Chloe and Cy Pt. 03

Chloe

The kettle on the stove started to whistle. I moved to it and took it off the burner, killing the flame. I went to the cupboard and found two mugs. I also found the jar full of Decaffeinated Earl Grey tea bags and took out two. I poured two cups of hot water and added the bags, moving carefully out of the kitchen and using my elbow to switch off the light.

I padded barefoot down the hall to find him in the den. He had on reading glasses. His feet were up, and his robe hung open just enough to show off his chest hair. It was a sexy subdued look, but I read the room.

"I brought your tea," I said.

He looked up, removing his glasses. "Just leave it," he said.

I set it on the table by his armchair and drew the ottoman he'd been using to keep his feet up to sit on, legs uncrossed, blowing on my own mug-full of tea and leveling my eyes at him.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, replacing his glasses and turning his eyes back to the book in his hands.

I noticed his cobalt blue eyes dip momentarily between my thighs. Still, with resolve, they focused once more upon the words in front of him.

I read the title on the cover. "Have you read it before?"

"Yes," he said.

"Did you memorize it?"

"That's not how it works," he sighed.

I took the book and flipped it to the title page. "Chapter One," I said. "Go."

He sighed, removing his glasses. "It doesn't start with a chapter heading," he said, taking up his mug of tea and sipping.

"Okay," I said, looking at the page in front of me. "Then how does it start?"

"Lyndon Johnson," He said. "'...most significant triumphs come not in the secrets passed in the dark, but in patient reading, hour after hour, of highly technical periodicals. In a real sense they [the "patriotic and dedicated" CIA researchers] are America's professional students. They are unsung just as they are invaluable.' Then the chapter heading simply identifies it as 'Wednesday.'"

I shut the book. "Why read a book when you know how it ends?"

He smirked. "You asked me about the beginning."

I flipped to the end. "Okay, Chief. Last page, final paragraphs. Go!"

He scowled at me.

"I'm not going to bed," I said.

He sighed. "The old man smiled, patted him on the back, and, mumbling platitudes, led him to the door. When he returned to his seat, Powell looked at him and said, 'Well, sir, that's the end of our Condor.' The old man's eyes twinkled. 'Don't be so sure, Kevin, my boy, don't be so sure.'"

I closed the book."You're a freak," I said.

He shrugged, sipping his tea. "Better than the movie," he said. "Although Faye Dunaway was a real hotsy-totsy in her day."

"I never read it," I said, tossing the book aside. "And Faye Dunaway? Wasn't she in Dunston Checks In?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not helping your case, Ki--"

I glared at him.

"Chloe," he corrected.

I went to the shelf behind the desk in the den. Mom had her own home office at the back of the house. The den was where Cy tended to read. I selected a book.

"This one," I said.

"Hardly Dr. Seuss," he said.

"Humor me?"

"That book's not about what most people think it's about," he said.

"I've read this one," I sulked.

"What's it about, then?"

I decided to show off. ''Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the--on the--' (Shit) I almost nailed it, though, right? Is it 'tongue' or 'teeth?'"

"'Teeth,'" he said. "And you are hardly 'four feet ten in one sock,'" he added.

"You got any books about a five-foot-four 23-year-old seducing her dad? I could use pointers."

He blew out a soft breath of laughter. "I don't read trash," he supplied.

"Pity," I shrugged.

"Lolita is a Jailhouse confession," he said, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Umbert gets his just deserts in the end."

"All these books," I said. "Why didn't you become a professor of literature?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "My dad was a cop. And I liked helping people and not sitting in a chair or at a desk all day."

I reached out and ran a finger up the middle of his bare foot. "You hand out parking tickets and cite people who don't curb their dogs... there's no law against us doing what we both want to do, Cy."

"You're young," he said. "You've got years of bad decisions and mistakes ahead of you. I'm old, and time gets precious when you've got less of it to waste."

I replaced Lolita on the shelf and selected another book. "Marquis De Sade?"

He stood and took the book from my hand, reshelving it.

"No," he said, grabbing a thick book. "Take this one. Go upstairs. Goodnight."

"Homer's Iliad?"

"Trust me, Kid. You'd be better of falling asleep trying to memorize that than thinking about sex."

I considered, slowly placing the book on the shelf before clearing my throat and reciting from memory. "'Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.'" I smirked at him.

He sipped his tea.

"Be a little bit impressed?" I pouted.

"That's the Samuel Butler Translation," he said. "My copy is by Alexander Pope. 'Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing!'"

"Do you know everything?"

"'People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those who do.'" He quoted.

"Issac Asimov," I said, smiling.

