The Father and the Bridesmaid

Michaela didn't know if these thoughts crossed Patrick's mind, but at moments she saw his smile fall a bit, his eyes grow unfocused in thought. When she saw it, Michaela tried to catch his eye with a friendly smile. When his eyes found her, he lit up. All over again Michaela felt the sweeping potential building between them.

Still, it seemed like an impossible dream. Going from quiet flirtations and lingering glances to having him in her bed still seemed fanciful.

Through the dinner, the toasts and the first dances Michaela entertained the idea but could not bring herself to have any real hope.

Then as Veronica danced with Brett and the wedding party fell into slow spirals around the dance floor, Michaela found Patrick cutting in on her and the groomsman she was paired with.

"Mind if I finish this dance?"

"Ah, brah, no... Man!" the groomsman grumbled with the smile of someone who knew he was beaten.

"Thank you for the dance Stan," Michaela said as she twirled away in Patrick's grasp and he finally, fully settled his smile on her.

"I think I promised you this," Patrick said, one of his broad hands closing around her's as his other slid under her arm to rest with a warm pressure at the small of her back. Michaela closed her fingers around his and put her other hand along his firm side. Despite being old enough to be her father, he still carried hard muscle. The feeling of shifting with the music under her fingers made her swoon.

"You did," Michaela said. "Is it always so easy to get things from you? All I have to do is get you to promise?"

"If I promise it, I do it," Patrick said. In the dimness of the dance floor, the lights of the mirror ball radiating around the room, Michaela couldn't help but stare up at him. She was afraid her gaze would betray the yearnings rising under her skin, but she couldn't help it.

"I'll have to be careful with that power," Michaela said. Patrick's eyebrow shot up as he grinned.

"Oh? What do you want me to promise?"

Michaela opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't bring herself to say it. In college, Michaela would have said it straight out. Hook-ups can be so easy. But this was different.

Instead, Michaela gave a throaty laugh and her meaning was just as plain as if she had asked.

Patrick was laughing too, a knowing mirth synchronized with hers. Michaela couldn't help but slide her hand along his side, surveying.

Then she realized he hadn't dissuaded her. He didn't make a joke, didn't try to defuse her implications. At that realization, Michaela found herself unable to speak.

As they swayed with the music, Michaela felt his eyes dip down her body. His gaze was devouring her inch by inch. She had images in her mind of stepping back and dropping her dress for him. It was absurd and horrifying in a way, here amid all their friends, family and especially Veronica. But Michaela wanted to surrender to him more than anything at this point.

"So..." Patrick said, and Michaela could feel a tremble of nerves in his voice. "What are your plans after this?"

"I don't know. I think Stan was trying to get something going with some of the others in the bridal party," Michaela said."But I know Veronica and Brett are taking off, so I don't know if anything will come together. I suspect he'll be asking me to do something regardless"

"How are his chances?" Patrick asked.

"Hopeless," Michaela said.

They looked at each other and they could each feel the other dancing around what was becoming impossible to ignore. They wanted to get to the same place but didn't know how to circle into it in a way that wasn't obvious or... crude. To leap the final barrier.

Michaela racked her brain to think of some way to keep the flirtation going. Feeling his palm on her back, his big hand around hers, Michaela knew she had to have his hands roam over her.

"What about you?"

"Looking for cover I'm sure," Patrick said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the wedding's over. Lauren doesn't have a reason to hold back anymore."

That had never occurred to Michaela. A new coil of disdain curled in her.

"Maybe you just need a place to hide," Michaela said. Before she realized she'd said it, there it was.

Patrick's face turned to her, his features soft and intense at all at once. Michaela felt the fullness of his attention and it was wonderful. See could see in an instant the last vestige of her younger self had been driven from his thoughts. The Michaela who befriended his daughter as a freshman in high school was as lost to time as his newspaper subscription.

Now the flesh and blood Patrick, who had walked Veronica down the aisle just a few hours ago, was looking at Michaela as the Patrick in her fantasy did: confident, relaxed, knowing and strong.

"Do you have any ideas, Michaela?"

Michaela nodded just as the slow dance ended and the first fast song of the night ramped up.

"Room 451 might work."

Patrick was still for a moment.

