Milk and Cookies

This story represents both my first foray into writing spicy stories and also first ever publication to Literotica. Hopefully one of many.

As this story is also Christmas themed, I am submitting it to the Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023. If you like what you read, or else want to support an author just getting their start, please vote. Your help would be greatly appreciated!

If you have constructive feedback on how this story could be better, or how I could improve as writer, please feel free to comment or else send me a direct message.

.............................

Summary

On Christmas morning, Matt awakens to find is scantily-clad step-daughter in the kitchen preparing a delightful treat for his consumption.

..............................

Christmas morning brought with it the warm aroma of yeast to awaken Matt from sleep. He pushed back the covers and sat up slowly, squinting against the sunlight. As his bare feet touched the floor, he ran rough hands over an angular face, fingertips lightly brushed the two-days of stubble shading his chin and steep cheekbones. He sat listening to the familiar creaks and groans of the house, the restless switching of the wind across the rooftop, and allowed himself a shiver as the cold settled onto him. A chill reminder that the heating system was long overdue for maintenance.

Matt inhaled deeply and discovered that the smell of yeast had not faded in the slightest. It was not the remnants of his dream, he decided. If anything, the smell was even stronger now. It was as though someone was baking bread in his kitchen. In a house where Matt was the sole occupant.

A lengthy divorce process had left Matt with very little in the way of company. After accusing him of cheating, his ex-wife had packed up the majority of her things six months prior and vacated the premises. Neither was Matt such an avid socialite to have friends calling unannounced. Certainly none of his bar pals or faculty coworkers merited a key. He was certain he had changed the locks after Linda left.

So, who would be in his house at this early hour?

He reached over to check his cell. The smart phone lit up at his touch, informing in a stark digital readout that it was eight-twenty on Christmas morning. Neither did he have any new messages or notifications. He dropped the phone back to the nightstand with a clatter.

Matt grunted and stood up, careful to avoid creaking the wooden floor boards. Not easy for a man of his height and build. Once he had played football for his college team and he had never quite shaken the weight lifting routines and fitness mindset. It also helped that he worked as a coach for the university's football team and was surrounded all day by health nuts and meat heads. Consequentially Matt was still built like a wide receiver. His broad shoulders and wide chest filled out the gray tank-top he wore, lightly fraying at the seams. His bare biceps were all tight, swollen muscle. His thighs were even thicker, straining his boxers to the limit of their flexibility.

Despite his size, when Matt rounded the bedroom he was all grace and explosive potential. A leopard roused for the hunt. He slipped out into the hall, wincing once as the floor groaned beneath his foot. What was he expecting to find exactly? It wasn't as though burglars broke into people's houses in the early morning to bake bread. Although Matt supposed stranger things had happened. He eased his way down the stairs and the yeasty smell only intensified as he neared the source. Another whiff spoke of an undercurrent of sugary sweetness and... was that cinnamon?

Matt stepped warily off of the stairs, skipping the bottom step, which had a tendency to whine exponentially when pressure was applied. He froze outside the kitchen as a sound drifted out from behind the swinging door. A soft feminine voice reached him in the tones of a melody. He tilted his head to listen and thought he recognized the voice. He definitely recognized the song, it was "Santa Baby"

Matt pushed through the kitchen door. Whatever he had been expecting to find could not hold a candle to the sight that awaited him on the other side of the door.

Overpowering sugary sweetness assaulted his senses. Matt tried to ignore the grumbled complaints of his stomach and the watering of his mouth. Those senses were overruled by the vision standing before him, like a scene straight out of a Christmas porno.

A beautiful slip of woman was hovering in front of the open oven. Her back was to him, yet he still recognized her curly blonde hair, petite figure, and the sound of her voice as she half-sang, half-hummed the song. The first thing he noticed just how scantily clad she was. Her entire back was bare, through the delicate set of her shoulders to the smooth slope of her waist. She wore a pair of red lace panties that hugged the heart-shaped curve of her ass. The entire outfit was completed by a white apron tied loosely around her waist. The strings swayed back and forth whenever she moved, the knot threatening to come undone.

