I have no life.

  “Her photographer, some New York hot shot with a team, charging 25k for one day, got stuck in the hurricane storm on the East coast. The bride's freaking out because no alternative's available last minute so I told her old man, as a favor, I'd let him have my daughter the artiste.”

  Somehow the way he says it makes me sound like an avante garde stripper, the Gypsy Rose Lee of photography. Dad has never understood that I love taking pictures that express something, stir an emotion. Even if they don't sell often.

  “If you can't make money at it, why do it?” Is his general worldview.

  “Daddy please. I've never shot a wedding and you know how much I dislike those celebrations.”

  It's going to be old uncles leering down all the exposed cleavage, drunk bridesmaids making a desperate play for the groomsmen or failing that, any available man before the night runs out. And of course, the dreaded dragons-in-law who will order me around like The Help for twelve interminable hours.

  “It's a few pictures of a girl in a big dress, what's the big deal?” he says, drowning out my protests. “Plus I negotiated five grand for you.” I give a long internal sigh. Why am I even considering this? Because my father tells me to.

  “It's about time you learned to like weddings. You always used to as a little girl. You've become far too insular to be my daughter.”

  I try one last wan protest although I know it's hopeless.

  “The deal's already done. You can thank me when you see me tomorrow.”

  There's no arguing with Damon Max once he's decided. If only Carl was going to be there like when I was young, I'd be there in a flash. But Daddy's only friend disappeared right after the last wedding we attended and he hasn't been seen for almost five years.

  That was one of daddy's own weddings, to Tina, Step-monster number four. I'd just turned sixteen and still not allowed to behave like a grown up. You know - drinking enough to bathe in then groping men's crotches on the dance floor.

  The Monstrosity's friends were all writhing in apparent ecstasy, begging to be chosen to nustle up on the dancefloor with Carl, the most beautiful man in the room. Instead, my salvation came from Daddy's business lawyer and best friend, make that only friend because if I'm being honest, although I love him, dear papa is kind of an a-hat. Ask any of his five ex-wives. Instead of hitting it off with one of the wedding sluts, my dad's only friend decided to pursue our wedding ritual.

  “Hey baby Blair, Dancing Queen, why aren't you burning up the dance floor?” Carl asked with his demon glint. “Teaching them all how to move those hips?”

  “Don't know.” I shook my shoulders with a bratty little pout that he was having none of. He wiped it from my lower lip with the fat pad of his thumb so tingles flowed down my throat straight to my chest. Then, laughing off the protests of the women pawing at him, it was me he pulled to the dance floor. Taking my hand to lead me even though the band changed to a slow number.

  “Beautiful girls need to be dancing in the arms of their prince.” he informed me.

  “And if they don't have a prince?” I snipped, a hormonal teen doubting such a thing existed and feeling betrayed by the fairy stories.

  “That's what your old buddy Carl's for.”

  We always flirted like that at weddings. Carl didn't know it but he became my prince the first time he saved me from solitary embarrassment. Even if I did have to stretch my arms above my head for my fingertips to barely graze his shoulders.

  He's been calling my Baby Blair since I was a little girl and always gives me the attention that was lacking from Daddy, who dealt and traded-in women faster than a used-car salesman. Carl leads me around the floor like a real gentleman and our wedding dance soon became a ritual. If he ever stopped seeking me out, I'd be right there begging him alongside the other desperate pumpkins.

  Over the years I learned to love weddings because I'd get to press myself into the embrace of the most gorgeous man on the planet. Carl never let me down and I still love to be in his arms. My crush on the sexiest handsome man has only intensified and now I'm older I can dream of so much more. Not just because he pays me so much attention. He's also confident as Croesus and truly is divinely handsome, even though he's the same age as Daddy. My father is starting to look a little haggard whereas Carl must drink his milk from virgins because he remains vibrantly youthful.

  But it was right after Daddy's ceremony that Carl disappeared, my dreams went pop and I refused to ever attend another stupid wedding bash. They incite too many lascivious memories of my Dad's old friend who I can never have and it's more than I can stand.

  *

  After my father hangs up, I convince myself the money will be handy. At least I won't have to go begging to him for help with my rent at the end of the month. With a thousand guests, I'd really need a second shooter. Or maybe I just want a wing man. I immediately text a guy from my class. Josh doesn’t need to be asked twice. His reply shoots straight back.

  “Got you covered. Can you pick me up on the way”

  Josh's family aren't wealthy so he doesn't have a car. He could take a tram but photographic equipment weighs a ton. I just hope he isn't planning to go in for a repeat of last week when he tried to make a move out of the friend zone. After loading up my own gear, I head over to the walk-up he shares with a bunch of other guys his age that looks like a crack den.

