Summary: An old family friend comes over to spend a few nights at your house. However, seeing him generates unexpected new feelings.
Warnings: Age gap, overall morally ambiguous situation, fingering, masturbation, piv sex, unprotected sex, praise.
Notes: Hi again!! School has been hectic and so I don’t have much free time to write, which is why my feed has been dry. Hopefully I’m back on track sooner than later. Also originally I wanted him to sneak into your room… couldn’t make that work. Maybe I’ll have to do a part two with that. Anyway, enjoy! xx
Jake had been a friend of your dad for as long as you could remember. They went to football games together, comedy club nights, and pubs. But, men being men, they rarely hung out at home with one another. With that, you hadn’t actually seen him in years.
However, he had gotten a project in LA and needed a place to crash. And the y/l/n home in the Hills was the perfect spot. Your mother, of course, had offered him to stay in one of the guest rooms, which he gladly agreed to.
The sun was beaming the day he arrived. You watched the black car pull into the driveway, reflecting the scorching sun. He looked tired, or maybe he just looked older compared to when you last saw him. He pushed his sunglasses away from his face as he greeted your parents; his smile had stayed the same. You heard his suitcase rattle as he rolled it across the hardwood floors downstairs, bringing it into the guest bedroom he would be staying in.
You were not the most social kid out there. You preferred staying in your room, decorated with thrifted trinkets and still girly even as you had grown. This, along with the sound of conversation and laughter downstairs, brought a warmth into the otherwise cold and minimalistic house. You lay in bed listening as you fiddled with the lace hem of your tank top, feeling excited about seeing Jake after so long.
And rightfully so. You strutted down the stairs and into the dining room as your mom called out for dinner. There were a few candles lit and four plates instead of three. Jake sat on the left side, talking to your dad about stuff you were all too young to know: economics, politics, and insurance. When you sat down across from him, he immediately turned to you and drank you in. “Hi sweetie, I almost didn’t recognize you!” You smiled shyly, which you hated yourself for doing. His eyes lingered on the curve of your breasts, unintentionally and guiltily. “You’ve grown since I last saw you. How old are you now?” You avoided his gaze and focused it on your mom bringing in pots and plates of food. “18, 19 in a few months.” You didn’t expect to be nervous and had a hard time pinpointing why. Of course, you knew deep down, but admitting it required you to see a part of yourself you did not like. A perverse, morally corrupt, and shameful side.
You managed to stay out of the conversation for most of the dinner, except for when Jake tried to bring you into it. “Do you study?” “Any friends? Boyfriends?” “Do you still play the piano?” You told yourself it was all in your head, the lingering glances and exaggerated smiles, but maybe it wasn’t. “No, no, and no.” The whole situation had you shaken, squirming, and stuttering. Plopping down at your desk afterwards felt like a relief, even though things were still stirring in you. You weren’t dumb; this was lust, but you beat yourself up for feeling it. This was a family friend, someone you had known for years, someone who still saw you as a kid. These facts were meant to calm those feelings, meant to make you feel so ashamed that the desire subsided, but they only made it worse.
After a cold shower, you felt more at ease and decided to occupy yourself by reading. It worked for the most part, though you slipped up a few times and imagined the love interest looked like Jake, but it was not anything you could not snap out of. A knock on your door startled you. “Come in!” A pair of blue eyes peeked in. “Am I bothering you?” Jake asked while scanning the bedroom, reading posters, and judging the vinyls on your wall. “No, it’s alright,” you assured him, allowing him to step into your room. “This is close to how I remember it, unlike you,” he joked as he walked around, noticing a pile of dirty clothes with your scattered underwear in it. You laughed at his words and laid the book beside you, the pages facing down. “Well, a few years have passed,” you countered and were met with: “It’s a compliment; you’ve aged well.” Your voice got stuck in your throat; you wanted to say the same thing back, but instead you just blushed. “Grown into a pretty young woman, though that doesn’t surprise me,” Jake mumbled as he admired your bookshelves with everything from Sally Rooney to Bukowski. “Smart too.”
You couldn’t go back to reading after that. His cologne lingered in your room, confirming he had really been there and really said that to you. You smiled to yourself, embarrassed and flattered. He had always been good-looking; it was a known objective fact, but now you saw more than just that. You now noticed his sharp fangs when he smiled, his tan, strong arms, and his hands hugging his biceps whenever he crossed his arms. He had become attractive to you, arousing and heart-palpitating.
Little did you know he felt the same way seeing you that day. How his breath had caught in his throat and how his groin had twitched when you swayed across the dining room to your seat. How he berated himself for looking at your tits, for walking into your room and noticing the used underwear on the floor, for wondering how many ignorant boys you had allowed into those pristine sheets, for imagining you touching yourself in your twin sized bed, arousal dripping onto the mattress. He tried so hard to fall asleep that night, to be the perfect guest and not jerk off in another person's home. But the thought of you in your room, you on your own, was too much.
The Santa Ana winds rattled through the trees outside your window and blew their hot air into your room. It was impossible to sleep, not just because of the winds but also because however you tossed and turned, your thighs still involuntarily rubbed together. You were growing desperate at the hands of the middle-aged man downstairs, old enough to be your father and old enough to never think of you that way.
After a while you gave up. Your feet hit the floor; sleep wasn’t on the radar for tonight. You tried your best to be completely soundless as you went down the stairs, skipping the creaking steps. A light shined from the living room; someone was already there, suffering from a sleepless night too. Mumbled voices streamed from the TV, a film from the 80s no one remembered that only played during the late hours. You stepped in and met the face that had kept you up. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, oblivious to why. “No, you too?” He nodded and averted his gaze back to the TV screen.