Matt blinked as the kitchen door lightly struck him in the back on the reverse swing before it flapped closed behind him. As he watched, mouth agape, the girl bent over the oven with her back stretching in a pleasant arch, her ass on full display. Matt's eyes drank in every curve, his boxers growing tighter.

This had to be a dream.

He watched the intruder as she retrieved a tray of cookies from the oven with one mitted hand and placed them on the stove top. She gracefully slid a second sheet of cookie dough into the oven and closed the door with a contented sigh.

Matt spared a glance for the countertops. They were overflowing with a wide assortment of ingredients. Here a carton of eggs lay open to one side of the oven, discarded eggshells piled to the other side stacked on a paper towel. A tall bag of flour sagged into a bag of sugar, ringed by little shakers containing brightly colored sprinkles, chocolate chips, and hard candies. There were even several different kinds of decorating icing. Everywhere the countertops seemed to be smudged with traces of flour dough, and here and there the faint trickle of egg.

Matt's mouth had gone dry, but he somehow managed to clear his throat and speak.

"Emily?"

His step-daughter stiffened and she turned to face him. Her blue eyes were bottomless puddles of azure, her soft pink lips frozen in a smile that slowly shifted from amusement to chagrin. She obviously hadn't expected him to walk in on her so soon. For a moment she looked to Matt like a rabbit about to bolt. The last time he had seen Emily was at least six months earlier when she had told him and Linda, rather abruptly, that she would be taking the summer and the following semester off to travel Europe. That had been before Linda moved out.

He thought she looked different than he remembered--obviously the last time he saw her she hadn't been so... naked. She used to favor her hair with exotic colors, dyed in one vibrant shade or another. A style choice Matt have never liked, but one that Linda had always indulged. Now her dirty golden curls had reclaimed their original color, and gained some length, trailing lightly over her bare shoulders. Matt thought it made her look more natural, and perhaps even mature. She was petite, though she was all luscious curves and lean muscle. Her clothing--rather, the lack of clothing--made that abundantly clear. She was tanned now too, whether from the solar bed or time on the beach Matt could not say--only that he liked the color on her.

She was all curves in motion as she took a hesitant step towards him, her full hips could not fully be blanketed by the swaying apron. Matt realized that the apron was stitched in red with the words "Baby It's Cold Outside" in a decidedly merry holiday font. Her breasts, while not overly large, were full and firm and creased the fabric, forming interesting lines for the eyes to follow. He noticed Emily was also covered copiously in flour up to her forearms, and in some places where the powdery substance smudged her face. She was watching him in kind, her eyes twinkling with delight and perhaps a hint of self-consciousness. When he met her gaze, she did not look away. Her soft lips parted into a rich, white smile.

"Merry Christmas Matt," Emily said, still with a hint of shyness. Her hips swayed as she crossed the tiled kitchen to embrace him. Matt tried not to get pulled into the dirty thoughts that jangled loose inside his skull as her slender figure pushed against him. Her tits were as firm as he remembered, her pelvis pushed up against his groin and made it difficult to ignore the fact that he was already sporting an erection with only thin undergarments to keep them apart. It was too late to conceal that fact now, she was pressing so tightly to him, she had to be aware of his hardness jabbing into her stomach.

"Merry Christmas?" said Matt. He was more than a little bewildered finding Emily here at all, much less half-naked in his kitchen on Christmas. His mind raced with a flurry of questions, offset by the barbaric chanting fueled by his testosterone. Matt reluctantly broke from the embrace. "Emily, what are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"I missed you too, Matt," said Emily, her smile becoming wry.

"I thought you were in Europe," he said.

"I was," said Emily with a shrug. "Now I'm here." Emily reached out to touch his chest, but Matt took a slight step back, putting him just out of reach. Emily's lips formed into a pout, the way they always did whenever things weren't going her way.

Matt struggled to regain his balance, to remember that she had helped to drive a wedge into his marriage and then left him behind to pick up the pieces.

Plenty of other, mundane factors had contributed to the failure of his marriage. He and Linda fought too much, for a start.. They disagreed on virtually everything. Big things like which schools Linda's daughter should attend, to small things, such as what sides to have with dinner. They had both sought out arguments and found reasons to resent one another for every little perceived slight. Divorce was inevitable. But the catalyst had always been Emily.