"Duly impressed, Chloe," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"You caved in the kitchen. Am I just supposed to ignore that?"

He brought his hand down. "Chloe..."

"No! I've kept this locked in a box deep in the cellar, Cy. I've ignored it. I knew it was wrong. But in that kitchen, just now...."

He threw his teacup. "Goddamnit! Go to bed, kid!"

"You kissed me back," I said.

He stood, putting a hand in the pocket of his robe.

"I stopped looking you in the eyes two years ago," I said. "Didn't you notice?"

"I figured it had to do with breaking things up at that party."

"No," I said. "Three months after that. I walked in on you and mom, screwing in this room. Her legs over your shoulders, panting as you...." I touched the desk. "Right here. On this desk. I mean, before that, I thought about some vague guy... but after that... every boyfriend, moment of truth? I'm on this desk. And you're cumming inside me."

"Jesus...Chloe..."

"Thank you," I sighed. "For calling me Chloe, I mean. You kissed me back in the kitchen, Cy. You kissed Chloe. Not Chlo-worm. Not 'the Kid.'"

"Chloe..."

"So, you're going to meander idly and end up over here." I said.

"Giving orders?" He asked.

"How else do we end up with you cumming in my ass?"

He bowed his head, exhaling. "Don't be crass."

"Your words, not mine," I said. "And," I inhaled softly through my lips. "I... melted... inside. Every ounce of 'no' and 'that's wrong' and 'this is dirty'... I heard those words from your lips and...Yes, Please?"

He shook his head.

"Yes, Please Daddy!?"

He grabbed a lamp and threw it across the room. "Goddamnit, Chloe! Stop talking!!!"

The room seemed to seeth with anger and frustration as he kept his back to me..

"So, what is your middle name?" I asked.

"Go to bed."

"No. You said 'if I'd have gotten it right...' and you know my middle name... come on, Cy."

"Philip," he said. "Now go to bed."

"Now i'm more confused. Where did 'Cy' come from?"

He considered. "I was 12," he said. "Your mom was 11. And she made fun of me at school because I was always reading books instead of playing "war" or "kickball" with the other kids. And then, one day, she slapped a book from the library down next to me at lunch and flipped a quarter in my face."

"A quarter?"

He held up a hand. "It hit me square on the nose. And she said, 'Solve this, Encyclopedia Brown, why don't you have any friends?"

My eyes widened. "Encyclopedia...?

"Those books in grade school," he said. "The ones where you turned to the back? Well, the name stuck. And over time, the teachers, my parents, everyone just called me Cy."

"Wait, so mom saddled you with the nickname, and you just kept it?"

He shrugged.

"And then the girl who teased you in grade school shows up years later, and you marry her?"

"Hey, we called it 'Kismet.'"

I shook my head, brushing a stray hair out my face. "Ridiculous."

"Hey, sometimes fate plays tricks. It's called serendipity."

I smiled. "What if it had been me?"

He puzzled. "Sorry?"

"Serendipity?" I said. "I'll slow it down, Officer Brown. If 28-or-29-year old 'you' had pulled over 23-year-old current 'me' for running a red... Would I have gotten your digits?"

Cy

You would have screwed her in the car, Cy. And booked her for being too pretty.

"Go to bed," I said again.

Oh, you coward!

Chloe

One fucking phone call. Why was fate so cruel?

We had been right there! It had been hanging on both our lips, dripping from our mouths, throbbing in our veins!

"Fine!" I said, charging him.

I raised my hand. I wanted to slap him, hit him. I don't know. I couldn't leave the room without... I don't know? A very primal part of me wanted to bite him.

"Fuck you!" I managed, swatting at him.

He caught and gripped my wrist.

I pulled against his grip, but he spun me into him.

Suddenly we were kissing deeply. That need to bite... fuck I dug my nails into him. I fell against the bookshelf behind me, and it collapsed with the force of him pressing into me.

Hello, Daddy!

Cy

You damned brat.

Chloe

Several books fell to the floor.

I tore at his robe during the kiss, clawing at his chest and feeling his firm pectorals, and seeking out his shoulders. When his mouth left mine and found my neck, I gasped.

"So, my room then?"

"Here," he grunted. "Don't let me think."

Fair enough.

"Desk?" I asked.

"Just fucking now!'

Lifted like a pillowcase full of air, I was deposited in the armchair. He shrugged out of his robe.

"No," I teased. "Desk."

He groaned. I was lifted again. Back flat on the desk. Planted hard. "Ouch," I giggled... "Maybe up against the bay windows?"

