My Crush's Father, page 1
MY CRUSH’S FATHER
AN AGE GAP TABOO ROMANCE
SARA E. LAW
Copyright © 2023 by S.E. Law
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Satisfying the Biker Gang
Sneak Peek: Band of Brothers
Sneak Peek: Daddy in Secret
About S.E. Law
ABOUT THIS BOOK
My crush’s father found me locked in a closet, lush and inviting, with a bottle jammed up tight in my you-know-what!
Nicole:
I could hardly believe it when I was invited to Peter Forsythe’s party. Peter’s a star lacrosse player and all-around big man on campus. Popular boys like him never talk to curvy girls like me.
But then Peter KISSED me at the party! Not only that, but he brought me to a closet for some privacy …
… and then locked me inside!
What the hell!?!?!
Now, the teen boy says I have to demean myself with a wine bottle before he lets me out. Otherwise, I’m stuck in this prison forever!
Roger:
I got home late from work and was disgusted. My son had a party last night, and the mansion was trashed.
But there were weird sounds coming from my walk-in…
… and when I opened the door, there was a lush teenage girl on the floor, doing the unmentionable with a wine bottle!
What the f*ck did my son do?
Nonetheless, I’m a physician, and I knew what came next: to examine Nicole’s secret spots … hard and unprotected, as she shivers with delight!
What in the world? Nicole gets invited to a party, only to realize that it’s a prank. She gets locked inside a closet by her so-called date, only to have HIS FATHER come to her rescue! But Dr. Forsythe is no soccer dad with a huge paunch. Instead, this powerful alpha male soon has Nicole crying out loud with ecstasy as she experiences a *real* man’s touch. Put your seatbelts on because the ride’s about to begin! Your hair will be on fire from the sheer heat, I promise. This book is a follow-up to Shared by The Single Dads, but all of my stories are standalone and can be read in any order. Enjoy!
1
Nicole
Jessie and I stare at our phones while eating our lunch on the benches outside the cafeteria.
“Wow, he’s hot,” I breathe.
“Hotter than Channing Tatum?” Jessie asks, raising one of her brows.
“Hotter. You know I don’t go for those oversized gorilla types. I like a guy to have a nice body, but he doesn’t need to look like he’s on steroids.”
“Still, Channing Tatum has mooooves,” Jessie grins. “I mean, Magic Mike was all about him! The other actors couldn’t even dance. They had no rhythm whatsoever, and don’t even get me started on Matthew McConaughey, not to mention what’s-his-name. The guys from Suits.”
I giggle.
“It’s not Suits. It’s White Collar, and I agree about Matt Bomer. But it’s not Matt Bomer’s sub-par dancing that makes things weird. It’s because Matt Bomer’s gay in real life, so it’s hard for me to think of him as a straight man, even when I know he’s acting.”
Jessie frowns, her blonde brows pulling together in a V.
“Wait, Matt Bomer’s character isn’t gay in Magic Mike?”
“No, absolutely not!” I squeal. “Remember when he serenades Jane in that one scene? Ken is definitely not gay.”
“Oh wow,” Jessie says, looking confused. “I guess I got so distracted by all those ripped male bodies that I didn’t follow the plot very well. Oops. My bad.”
I laugh again.
“No worries, girlfriend. That movie was our chance to objectify men, the way that women are objectified day in and day out. It felt so good to stare at a guy’s abs and drool. Who cares what his personality’s like? I’m all about the six pack and thick, tree-trunk thighs.”
But instead of laughing, Jessie looks a little sad.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. My friend sighs.
“To be honest, I wish that guys would objectify me a little more.”
I stare at my buddy.
”No, Jess. You don’t.”
She nods, biting her lip, and to my astonishment, when she meets my eyes, they’re shiny with tears.
“No, I do, Nic. You know what it’s like as a bigger girl. Guys never look at me, except with disgust and loathing. Or even worse, I’m completely invisible. It’s like I’m a ghost floating by in the night, or an eighty-five-year-old wizened crone brandishing a cane. No man sees me as a sex object, and I wish it were different. Just for one day, make me Marilyn Monroe. Or Brigitte Bardot. Or Jean Harlow! Give me a sultry, sexy, hourglass figure and objectify me all you like.”
I stare at my friend.
“You can’t mean that, Jess. Besides, you’re cute so what are you talking about? Yes, we’re bigger girls but there are guys who like women our size. Plus, Marilyn Monroe had a terrible life, and have you seen pictures of Brigitte Bardot recently? She looks like absolute vomit. That woman is downright wizened and wrinkly from way too much sunbathing and not enough sunblock. Not to mention the fact that Bardot is horribly racist, according to what I’ve heard.”