Matt had hardly taken the time to really know Emily. She was an infrequent visitor at their house, preferring to spend the last days of her high school career with her dad. Then moving out at the first opportunity. She had been there at the wedding, and the occasional Christmas visit. Always a distant, seeming disinterested. In fact, as Matt recalled, her disinterest seemed rather pointed.

The real trouble began when Emily had come home for her "semester off". She had supposedly split up with her high school boyfriend. Having Emily around was a mild inconvenience. Everything had changed with the seasons. A chill winter became spring. And the normally reclusive Emily began to wander the house in the shortest, most revealing outfits she could find. Matt could hardy resist watching her, seeing the sway of her ass cheeks through the house, the tantalizing shape of her legs as she reclined on the living room couch.

He told himself it was just looking...

Looking was as good as touching when it came to Emily. Every movement she made seemed choreographed for the opening act of a strip tease, as though she took for granted that you were always watching. And what's worse, Matt soon realized she was aware of his attention. Every quirk of an eyebrow and the slightest parting of her lips signaled that she was ready for sex. Yet in the next moment she could be all innocence. He could tell her to put on more appropriate clothing or to stop behaving like that. Her responses were always demure and vulnerable.

Emily always flirted with the boundary line. Maintaining her position on the side of deniability.

The deniability had ended the day Emily had tried to join him in the shower. There were times when Matt would lay awake at night and remember the way her hands had gently gripped his cock. At first he had thought it was Linda, until the young girl knelt between his legs and began to suck him off.

To his credit, he hadn't allowed things to progress further than that. Matt had shut Emily down and in no uncertain terms he had put an end to the games. Whatever his feelings towards his wife, Matt was determined not to be the kind of man who cheated. Much less on his wife's own daughter. But the damage had been done. Emily had gotten beneath his skin. He couldn't even have sex with Linda without thinking about her. And so the sex had stopped completely, creating a rift in the marriage that had exposed all of their underlying issues.

"What are you doing here, Emily?" Matt repeated, perhaps in a tone that was a little too sharp. He exhaled a breath that was as much frustration as it was irritation. "Why are you...wearing that."

"What?" she said with a impish smile, "you don't like my outfit?" She ran her fingers down her waist and in his mind's eye Matt saw himself following that trail with his own fingers. Emily tugged at the hem of the apron, threating to pull the already low hanging garment below her breasts. Matt's libido growled. That did not help the hardness that was straining his underwear. Emily's eyes drifted down just as the thought cross his mind, her lips parting ever so slightly.

"I can tell you do," she said in a heated whisper.

"Emily," said Matt, a warning note in his voice.

"Yes, Matt?" she said with a smile. Her fingers began to twirl the apron string playfully. God, how he wished she would stop that. How he wished he could tear the apron off of her.

"Please, no more games," Matt said. "I'm not in the mood."

"But you like our games," said Emily, her voice threaded with a childish note of protest. He might as well have told her she was going to bed without desert. "Besides, it looks like you are in the mood."

"Emily," Matt said, desperate to change the subject. "I thought you were supposed to be in Europe."

Emily's lips formed a pout. "It's been six months," she said. "I thought you would be happy to see me. And I wanted to surprise you for Christmas." Emily crossed her arms under her breasts and it did absolutely nothing to lessen the sexual tension already plaguing him. God, why did he have to argue? Why couldn't he just take her upstairs and have his way with her? Matt shook that thought away.

He tried to remember that the intoxicating heat coming off of Emily had burned him in the past. Yet with her standing there Matt was all too aware that he was a man out in the cold, hungry for the smallest scrap of warmth. He could still remember precisely what it felt to have his hands wrapped around his length, her bare breasts pressed against his chest.

"You.. shouldn't be here," he began slowly, taking a steadying breath. "With the divorce and you being gone for so long. Do you really think turning up like this out of the blue is the best idea?"

"Do you think it's easy being a homewrecker?" she snapped. Matt blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in pace.

