Falling For Dad’s College Rival by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Twelve

Trent

It takes some time for her to settle down.

Her own climax is something out of this world, and I feel a steady flow of my own juices as my cock twitches while I pleasure her, aching to fill her with my seed.

But we’ve got time. All the time in the world now.

More of her epic orgasms, which is my new favorite flavor, by the way, Brooke’s emotional release is so strong it wipes her out.

We all have baggage, demons, whatever we choose to call it. But I think Brooke’s biggest fear was me laughing at her or making her feel less than, just because she’s a virgin.

Now, that couldn’t be further from the truth and like so many things we all worry about, it’s the worst thing only in our imagination.

In the real world, in my world? It’s the best news ever.

It means she really is all mine. It means nobody else has had what I have, and nobody else is going to. I’ll make damned sure of it.

It might have been a passing thought. Or maybe I just knew, but I want Brooke for who she is. Not what she has or hasn’t done.

We’ve got so much to do together, and this is just the cherry on top of the cake, literally.

Once she settles down, exhausted from her release, I watch her nap after covering her up, my own hands still exploring her smooth curves under them.

Those hips. Her fine ass and that chest.

I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again, and definitely not on my stomach with this permanent tent pole I’ve sprouted.

I feel… alive. And I certainly haven’t ever been this hard in my whole life.

But I can wait. I will wait, and when Brooke is ready, I’ll show her what it’s like to have one of those epic orgasms with me inside her.

The thunder and rain have kept up, with plenty of lightning for effect, but Brooke sleeps lightly, a little smile playing on her lips and a tiny mew from the same whenever I pass a sensitive spot on her body under the covers.

The only thing to cloud her face is the occasional ping or chime from her phone, lost on the floor somewhere along with all our clothes, tangled up and off-limits for now.

I let her sleep, curling up beside her until an old, less exciting hunger takes over.

My belly rumbles in time with the thunder, and I figure there’s no harm in making us something to eat, which Brooke can have sooner or later.

From now on, she can have whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.

Setting the heating to a more comfortable without clothes range, I don’t bother to dress and make my way to the kitchen once I know she’s asleep.

My office beckons, with a bank of flashing screens winking as I pass by but I ignore it all for now.

I’ve got the one thing worth more than any business or amount of money, right in my bed.

Why wouldn’t I want to make sure she’s just as well-fed and rested as I am?

It’s pasta and steak like I decided beforehand, and after a few close calls with some hot oil, I decide an apron isn’t such a bad idea after all, and I set to sizzling some steaks and whipping up a pasta carbonara as well.

I see some pre-made salads, which will go well with the meat but feeling spoiled for choice I can see myself opting for all of it on one plate.

While the steaks rest, I finish the pasta, and humming loudly to myself, I congratulate myself on a job well done.

The food, the evening, and most importantly, Brooke.

I feel like the luckiest guy on earth right now so it’s hard to hider my excitement.

Finishing the cooking, I frown

I’m used to late night food on my own, but things are different now.

It feels wrong somehow to eat without Brooke. Tonight anyway, after everything we’ve just been through.

Her shadow across the counter sees me looking up, smiling.

Always feeling better when I see her face, but double happy now, because it means we can both eat too.

“Hi,” she whispers hoarsely, smiling to herself. “I like your apron,” she says teasing me a little and I can feel my thick arousal pumping back to life at the sight of her in nothing but my shirt.

It’s huge on her, but still gives me a tempting view of her chest, thighs, and those hips of hers.

“I made us some food,” I announce, stating the obvious and reaching for a second plate.

“Pasta or streak?” I ask, laughing when we say it at the same time. “Both,” we chime in unison.

She really is my kind of girl and so I don’t look like a complete animal, I slice a steak into sections and put a little pasta and salads on our plates.

But there’s no fooling her, she looks at me askew, challenging me to tell her honestly if I always present food on my plate like this.

I can’t help but laugh, because I know she’s right.

“Have it how you always do,” she says, coming closer and playfully punching my arm, she hugs it straight afterward, kissing it better.

“You ever seen a caveman eat?” I ask her knowingly, watching her breath catch as she gets a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Maybe not see him eat, but I sure felt him eat,” she smiles, shivering a little at the memory and almost making me forget about food for the second time tonight.

“Eat,” she commands and helps herself to her plate and cutlery, we sit opposite one another at the breakfast bar, which feels like a diner it’s so big.

I only notice now just how big this place is with two of us in it. When it’s just me I hardly notice anything.

“Warm enough?” I ask, watching her blow on her food. “I mean in here. You’re not cold?” I ask, my eyes darting to her chest as if it’s gonna lie about the temperature, but I forget.

If my constant arousal’s anything to go by I don’t think a set of stiff nipples is any way to judge the temperature in here anymore.

“I’m just right,” she coos, taking a mouthful of potato salad and moaning a little. “Tell me you didn’t make this too?” she asks, and I shake my head.

“A restaurant up the street makes the salads. I did the rest,” I tell her truthfully.

“Phew,” she sighs. “There is a chink in your armor then,” she murmurs with a grin.

I’m not sure what she means, but I think she’s relieved I haven’t made every little thing from scratch.

“This must’ve co—” she starts, thinking better of it and shaking her head, she puts some more food in her mouth instead.

I guess now isn’t the time to tell her she can have whatever she wants whenever she wants, but she will catch on.

I like to live well, but I don’t buy things for the sake of it.

If I need something, like food, I get the best.

If I have to drive a car, it’s a good one, the same for clothes and other day-to-day things.

One thing I can’t abide is cheap things that are just junk. My home isn’t filled with knick-knacks or broken, got it on sale or mass-produced ‘stuff’.

I wonder suddenly what Brooke’s chink is in her armor is.

I hope it’s not knick-knacks.

“You don’t like knick-knacks, do you?” I ask her, totally off-topic.

“Hate ‘em,” she answers confidently, giving me a ‘next question’ face as we both settle down to eat and get to know each other.

It’s a long, relaxed meal and although I have some more, I can see Brooke’s had her fill and I fill the dishwasher while she visits the bathroom.

I can hear her echoes of surprised delight as I smile to myself.

She’s found the tub, I’m assuming?

“I’m thinking ice cream sundaes in a bath, filled with exotic and therapeutic essential oils,” I muse aloud when she comes back.

“You’re kidding me?” she asks. “You don’t have to… just because I—”

But my hand is up and my mind is made up.

“Why not?” I ask her, noting her look of hesitation. The look of a girl who has a set routine that never includes ice cream in the hot tub at one a.m. any day of the week.

“Not just because I’m here though,” she says again, making me shrug as I tell her to suit herself.

“You can sit there, or you can join me,” I tease her, making sure she gets a full view of my naked rear end as I pass her on my way to the bathroom to fill the tub.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she calls after me, then catches up, giggling as she pulls my apron undone.

I turn to watch her peel it off me, groaning with pleasure when I see her eyes grow wide as she takes in my naked front.

She bites her lip and makes that sound I can’t hear enough of. The sound she makes when I know she’s feeling the way I do right now.

I take her hand, guiding it to my throbbing member, and gradually coach her silently on how best to handle the merchandise.

“Tell me you’ll stay tonight,” I whisper in her ear. Waiting for her to reply before kissing her, but prepared for a yes or a no answer.

Hoping for a yes, of course.

“As long as you let me cook breakfast,” she says, squeezing me just hard enough to let me know she might just mean breakfast in bed.