“That is awful,” Jess concedes, flipping her red hair over one shoulder. “But it’s not about Brigitte, or Marilyn, or any woman in particular. I just wish that guys liked us more. I mean, we have fantasies about movie stars, but that’s about as close as I get to doing it in real life. Isn’t that so sad? We’re eighteen-year-old sassy women, Nic! We should be going on dates, getting our virginities taken, and I don’t know … being downright tramps! Instead, we eat ice cream in our dorm room at night while watching old Keanu Reeves flicks.”
“I love Keanu,” I say with mock indignance. “Plus, the John Wick franchise is really amazing. I love those movies.”
Jess rolls her eyes.
“You know what I mean, Nic. We’re not living the life that sassy eighteen-year-old girls should be living. Judging from our habits, we could be eighty! Or forty-five! Or twelve, seeing that we went to the American Doll Place last weekend.”
“American Doll’s not that bad,” I say. “I really like their café.”
My friend rolls her eyes again.
“You’re not listening, Nic. We should not be taking the train into the city to eat at the American Doll café, and I don’t care how good the grilled cheese is. We should be going to EDM parties and attending Trance Nation, all the while hanging out in the coolest parts of Brooklyn. We definitely shouldn’t be watching old Keanu flicks in the burbs of New Jersey.”
“Um, but we don’t have fake IDs, so how would we get into said parties?”
Jessie rolls her eyes again.
“You don’t need a fake ID to get into a warehouse party,” my friend says. “You know that a lot of ravers only drink water and juice at those things. Alcohol isn’t even a part of the lifestyle! Seriously, the vibes are enough.”
I want to toss a smart quip back at Jessie, but I bite my tongue because my friend’s been moody recently. Normally, I’d attribute it to PMS and the pressure of applying to college, but it’s more than that. Jess has been in a weird place for a while, and it’s downright strange. She goes up and down and up and down, and I’ve been getting whiplash trying to keep up with her mood swings. It’s exhausting, and at the moment, I don’t have the energy to draw her out on the issue.
Besides, I get what my friend’s saying. We’re eighteen-year-old girls and we should be living a wild and crazy life. We should be getting drunk, hooking up with boys, and wearing scandalous outfits. The problem is that we’re stuck at an all-girls boarding school in suburban New Jersey, and the lifestyle is pretty tame. Okay, it’s practically like being in a jail, but what can you do? Our parents pay good money to put the bars up on this place.
Of course, I’ve heard that some girls sneak off campus at night to meet with strange men, but Jess and I aren’t like that. My friend and I are much more likely to watch a Leonardo DiCaprio movie while snacking on some late-night microwave pizza and fantasizing about hot male celebrities.
Suddenly, Jess hisses, her eyes darting back and forth. “Uh oh, I see trouble,” she whispers harshly. “Duck, duck!”
But of course, there’s nowhere to duck in the school courtyard. Besides, the object of Jess’s attention is marching straight towards us with her blonde hair flying backwards in a silky wave.
“Nicole, Jessica,” Crystal Palmer coos as she approaches our picnic table. “How are you ladies?”
My palms begin to sweat because Crystal is the ultimate mean girl of the senior class. Seriously, she could give any witch a run for her money in terms of sheer nastiness. At the moment, Crystal looks perfectly innocent, of
“Hi Crystal,” I say in a fake friendly voice. “How are you? What brings you to our side of the quad?”
She cocks her head to one side, her blonde hair swooshing in a silky curtain.
“Welllll,” she drawls, dragging out the syllable. “I was going to see if you guys are going to Peter Forsythe’s party this weekend.”
Jess and I share a look, puzzled. Peter Forsythe is an insanely good-looking jock from St. Paul’s, an all-boys school across town. He’s a lacrosse player, and half the girls at Closter are always mooning about his comings and goings. Even crazier, there are rumors about his “big stick” that would make a grown man blush, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks remembering those hushed whispers.
But of course, Peter Forsythe is way out of our league. Jessie and I are round girls with our ample rear ends permanently planted in the library. Why would a god like Peter Forsythe want us at his party? Evidently, Jessie’s on the same wavelength because she shoots Crystal a confused look.
“You mean Peter Forsythe from St. Paul’s?” she asks in a dumbfounded voice.
“Yeah, that Peter. Who else?” Crystal asks in an exasperated voice, cracking her gum. “Anyways, he said to invite you guys.”
“But Peter Forsythe doesn’t know who we are,” I say in a careful tone. “We’ve never spoken to him.”
“Oh no, I spoke to him once,” Jess says in a quick voice. “Just briefly, at that joint pep rally last month. But I didn’t think he’d remember.”
“You did?” I ask, throwing my friend a surprised look. “When? I was with you the whole time, and I don’t remember you talking to anyone but me.”
“Oh sorry, I meant after the rally,” Jess amends quickly, her cheeks flushing. “I think you were in the bathroom, Nic. And it was only for thirty seconds. No, less than that even. Ten seconds.”