Michaela's heart froze.

Then he gave a movement of his head like a nod, but before Michaela could know for sure a hustle of people shifted around them and swamped the moment.

Michaela stepped away, gathering her thoughts and trying to keep her legs steady. She hadn't realized it until then, but she was soaking.

There was a feeling between her thighs so empty it almost hurt. The muscles of her pelvis and stomach felt wound up, tight and humming. Everything was alive. She found herself with her back against a wall. The lights had dimmed to spur on the dance club phase of the reception. She was glad for the chance to disappear.

Michaela watched Veronica dance. She watched Brett twirl his coat and let it fly away. She laughed and smiled. But every happy thought soon curved back to the idea of Patrick on top of her.

Michaela was desperate.

Not knowing what to do, not sure if she had just made a fool of herself, Michaela sat back down at the head table and stared with half-seeing eyes at the half-empty Champagne flutes and dirty cake plates. For a silly moment, she wanted to cry.

Enjoying a fantasy was one thing. Having it come true was another. Having it within twenty seconds of happening and then slipping away was just torture.

Out of the cloud of thoughts, Michaela found her eyes focusing on a tall man striding through the crowd.

"451?" Patrick said.

Michaela smiled wide and nodded, not trusting her voice not to crack.

"I have to stay here until a few things are organized," he said. All the doubts were gone and Michaela rose as he shared with her a conspiring smile.

"I can wait," Michaela said, so low it may have been lost in the echoing music.

Now Patrick said nothing. His answer was his secret smile growing wider for her. Michaela couldn't help but giggle. She felt eighteen again. Somehow as he smiled at her, she felt she could see the twenty-something in Patrick.

She wanted to lean on the table right there and stretch out for a kiss. Instead she spun on her heel to find the Bride.

As she hugged Veronica and Brett goodnight, and exchanged promises for lunches and dinners and drinks after the honeymoon, Michaela felt beyond wicked. She told Veronica she looked beautiful. She told Veronica she was happy for her.

As Michaela smiled at Veronica, listening to her friend gushing her final exaltation about her day and her first hours of married bliss, she contemplated unspeakably filthy things about the father of the bride.

She was truly shameless. She felt truly corrupt. She was wet when she kissed Veronica's cheek and said goodnight.

And Michaela loved every forbidden sinful moment of it.

Chapter 3

Waiting for Patrick's knock was a torture of anticipation for Michaela.

While making her way from the dance floor to the lobby, saying goodbye to guests and bridesmaids and groomsmen along the way, then finding Stan in the lobby for another goodbye before hitting the elevator, a single thought occupied Michaela's mind like a high schooler who had just lost her virginity: can everyone read it on my face? Can they see I'm thinking of getting railed by the bride's father and that single thought is consuming her mind?

This came home keenly as Michaela left the reception ballroom and found Lauren chatting with relatives but focusing a furious stare at her daughter's best friend. Michaela smiled and waved but the gesture only seemed to make Lauren more frosty. Squaring her shoulders, Michaela walked past her and away down the hall.

She knew it was unhealthy, but something about Lauren's spite made her happy. Seeing Lauren's sour face and her proven cruelty being so powerless to dampen Michaela's desire to fuck Patrick somehow doubled her appetite for Veronica's father in a single heartbeat.

As Lauren's hard eyes followed her, Michaela made a show of turning her head away, as if wiping her from her life, and swaying her hips as she moved off towards the lobby.

Now Michaela sat beside the window in her hotel room, looking at the queen-size bed and imagining herself face down, ass up. That's the way I like to fuck, Michaela laughed as the pervy old song's chorus echoed through her head. Thinking of Patrick, somewhere in this building working to get to her, working to bring her fantasy to a secluded fruition, set off a torrent between her legs.

Michaela wondered if she'd ever been more slick for a man as she was tonight.

But then, as she sat, the moments ticked by and the knock did not come.

She thought to text him but realized she didn't even have his phone number. Sitting in the silence, Michaela had the sick realization Lauren couldn't stop her, but she may have been able to intercept Patrick.

Surely Lauren had seen Patrick and Michaela smile and laugh together. While there wasn't anything inappropriate she could latch onto, Lauren didn't need anything substantial to be mean.