"Is torture going to be a thing here?"

I tossed my t-shirt away for the second time (this time, it landed on the desk lamp.) "Boys only want love if it's torture," I said.

"You've read De Sade?"

"No," I smiled. "Taylor Swift."

His mouth and mine seemed incapable of separating for a solid minute until I finally pushed him back. "Strip," I said.

He stood and undid the drawstring on his grey flannel pajama bottoms.

HELLO COCK!

I countered by leaning back in the armchair and deftly inching my panties off up to my knees.

He grabbed them and tore them up over my feet, flinging them away. "Teasing is tantamount to thinking," he gruffed.

"Sorry, sir."

"How can you call me 'sir' and I can't call you 'kid?'"

I pulled him into another deep soulful kiss. "This thinking thing is really a problem for you, isn't it?"

'Well, one could argue--"

I grabbed the head of his cock and pressed it against my pussy.

"Then again, one could shut the fuck up?" I said. "Now solve the mystery of why the hell this has taken so fucking long?"

He pressed forward. I felt the shallow pop as the head of his cock passed my inner folds.

I winced. "Okay," I said, grunting. "That's me getting exactly what I wanted...."

He laughed into my neck. "Being funny right now?"

"It's my defense mechanism," I said. "Plus, it cuts tension and... Oh, GOD!"

I winced against the unexpected micro-gasm. "You remember the lamest line I ever fell for?"

"You mean 'New in town?'"

"You just quoted the Iliad. That is officially the lamest line ever."

He pressed further in.

"Not that I'm complaining," I winced. "... I tend to babble and st-stam--" I inhaled and exhaled the word. "...stammer when I'm nervous."

Cy

Nervous? You could have hooked a Chrysler up to me, and I'd have jumped it to life with enough juice to drive it to mars.

Tight. Wet. Hot. Jesus... so fucking wrong.

"Yes," I sighed around her tongue mingling with mine.

Chloe

All those simple school girl fantasies of stolen kisses grew tentacles in my brain, feeling him at last inside me.

Helping me down from a ladder, suddenly his fingers were pushing aside my panties and delving deep. He was under the car coated in grease, and I was in a too-short denim skirt waiting for him to slide out and see my dripping pussy. Imaging his tongue lapping, exploring inside me.

Then his hands, one at the small of my back holding me as he slowly let my cunt envelop him while the other found my breast... My God...

Cy

Now think of her in her soccer uniform, her spikes all muddy, flung up behind your ears.

Oh, doubly fuck you!

Now, pink Chuck Taylors pressed against your chest.

GODDAMNIT!

Now, what if she says--

"Oooh, fuck me, daddy."

Shit.

Chloe

I could believe I'd said it. It just sort of leaked out. "Oooh, fuck me, daddy?!"

"Please, don't--" He hissed.

"I know. I know."

He's not my daddy.

He sort of is.

But he's not.

But sort of!

"Ooh, don't stop... D-Da--"

I kept myself from saying it. But the want to say it was intense... "D-da...don't stop!"

I bet it turns him on too.

No, it doesn't. He'll stop if I repeat it.

No, he won't. He'll go harder, hotter, faster. More intense. He wants you to say it. Go on. You know you want to.

No. It's too dirty.

Dirty is fun.

Not this kind of dirty.

It kind of is.

Then, as I was grappling with it, I felt my teeth sink into his shoulder as I came hard on his throbbing cock.

"Mmmnfh?" I couldn't hold it in. "Da-a-a-d-d-eee!"

Maybe I hadn't actually said it.

He grunted, his head falling to the desk as he laughed. "Stop it, please."

Alright, I had apparently said it... But come on, it just spilled out. And he was laughing.

"Is it sick?" I asked. "I mean, you aren't really."

"I'm not," he sighed. "And it is definitely sick."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Because I know I'm going to regret this," he said. And then he lifted me three inches off the desk, and I got all of him in one thrust.

"AH! AH-Ha-ha-Ooh! DAD-D-D-Y!"

He came inside me. The warmth flooded me as his muscles tensed and my little cunt tightened once more. I kissed the side of his face as I exhaled, shuddering in his arms.

"Okay, so... Daddy is just something people say during sex, right?"

"I've never said it," he said, gently bringing me to rest once more on the desk.

Cy

There was no mystery. My body wanted her, and she wanted me. And when I came inside of her, I knew I'd never stop wanting that feeling. All the foolishness and wrongness and the trillion reasons to stop didn't matter.

How can going to hell feel so heavenly?

She moaned, nuzzling into my chest. "'I guess I should rephrase? Nobody's ever called you 'Daddy' during sex before?"