I blink because I had no idea that Jess had the courage to start a conversation with anyone, much less a handsome jock from the boys’ school across town. But then again, Jess has been acting weird lately. Who knows where she’s getting these reserves of courage?
“Okay,” I say in a slow voice. “This is news, but I guess that makes sense.”
“Anyways,” Crystal interrupts, already sounding bored. “Peter doesn’t have your number, so he sent me over to invite you guys. So there. You’re invited. Saturday night at his dad’s place. 123 Oakdale.”
Then, without waiting for a reply, Crystal whirls around, her skirt flying up in the back before marching back across the quad. Jess and I stare at each other in shock after she’s gone.
“What just happened?” I ask, one brow raised. “Did we really just get invited to a party at Peter Forsythe’s place? I mean, that must have been some conversation you had with him at the pep rally.”
“No, it was nothing,” Jess denies, not meeting my eyes. “But yeah, I’m surprised Peter remembered me. I mean, wow. Just wow.”
I decide to use this as a teaching opportunity.
“See? You really are pretty, Jess. You had a random conversation with the big man on campus, and now, he’s invited you to a party at his mansion. See, you’re gorgeous and beautiful! Men are attracted to your scintillating personality and irresistible charm!”
Jess nods, looking unsure as she works her bottom lip with her teeth.
“Yeah, thanks Nic, but I want to lose ten pounds before the party. I want Peter to see me at my best, and there’s a really sexy dress from Torrid at the mall. But I won’t be able to fit into the XL unless I lose some weight.”
I sigh because obviously, my pep talk just fell on deaf ears. Silently, I curse the world we live in. Despite my best attempts, diet culture is strong and there’s no way that it can be fixed in one day.
“Right. Ten pounds by Saturday. Totally attainable.”
But Jess ignores my sarcastic tone. She stares at the picnic table before her, her brain whirling away.
“Just ten pounds. Peter will like me if I lose ten pounds.”
Meanwhile, I shake my head a resigned air while Google mapping the location of the party.
“Oh wow,” I breathe with astonishment. “Peter’s parents’ house is fancy. I mean, if this is his house.”
“What?” Jess asks, snapping out of her trance for a moment. “Let me see.”
I lean over to share my screen, and both of us stare at the phone, taking in an enormous manor with vast emerald lawns surrounding it. Suddenly, a pop-up from a real-estate site appears in the corner of the screen, informing us that the estate is valued at around $4 million.
“Goodness,” I breathe. “Well, his parents are certainly rolling in dough.”
Jess nods.
“Yeah, but I think Peter’s parents are divorced, and he just lives with his dad. Actually, I’m pretty sure of it because my grandma got a liver transplant last year, and Dr. Forsythe was on the transplant team at Closter General,” she says. “My family got to know Dr. Forsythe pretty well during that time, and I’d bet that it’s the same guy.”
I nod.
“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing the house in real life on Saturday. Now, let’s find your dress, girlfriend. Who cares about the party location when there are more important things to be done? Besides, I love Torrid because they’re so size-inclusive and very body positive. They must have something bigger than an XL that you can squeeze into. You’re going to look hot, Jess, and blow Peter’s socks off!”
She giggles before throwing me a wink.
“I don’t want to blow his socks off. I want to blow his dick off!”
“Oh my god, you’re such a nasty wench,” I retort with my own giggles. “Right on!”
With that, we scarf down our lunches while poring over some dress selections on-line, and it’s fun. Each dress is skankier than the last, and we both end up ordering outfits for the party on Saturday. But still, I have an odd feeling about the situation because this whole thing is just so strange. Peter Forsythe isn’t in our social circle. He’s the popular athlete whom everyone worships, while Jess and I are lower than the lowest on the high school social totem pole. We’re dust mites beneath Peter’s feet, and I just don’t get how one random conversation got us invited to a party at his dad’s place. But now we have the invitation … and I want to have as much fun as possible.
2
Nicole
“Do you think I look okay?” Jess asks nervously, pulling at the hem of her red dress as we stand nervously on the doorstep of Peter’s mansion. “Or is this too slutty?”
I lift my hand to press the doorbell.
“You like amazing, Jess,” I soothe. “And if you look slutty, then so do I because look at me! At least your dress has more fabric. This thing is practically a bandage,” I say, gesturing to the purple dress currently sheathing my curves. “Seriously, I think they really skimped with material here.”
“But that’s because you’re an XL while I’m an XXXL,” Jess moans in a low voice. “Oh no, what if we’ve made a mistake dressing like tramps? What if those lacrosse players take one look at us and ask us to leave?”
“All guys like tramps—” I say before getting cut off because the door swings open then and before us stands a very handsome boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He’s tall, maybe about six one, with a lean build that will likely fill out more when he goes to college. His features are insanely symmetrical, with the deep blue eyes of a celebrity dreamboat.
His face breaks out into a big smile of recognition.