  I look like a drone in my non-descript outfit of black pants and white shirt. All I need is a tie around my neck to be mistaken for one of the catering crew instead of the photographer. I also notice some heavy bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. I figured it was nerves over
this job keeping me tossing and turning. Except that every thought running through my mind centered on Carl, my dad's best friend and the last time we'd been at a wedding together. The memory of being in his arms caused pulsations of need to push between my thighs. My breasts filled with eager pressure, craving the ridges of hard muscle pushing into them. I try to force him out of my head. He doesn't belong there after disappearing without so much as a 'See you around kid'. Logically I know I should forget him and move on with my own life but my body continues to hang on to the throb-inducing memories.

  I keep coming back to the last time we were together. I'm certain Carl must have felt the electric jolt that ran through me as I fell into his arms in the ballroom. The moment we realized that suddenly, from one dance to the next, I'd become his perfect fit. Two solitary puzzle pieces locking together. I'd grown fast, both upward and outward so that now our bodies interlocked with a harmony that was close to tantric. My tits cupping perfectly into the hollow beneath his solid pectorals sent lightning rods up and down me. Our pelvises enticed each other at exactly the right level. Oh jeez how they enticed.

  Carl felt it too. His solid torso went rigid as I nestled against his chest, grazing my nipples into the hard peaks there. Before I could stop myself, I was tilting my pelvis for the connection to Carl I'd been craving what seemed a lifetime. There was an almost immediate stirring as I nestled into his hold and pressed my yearning young breasts into his chest wall.

  He tried to hold away his lower half but no dice, Mister. I wanted that mass swelling against me. A real grown-up man cock, thick and powerful. Not the eager little things I'd been introduced to at school. Pricks that popped up at the mere mention of the word 'boob'. I discovered Carl was sporting an impressive bulge under that designer jacket and it was hard as iron. For me. His hand became boiling hot against my spine as he gently tugged me in tighter to his rock solid chest wall.

  This man was fascinating and I wanted him. Even his aroma was more masculine, grittier, than the pimply jocks at school who smelled like pine cleaner. I pushed my hips out and felt the glorious swell of Carl's solid mass. He thrust backward, as though to tilt his pulsating groin away from mine but his arms squeezed me a little closer into a perfect never-letting-you-go hold. So close to his iron shaft as he led me around the floor,

  I flushed with the impossible desire to feel it slide into the depths of me. Carl's heart was pounding right through my chest wall. His breath as ragged as mine, his chest lifting in a fitful rhythm began to emit a fearsome heat into my tender flesh.

  “I want this,” I whispered against his shoulder. My heart in my mouth almost blocked the words from escaping.

  I want to live here forever, locked in your arms.

  “Blair, baby,” he low growled against my hair. “Oh, Baby.”

  Chapter TWO

  “This is great.” Josh stows his equipment then folds his long legs into my squat Datsun. “We'll get to work on this shoot together all week.”

  “Yeah. The editing will be a real drag, erasing all the pimples and wrinkles,” I say, avoiding touching him so as not to give the wrong idea. “Brides are demanding and I bet this girl will demand skinny tool as well.”

  Josh laughs.

  “Thanks to Photoshop every girl gets to look like a supermodel,” he says.

  “It's so unnatural.”

  “Not everyone is as naturally gorgeous as you. You're just an old-fashioned girl.

  “I am. I adore vintage everything. Just look at this car.”

  Josh's knees are planted against the wood burl dash.

  “That's why you prefer using film more than digital.”

  I'd already told him I'm shooting film as well as digital today.

  “We can get together to develop the prints after class.”

  “Oh, um, sure, I guess.” I can feel where this is going. I should never have allowed him to go for the advance and kiss me at a party. I knew he wanted more and suspect he still does. I let him because it's been a while. So long I'm starting to feel like a born-again virgin.

  In the years after Carl left, I had a few make out sessions with boys and I know the game now. Let them touch the forbidden parts, wait for the cock rearing up demanding to be tugged. Then expectations of a few swift tweaks and gropes on the secret points before it's quickly over. They're all so – soft.

  Why is it so freaking hard to find a sexy manly man?

  Why are they all like girls with beards?

  I'm craving a man's caress across my skin but I had to cut it off, because I just can't get excited for boos like Josh. There's never a release to the tension in my core and a whole lot of frustration after, as I think how the desperate tussle would definitely have been completely different with Carl.

  *

  I have to get straight into shooting the getting-ready photos of the bride and her entourage, while Josh takes the male side. He gets it easy. The men are kicked back drinking shots with locker room talk about the hook ups they're anticipating after the vows are taken. Actually it's the same on the girl's side minus the kicked back part. These girls are close to hysterical, in the lunatic sense rather than comedic. A couple of them are already tipsy enough that I'm concerned for their parade down the aisle in the foot high heels they can barely stand on without wobbling.