"You're not a homewrecker," Matt said, with a placating gesture. Emily went on talking right over him.

"You think I don't know what could happen if people found out?" Her shoulders slumped and for a moment her youth showed through the seductress persona. She seemed to Matt to be all vulnerability. Matt shifted, wanting very much to sooth her. But a look in Emily's eyes warned that any pity from him would be a mistake.

"If people found out, I would become a pariah. If mom found out... She would probably never speak to me again. Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Matt."

"I didn't say you were stupid," said Matt. Only young and naïve.

Emily must have read something of his thoughts in his tone, because her scowl deepened. "I thought you would understand," she said, sounding hurt. "All the time I was in Europe I was constantly thinking about you, constantly worrying."

Matt resisted the urge to point out that Emily had left him behind to clean up their mess while she went gallivanting all over Europe.

"I always thought... that we had a special relationship," Emily continued. I never once thought of you as my step-dad. That was never our relationship. Maybe we were friends. But I always thought of you as... something more."

"It's not that simple," Matt began.

"And... I always thought you were unbelievably hot."

Matt clamped his mouth shut. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, like always did when befuddled by an awkward situation.

"I'm allowed to say that, you know." A flirty little smile returned to her lips. "I'm not a child."

Matt let out a frustrated sigh. "Why can't you just go after boys your own age?"

Emily shrugged. "That's not what I want. Besides, how old do you think I am?"

Matt frowned. She was what... nineteen now? No, a little older. Twenty-one or twenty-two. In the months she had been gone, he had likely missed a birthday. Was she really twenty-two?

"This might be a difficult adjustment for you, Matt. But I'm an adult. I'm a woman who knows what she wants."

Matt shook his head. He had been there for part of raising Emily. He had known her when she was a rebellious teenager.

"And..." she added, stepping closer, cautiously, as though any wrong step might cause him to bolt. "I know what you want."

Matt sighed. He felt like he was short-circuiting. Underneath all of his mistakes, the irresistible temptation he felt, he was genuinely a good guy. Not some creep. He couldn't be that guy. The guy who went after young women.

But then, he wasn't really doing the pursuing here. She was.

"Damn it, Emily," said Matt. Injured puppy, seriously? He threw up his arms. "I thought I was taking advantage of you. I am trying to protect you. I mean, you're my daughter for fucks sake."

"Not anymore," said Emily.

Matt raised an eyebrow.

"Matt," said Emily, this time with her own warning note. "I'm twenty-two. I'm old enough to drink and smoke. I can rent a car in most states. I can most certainly fuck whomever I want."

"Your mom--

"Is no longer married to you. Frankly, I'm not sure she merits your concern at all. And I'm no longer a little girl in need of protection."

"No," he admitted. His eyes returned to her luscious figure. She was so gorgeous, so goddamn hot. "No, I suppose you're not..."

That brought a smile back to Emily's lips.

"Tell me Matt... Don't you find me attractive?" she asked.

Matt blinked. "You know you're attractive--

"No, do you find me attractive? As a man finds a woman attractive."

Matt inhaled deeply. What was he supposed to say? For the briefest of moments he considered telling her no, and sending her on her way. It was probably the moral thing to do. It's what he had done months ago when she had made her move on him in that bathroom. But Emily was right. Things were different now.

He nodded. And when he did, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Emily smiled and stepped toward him. Her hand stretched out and caressed his broad chest. This time he didn't resist. He watched her fingers slide down his chest. He could feel the electricity in the air as her blue eyes drank him in.

Matt hesitated for a considerable time over his next question, knowing how it might be taken if he said it the wrong way.

"Then, why do you want me?" said Matt. "I'm an old man for fucks sake."

Emily shook her head from side to side and shuddered out a breath. "Because you're ripped. And you're so mature. I mean, god, you set the bar so high, Matt. You asked me why I couldn't just be into other guys my age? When you're right there, in front of me? I mean, do you even know how you look at me?" She shivered. "Most guys just look right through me. But you... Sometimes I can feel you looking from across the room. It gives me goosebumps. It makes me... well..." Her feet shifted and Matt couldn't help noticing the way Emily rubbed her thighs together, ever so slightly.