As the silent minutes dragged on, her heart fell. The full excitement thrumming through began to curdle into a mean disappointment. Michaela looked at the clock. 12:30 a.m. Despite her hopes, Michaela began talking to herself, to let herself down easy, to remind herself that while he wanted no doubt, maybe his cooler head had prevailed.

Then the silence in the room was broken by a low but urgent knock.

Michaela jumped up as if the rap was a starter's pistol and tore the door open. As it swung wide, Patrick filled the frame with a smiling, apologetic cast.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said. He held up a bottle of wine and two glasses in one hand, a plate with two pieces of his daughter's wedding cake in the other. Michaela grabbed his jacket's lapel and pulled him inside.

"Get yourself in here," Michaela said. In a strange way it felt as though she'd almost lost him in the last ten minutes. Her patience for waiting was gone. If this was her chance, Michaela was going to take it now.

"Put that down," she said, keeping her hand closed on his jacket. When Patrick put the bottle, glasses and plate on the credenza she pulled him by the bed.

"Would you like some wine?" he asked.

"Na-ah," Michaela said in a pouting voice.

It was clear he wanted to be nice and gentle about it, but she was in no mood.

"Cake?" Patrick offered with a wink. Michaela could see he was toying with her.

"After," Michaela said.

"You don't want anything to eat?" Patrick said, stepping close.

"I didn't say that," Michaela said.

From his gaze, Michaela could see he was savoring her. They enjoyed this last moment before the fantasy began and they lived the rest of their lives having lived out these forbidden urges.

Michaela looked right at him, closed her fingers around both of his lapels now and let her mouth open with a lewd provocation.

Michaela pulled him down, astonished at her own brazenness until his face was hovering above hers. Then she raised herself to tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

The feeling was incredible. It was beyond what she wanted. His lips and skin had lost some of the softness of youth but only tasted sweeter. It was like what made him sexy had been boiled down to its essence with age.

With a strength wrapped in tenderness, he brought his big hand to her face. Cupping Michaela's cheek, and holding her to his kiss, Patrick moved his other hand around her body to the small of her back. It was just where it had been when they danced a few hours ago, but now held her close for a different reason.

As he held her firmly where he wanted her, Michaela let go of his lapels and slid her arms under his jacket and around to his back. Michaela could feel the black suspenders holding his slacks, the warmth trapped between his body and his tuxedo coat. In a twisted way, it reminded her of her dad wrapping her in his arms when Michaela was a kid and pulling his coat around them both.

But there was nothing of her father in Patrick, and there was nothing of a young girl in Michaela now.

After a moment of mouths on one another, finding their way through the first sensations of the first kiss, it was as though the duo had broken through a barrier.

Patrick's movements went from slow and sweet to hard and firm. He snaked his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, then up into her hair. Michaela could feel his thick fingers close, pinching her hair, still made up, in his closing hand. Michaela squealed at his assertion and was sure she would deny him nothing.

Patrick held Michaela hard, kissing her so fiercely she felt herself falling back. A half-step later her ass hit the credenza and she found herself pushing the bottle and plate out of the way so she could shimmy on top and sit.

Patrick's amazing lips were still on her, drawing out of her a yearning and eagerness tailored only to him. Feeling his mouth open, gentle and smooth, strong and confident, Michaela wondered if she would ever go back to men her age.

As he kissed her, Michaela's legs opened on their own and she felt Patrick shift quickly to slide between them. He leaned down and licked at her lips as he did.

No one had so thoroughly owned her so fast in her life. And it was there, as Michaela craned her legs wider to welcome him she finally felt his hardness brush her thigh from under the fabric of his slacks.

Letting out a begging groan, she dissolved into a chaotic laugh at her desperation to feel more. Before Patrick could react, she pulled him into another kiss. Michaela felt lucky beyond reason. That one stroke set her every nerve on fire.

She pulled her hands from his back, pressing her palms to his sides, his chest, his stomach, needing to feel every inch of him.

Eventually, her hands slid around to his ass, feeling his firm cheeks as she squeezed. Feeling his firm ass in her palms made her groan out a pouting moan.