  “You know what they say about weddings,” the one called Sarey says. “Best chance of meeting your future husband.”

  “I'm fine with meeting my one night bae,” another adds.

  “Britnee, have you chosen your zero chill for tonight?”

  “Eh yeah, no point leaving it to chance. Look what I found on the way up,” She holds up her phone for the other, I'm completely unable to remember any names, to check out a photo. “I am totally stanning for this dude.”

  “Hot. I'd totally Netflix and chill for him. You think you can spear him?”

  “No problem. Goal af.”

  “Kinda teek but I know you like your guys high on Viagra.”

  “They have the funds and the tongues. We all need to teek out at this time in our lives.”

  I feel a bit teeky myself the way these girls talk like they've dropped their hashtags.

  “Check out what Chad just sent me for a wedding favor.” The squeal from another girl busting up the gaggle literally shatters my eardrums. The others come running over for a look at the close up shot of a rigid but otherwise rather average cock at half mast across the screen.

  Eugh.

  I'm no prude. I've even done some photo shoots of naked men in studio class but that is beyond gross. With bad lighting and phone camera resolution the flesh looks like old chicken skin.

  While they ogle the man porn, Britnee sets her phone on the counter, strewn with more make-up and hair products than the entire Miss Universe pageant. They must have ram-raided Sephora for this much goop. I glance down at the phone, always curious about how people snap secret pap shots and holy fuck, I know that guy. Or do I? The instant I register the gorgeous rugged face grinning up at me, it flips to lock screen. I grab at the phone without a thought, sending pots of glitter shadow skittering.

  I'm plunking at the buttons to get rid of the wallpaper showing an almost naked celebrity's big butt but the pop up demands my password, or rather Britnee's password. Just then she rounds on me to snatch her third arm back from me.

  “Hey, that's my phone.” She grabs it back from my hand.

  “Who was that guy? Can I see?” I plead.

  “Who are you?” she squeaks, ignoring my request and hugging her phone to her like I'm about to jack her.

  “That's the photographer,” Sarey says, rolling her eyes.

  What was your first clue? This huge paparazzi style Cannon I've been holding the last hour?

  “Oh. I thought she was the catering team. Is that what photographers have to wear? Uggz.”

  She turns back to comparing notes about which of the groomsmen is most fuckable while I wander from the room in a daze. Was that really Carl's face on
the girl's screen or did I imagine it because I see his handsome features everywhere, most especially my bedroom thoughts last night. When I'd tossed and turned enough times to drive myself rabid, I hauled my ass out of bed and walked across my small loft studio to the giant mirror I installed.

  When Carl left five years ago, he forgot to take the swarm of heated sensations and they remained locked in my body. My avid desire to be merged with him drove me to exploration.

  When daddy was out one night, I went to his bedroom and slipped my robe off my shoulders to examine my body in his full-length mirror. The first time I ever sank down to my heels, knees stretched wide and pulled my pussy apart. The first time I felt a rush as the cool outside air sparkled against the spread of soft wet flesh. The soft folds of flesh already slippery from thinking about Carl demanded stroking, I was eager to discover where those delectable waves of pleasure emanated from. A shudder raked up my back as my fingers found the nerve points gathered in the folds. As I gazed on my fingers sliding and rubbing across the solid nub, I imagined were Carl's wide heavy pads.

  Even now, every time I close my eyes to conjure up a picture of his close cut beard, roughing my slick opening, my body feels ten pounds lighter with the euphoric surge. But it's like imagining the mouth of a rock star covering my taut pussy entrance, the tongue of a movie star shoving deep inside to lap up the juices pouring out.

  The likelihood is less than zero but that doesn’t stop me fantasizing how Carl would slide one of his rigid strong fingers into the tightly puckered entrance that refused to open to me. Carl could have my virginity. He'd already taken it in my imagination many times. As I rush down to the ballroom to see if he's truly one of the guests, my blood rushes and curls in my limbs.

  *

  It was him.

  I'm certain of it and every pore is on overload with the prospect of seeing his gorgeous face after such a long drought. He's also got a heap of explaining to do. I rush back to the main hall where all the guests are congregated, my head in a whirl and an uncomfortable pulse between my legs. Dampness is gathering in the teddy I threw on under this boring outfit, just from the brief sight of Carl's perfect manly features. The strong cut jaw flecked with ten o'clock shadow I used to stroke my palm over, loving its scratchy tickle. The always laughing eyes, taking me in, letting me know he thinks I'm perfect. Not to mention the cut muscular ripples across his body.