"We both know that it's wrong..."

"But I can't stop saying it." She bit the back of her knuckles, looking up at me.. "Come in me again, Daddy." She giggled. "See?"

"Brat."

"If we keep calling each other names, it's just going to get hotter."

"You speak from experience?"

"No... that is, not yet...Daddy."

"Stop that."

"Make me... Daddy."

"Chloe--."

"You're right. It's inappropriate... do I wait until after you pull out to ask you to fuck my ass or..?"

Chloe

Okay, That was too far.

He pulled out of me, leaving me a slimy mess on the desk. He recovered his pajama bottoms and shot a look at me that said he was not amused.

"Clean yourself up," he said. "And go to bed."

I was a puddle, giddy with post-coital euphoria, smelling of pine trees, sex, and wonder.

"Yes, Da-- I mean, Cy."

He walked out of the room, turned right out of the study, and marched up the stairs.

I lay there on the desk a half a minute and then felt myself laugh. Holy hell, I'd actually done it. I had actually fucked my step-father.

I felt my fingers move through the folds of my pussy and come up slick with the mingling mixture of his come and my juices.

Ooh. Trashy. Down-town.

Eventually, the warm giddiness passed. I sat up and did my best to clean up the study before wrapping myself in the robe he'd left flung over the back of an armchair. I headed up the stairs quietly to turn on the shower in the hallway bathroom.

I stepped out of his robe and into the hot steam.

Cy

Six months.

My cock was on a hair-trigger that whole time.

Ten minutes?! Less? OH, GOD!

I had felt my body tense as I had planted a fresh batch of my cum deep inside of her.

I had shuttered. I had sucked in a sharp breath when it was done.

We hadn't used a condom.

And when she had kept pushing it. Had kept calling me...

"Daddy!"

Dear God, what have I done?

Your step-daughter, scumbag.

Shut up.

Chloe

The rapture of him filling me. I'd never let a guy do me without a condom. But, Cy... There was no other way I could have had him.

He was mine! Every inch, every ounce, every measurement.

As I showered, I kept flashing back to the feeling of him erupting within me. I felt the evidence washing away, streaming down my legs and down the shower drain.

Again! Again! Can we do it again! Every minute of every hour of every day!

"Down, girl!" my brain said.

"More!" Every ounce of my being cried.

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. After drying myself, I hulked on his big fluffy robe and ran my fingers through my short hair.

My reflection stared back at me from the fogged mirror, so I ran a hand over the surface and sighed, drinking in my own expression.

"Go to bed," I said.

But whose bed?

I watched my expression in the mirror. A smug look of daring.

Ready or not, Chief. Here I come.

Cy

When I felt the covers lifted and her tiny body sliding in between the sheets, clad in my robe, I couldn't argue or protest. My arms went around her, and she melded into me.

"Okay," I said. "For tonight."

"I wasn't asking," she said, all truculence and petulance and... ice-melting... Something-ence.

"Okay, Are you going to be the last word freak about this?"

She giggled.

Why is it that younger women can giggle so?

"We'll call it a draw," she said. "But just for myself, my last words are: 'Abraham Lincoln.'"

I thought about saying something. But I didn't.

"One word," she said. "And you're dead. My step-dad has a nail gun in his trunk, you know?"

I felt myself chuckle. And that chuckle melted her into my arms.

My body blanked out every thought in my mind. Instead, I drank in the feeling of her and the raspberry-cream scent of her hair.

I simply held her tight. And, with her warmth and smallness, I drifted off to sleep.

Chlo-worm.

Could I still call her that?

Chloe

Encyclopedia.

I'm totally messing with him tomorrow on that.

(Especially if he calls me, Chlo-worm.)

Lyndee

It was past 11, and I had waited in the club for over two hours, thinking perhaps it was some kind of new game he liked to play.

Checking my watch for the umpteenth time, I slid off the table and went to the bench where I'd left my clothes.

I checked my phone. Still no responses to my texts.

I scowled. When I had taken the job working for Derek Van Meer, it had been a purely professional engagement. I had dressed smartly in a conservative suit with a high-starched cream blouse.

It was, to this day, my preferred attire for the daily functions as his personal security coordinator.

I texted the head of his evening detail once more, again receiving the notification that all appeared well. Mr. Van Meer had attended a late dinner meeting and opted for a cab home with the woman he had met.

It was not uncommon for late business meetings with women to become more intimate, where Derek Van Meer was concerned. I had taken no offense, knowing such liaisons typically lasted the length of one bout of traditional "getting to know you" sex.