Page 7 of The One

“Van.” My father eases his glare as I approach.

I flew in late last night, rented a car and drove over to his place, then we headed here to the hotel where the ceremony and dinner reception will be held tomorrow. I’ll stay here. I’m comfortable in hotels; they feel like home to me.


It’s just going to be the four of us.

Just us. And then, when my father and her mother leave…

Christ help me because for the next twenty-four hours I’m going to be battling my urge to lay her out on one of these tables and eat her cunt until I’ve had my fill.

But I don’t think I’ll ever have my fill.

There’s no more delaying; my hard-on leads the way as I make the last steps to the table and both the ivory haired beauty and her mother look up at me as I approach.

“I thought you’d rented a room at the bar.” My father gives me a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, just getting into the spirit of the celebration.” I stand at the edge of the table, trying not to stare.

“Well, I’m so happy you could come. I thought it would be best if we met for drinks tonight before tomorrow.” My soon to be stepmother smiles and reaches over to lay her hand on my father’s arm. “I know it’s such short notice.”

I glance at the angel as she raises her glass and takes a long sip from the straw, holding it steady between her full pink lips and my cock twitches. It takes a moment to realize I haven’t responded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

I extend my hand, wanting to get the introductions over so I can take a seat and hide the monster that is only thickening under my slacks.

“Van.” My father starts motioning with his eyes to the dark-haired woman next to him. “This is Gayl, my bride to be.”

“Nice to meet you.”

We exchange a pleasant handshake and a few words; then it’s time. There’s no more putting it off; I’m going to have to touch her and truth is I’m not sure I won’t fucking soil these pants at the first brush.

My father gestures with his hand toward her. “Isolde, this is my son, Van. Your date for tomorrow.” His words are tinted with humor, but from my glance in her direction, she’s not getting on that fun train with him.

“Issi,” she corrects politely. “I prefer Issi.”

Her cheeks rise red as I extend my hand and she places hers there. The warmth and softness send a shockwave that centers in my gut, and it takes all my willpower to keep upright. Her voice is light and clear. I hear kindness but with a backbone.

Thoughts of her naked, splayed under me, calling my name while her near white skin flakes with my cum, coated as she is…the images flash through my mind as her lips bend upward into the slightest of a smile.

“Not sure date is the right word.” She shakes her head, and I note the hair that was hanging in her face in the photo is doing the same now.

“Well.” Her mother giggles. “Sounds like you both could use a date. Two peas in a pod sounds like. Work. Work. Work. All work and no play makes Issi and Van very dull—”

“Mom,” Issi snaps with a cough as she tugs her hand back from mine. “Enough.”

“I’m just saying. You two seem to have something in common. Work is your only companion. Just want you to have a little fun, that’s all.” She raises her hands in a defensive gesture as if warding off her daughter’s obvious irritation.

I pull out the chair next to Issi and struggle to sit with the length of unyielding hardness failing to bend, but somehow manage with a low grunt to get into the seat and hide it under the table.

The rest of the evening brings no respite from my hard-on, but luckily Gayl and my dad are like a couple of teenagers, talking a mile a minute as I steal glances at Issi and eventually see why she has her hair in her face.

Around her left eye, there is a half-moon burgundy birthmark. She fusses with her hair, giving me an uncomfortable half smile as she unconsciously does her best to shield the mark from public view.

But all I see is beauty. The mark only adds to her effect on me, and by the end of the evening my heart is in my throat, and I’m having trouble forming even a couple of reasonable words.

“Conversation was never Van’s strong suit.” My father glares at me. “In his work, it’s mostly grunts and pointing. You’d think they hadn’t evolved much beyond the Neolithic era. I wanted him to follow in my footsteps, University of Michigan BA and law school. He had different ideas. More working class. Not like Issi, school was never his strong suit eith—”

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