Patrick's mouth brushed back and forth on hers, his lips almost smothering her in kisses. Even that didn't satisfy. He was giving it all to her and even that wasn't enough. She needed it faster.

Michaela grabbed one of his hands from around her hip and pulled it towards her breast. Before Michaela could place him, he pulled out of her grip.

"No, no," he said. He could see her furious need and was happy to tease me.

Michaela pouted again, hoping to seduce him with her plain desire. "But please... I need you."

"You need what?"

"I need you. I need to feel you." Saying the words made her light headed.

"Why do you need me?" She didn't appreciate it in the moment, but his experience was dominating her even here.

"Because you know what you're doing," Michaela said. She put a coquettish purr in her voice, hoping to show him how sexy he was to her. "Because you're not like the other boys I know."

"So maybe you should listen to me," Patrick said. "Maybe I know more than those boys and you should do what I say."

The mixture of confidence and assurance growled out in almost a fatherly tone was so attractive, twisted, and inviting Michaela was powerless. But she couldn't help but test him so she let out her inner brat.

Looking up at him like she was going to submit, Michaela slid her hand down his front and curled her palm along the ridge of his hard cock. Still bound in his pants, Michaela wasn't able to hold it, but she could feel his length and size. She wanted to beg.

As quickly as she had grabbed him, Patrick's fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her away.

"Bad girl," he said, raising an eyebrow. First, he forced one of Michaela's hands behind her back, then the other. He curled his fingers around her wrists and held them together with just one of his big hands.

"Maybe I need a father figure," Michaela said, pouting and challenging.

He leaned in close, his eyes so near she couldn't focus.

"I'm not your fucking father," he said.

Before Michaela could respond, he dropped his face down and took a stretch of her neck between his teeth. She let out a thrilled scream that bled into a long, keening groan. The hand he had on her wrists closed tighter to show her who was in control while his free palm slid up her side, found the edge of her bodice, and pulled down hard.

Another heartbeat and he pulled it down further, half kneeling, and Michaela felt her bare nipple pulled into his mouth. In a swirl of ecstasy, she cried out again. She was loving how he showed her who was boss.

Patrick's tongue wound around and around her areola, which tightened with delicious contractions with each revolution. Soon it was so puckered, her areola so rigid all she could think about was coming.

It was like every movement was winding up her every limb like a spring-powered toy.

Craning her neck back, Michaela tried to pull in the pleasure he was carefully piecing out. She could tell this was not his first time playing the master for some lucky girl. The thought passed her mind he had been pleasing or fucking women for longer than she had been alive. Of course, he would be masterful.

Never had her body been played so well. Quick and slow, hard and soft, chaste and lewd, he was alternating every sensation to create a consuming fever. And he was prompting just the effect he desired.

"Oh my God, I am your fucking slave," Michaela said before she could stop herself. With a knowing chuckle, Patrick gave a last, hard pull on her nipple then pulled back.

"Then you better stay where I fucking put you," he said. There was a dangerous twinkle in his eye.

In an instant, he let go of her wrists. Michaela stayed put, her ass on the desk, her legs open, her breasts bare with her dress pulled down. She knew how she looked--disheveled and desperate--and it felt so sweet.

Patrick kept his eye on her as he slid down further. Shedding his jacket, he kneeled before her in his white dress shirt and shimmering black suspenders. Pressing his hands on the inside of her thighs, he slid his warm palms up her stockings and under the hem of her dress.

"Lift your ass," he ordered and Michaela did. His hands cupped her ass, curved up, and grabbed the band of her panties. He pulled them down, careful not to snag her stockings, until they fell to the floor.

No sooner had he dropped them than he traced his fingers back up her legs. Michaela's skin trembled along the path.

Shifting his body so her legs splayed over his shoulders, Patrick curled his arms and Michaela felt her thighs squeezed between his hands and his curling biceps. She was open to him with her legs held snug.

Michaela didn't know what he saw when he looked up at her, but all she could imagine in her eyes was begging. The skin of her thighs tickled with his breathing.

There was a mischievous look on his face as Patrick knew exactly where he had her. Seeing his salt and pepper hair between her legs, feeling the strength of his arms wound around her legs made her weak. Michaela could feel fingers of her wetness slip between her lips and begin to trace along to her ass.