Skin and Sin (An Erotica Collection)

Stepdaddy’s Filthy Girl -2

Nyssa came into the kitchen the next morning wearing the shortest pair of shorts she owned and a thin white tank that clung to her like a second skin.

The hem of the tank rode up when she reached for a glass, showing a strip of soft stomach. The shorts barely covered the lower curve of her ass. When she bent to open the fridge the fabric rode higher.

Theron stood at the counter pouring coffee. He felt her before he saw her. She brushed past him on the way to the fridge, the bare side of her thigh sliding against his hip, the soft swell of her ass grazing him for one deliberate second. Heat shot straight to his c**k.

He set the pot down harder than he meant to. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Her voice was light, almost casual. She pulled out the juice and turned. The thin tank did nothing to hide the shape of her breasts. Her n*****s pressed against the fabric, already tight from the cool air of the fridge.

She noticed him looking and did not cover up. She just stood there holding the carton, letting him look.

“You sleep okay?” she asked.

“Fine.” His voice came out rougher than usual. He turned back to his coffee so he would not keep staring at the way the cotton stretched across her t**s.

She moved past him again, closer this time. Her hip brushed his. The soft flesh of her ass pressed against the side of his thigh for a beat longer than necessary. He felt every inch of the contact. His c**k stirred inside his sweatpants.

Nyssa poured juice into a glass and leaned over the counter to reach the fruit bowl. The tank pulled tight across her chest. He could see the soft underside of her breasts, the way the fabric clung to the hard points of her n*****s.

When she stretched farther the shorts rode up until the lower curves of her ass peeked out.

Theron’s eyes dropped and stayed there. He could not make them move. The pale skin of her inner thighs looked smooth and warm.

He wanted to step behind her, push those shorts aside, and bury his face between her legs until she soaked his chin.

She straightened slowly and caught him looking. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You want some?”

He cleared his throat. “Some what?”

“Fruit.” She held up a peach. Juice already dripped down her fingers from where she had bitten into it.

“No.” He turned away again, gripping the edge of the counter. His c**k was fully hard now, pressing against the soft fabric of his pants. He shifted so the counter hid it.

Nyssa stayed close. She took another bite of the peach and licked a drop of juice from her lower lip. “You seem distracted this morning.”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He looked at her. The tank was nearly transparent where it stretched over her n*****s. He could see the exact shape of them. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

She stepped closer until the soft press of her breasts brushed his arm. “You sure?”

The contact burned through him. He could smell her skin, clean and warm, and underneath it the faint scent that made his mouth water. He set his mug down before he dropped it.

“Nyssa.” Her name came out low.

“Yeah?”

“You should put on more clothes.”

She tilted her head. “Why? It’s hot.”

“Because I’m trying to drink my coffee and you’re making it hard.”

The double meaning hung between them. She did not pretend not to hear it. Her eyes dropped to the front of his sweatpants for a second before she looked back up. A flush spread across her cheeks, but she did not step away.

“I can see that,” she said softly.

Theron exhaled hard through his nose. He turned and walked out of the kitchen before he did something he could not take back. Behind him he heard her soft laugh, low and knowing.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding the common areas. Every time he passed the living room she seemed to be there, stretched out on the couch with one leg bent, the shorts riding high on her thighs.

When he went to the laundry room she appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame so the tank pulled tight across her chest again.

“Need help?” she asked.

“No.”

She stayed anyway, watching him fold a shirt. When he reached past her for a towel her breast brushed his forearm. Soft. Warm. The n****e hard against his skin for one electric second.

He froze. She did not move away.

“Sorry,” she murmured, but she did not sound sorry at all.

That night he lay in bed with the sheet pushed down to his hips. His c**k stood thick and heavy against his stomach, the head already wet. He closed his eyes and let the images of the day flood in.

Nyssa in those shorts. The way the fabric had clung to the soft curve of her ass every time she bent. The thin tank that showed every detail of her t**s.

The deliberate way she had brushed against him in the kitchen, her hip sliding along his, her ass pressing into him just long enough to make his c**k jump.

He wrapped a fist around himself and stroked slow. In his mind he walked up behind her while she leaned over the kitchen counter. He put his hands on her hips and pushed those tiny shorts aside. No panties. Just the smooth, warm skin of her ass and the soft folds of her cunt already glistening for him.

He imagined dropping to his knees right there on the kitchen floor. Spreading her open with his thumbs. Burying his face between her thighs and licking a long, slow stripe from her entrance to her c**t. The taste of her. The way she would gasp and push back against his mouth.

His fist tightened. He stroked faster.

In the fantasy she moaned his name and reached back to tangle her fingers in his hair. He licked deeper, tongue pushing inside her, then returned to her c**t and sucked it between his lips.

She rocked against his face, getting wetter by the second, soaking his chin and his mouth the way he had imagined all day.

“f**k, Nyssa,” he muttered into the dark. “Look at you. Spreading for me like that.”

He pictured her turning around, sitting up on the counter, and pulling him between her thighs by the front of his shirt. She would free his c**k, stroke it once, and guide the head to her entrance.

He would push into her slow, feeling every inch of her tight heat stretch around him.

Her head would fall back. Her t**s would rise and fall with every breath. He would suck one n****e into his mouth while he f****d her deep and steady on the kitchen counter.

His hips started thrusting into his fist. The wet sound of his hand on his c**k filled the room. He was leaking steadily now, the head shiny and sensitive.

He imagined her coming first, clenching around him, her soft cries filling the kitchen. Then he would pull out, turn her around, and bend her over the counter again.

He would push back into her from behind and watch the way her ass bounced with every thrust. He would reach around and rub her c**t while he f****d her harder, deeper, until she came a second time and he followed, filling her in long, heavy pulses.

The real orgasm hit hard. He bit down on a groan and came across his stomach in thick ropes, stroking through it until his c**k was spent and oversensitive.

He kept the image of her in his head the whole time. The shorts. The tank. The way she had looked at him when she noticed how hard he was.

When it was over he lay there breathing hard, come cooling on his skin. Down the hall he could hear the faint sound of water running. Nyssa was in the shower.

He pictured her under the spray, fingers between her legs, thinking about the same things he had just come to.

His c**k twitched again at the thought. He cleaned himself up with a discarded shirt and stared at the ceiling, already half hard and already wanting more.

The day had been nothing but teasing and near misses. Tomorrow would be worse. He could feel it. And the worst part was how much he wanted it to be.