You sat down on the other end of the couch, staring blankly at the film. “Shouldn’t you be sneaking out?” He asked jokingly, seemingly out of nowhere. “I don’t do that,” you replied, that meaning whatever he wanted it to. “Is that why you don’t have a boyfriend?” You were taken aback; this was not a version of Jake you had met or even seen before. He noticed and waved it off, “Sorry.” “No, it’s fine. And I did have a boyfriend until a few months ago.”
A quiet moment passed by, uncertainty floating through the air. “You’re too pretty to be alone on a Saturday night,” he said, trying to liven up the mood. “I’m not alone.” The words came out before the thought had processed. Without realizing, you had crossed a line. I don’t have a boyfriend, but it doesn’t matter because right now, there is you. “ That’s not what I meant.” Even though your heights were evened out by the couch, it still felt like he looked down at you as he spoke. “And I’m too old for you anyway.” You felt like hiding, but there was nowhere to. “But you still think I’m pretty?” Your weakness was on full display, exposed to the man across from you. “Of course you are. Very pretty.”
The room fell quiet again, but it was different this time. His eyes didn’t search for a distraction; instead, they were locked on you. “I just wish I could show you.” He left you with that thought, wanting you to figure it out, wanting you to let him get away without vocalizing it, but you did not. “Show me what?”
“Show you how pretty I think you are. And always have been.” Your face felt hot, scorched by his flattery. “How would you do that?” The temptation was too high, and the attraction too. “Like a boy your age.”
“You would fuck me?” He almost frowned. “Is that how they show it?"
You shrugged, feeling like a child in his presence. In that moment he seemed wiser than anyone; he knew all there was to know, and you knew nothing. “You shouldn’t fuck for love.” He had decided to play your game, letting the harsh words roll off his tongue. “Unless it feels good, that is-“
“Don’t let boys use you like that, honey,” he tried to give you a warm smile. “Come here.” You hesitated for a moment, so unsure about what he meant and how much you read into it. You scooted closer and sat facing him, cross-legged on the soft sofa. “You’re still so young. There is so much to love about you. Don’t let them waste it all.”
He placed a hand on your exposed knee and stroked it with his hand. Friendly, fatherly. That was until it crept further up, touching and stroking your peach-fuzzed thigh. “They don’t know what to do with a pretty girl like this.” You didn’t know what to say and barely had the guts to try and speak. “You said you were too old for me?” Your voice trembled with nerves, with lust and fear. “Do you think I am?” He stopped his caressing and looked at you. The wrinkle between his eyebrows urging you to say yes, yes, I’m young enough to be your daughter. But the slick between your thighs wouldn’t let you. “I don’t care. I want this.”
He smiled from relief and pulled you into his lap. “This is so wrong,” he scoffed as he felt your soft skin beneath his calloused palms, but he didn’t look like he meant it. He looked like he wanted to swallow you whole, swallow your moans, and let you swallow him. His lips attached to your neck, kissing you under your ear as his stubble scratched your skin. You couldn’t help but let out a small, weak moan. You told yourself you must’ve actually fallen asleep and were just dreaming this scenario. You felt you were too young, too pathetic, and too clueless for him to actually want you.
But he felt you were perfectly clueless, perfectly malleable, perfectly unaware, and/or careless about morale. His tongue against your neck was, in that sense, the same as his hand shaking yours. Make no mistake, Jake wasn’t the man who longed for younger, more submissive women. It was just you.
He hardened beneath your straddled hips, affected by your desperate grinds. Your hands found his salt and pepper hair, and you settled your fingers in between his locks. When he suddenly stopped, you were scared he wanted to back out, that he had realized he was in unacceptable territory. But instead, he laid you down and peeled off your shorts.
A small smile crept across his face as he saw your underwear. Pink, lacy, and soaked. “This isn't just from now, was it?” You shook your head and whined in response, which pleased him. “Poor thing.”
He hooked his fingers into them and discarded them behind his back. A finger ran up your slit, gathering your wetness and spreading it over your clit. “What a pretty girl.” You barely heard it through the pounding in your ears. The rough fingertip circling your clit was mind-numbingly precise and confident, not flailing away or losing focus. He then swapped it out with his thumb and dipped his middle finger into you. His held-back moan made a hum as he felt your walls hug his finger. All he could think about was how well it would hug his cock.
Two fingers were a snug fit, but you gradually relaxed around them with the repeated hits of your G-spot. You gritted your teeth as you tried to hold back every little sound that threatened to spill out and wake up the house. All while your brain was seeping out of your ears. In your trance-like state, Jake had freed himself from his sweatpants. His cock lay heavy in his hand as he stroked its length while watching you writhe.
With a slap against your mound, you regathered your senses. The tip of his cock was dangerously close to your entrance as it rubbed against your clit, grinding up and down against it. Jake leaned over and grabbed your hand, and his tongue invaded your open mouth. You kissed him back feverishly, making your lips turn plump and wet. His grasp on your hand hardened as his cock slipped into you instead of grinding up against you again. He took a ragged breath through his teeth. hissing at your tightness. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” “You’re so pretty,” “This is so wrong.” His mumbling would’ve been incoherent if he wasn’t so close to you. It didn’t stop as he sped up, but the nature took a slight shift. “Dirty fucking girl, letting me use her like this.”
You pulsed around him when your orgasm hit and washed over you, its waves making you shiver as they crashed. “That’s my girl.” Jake stroked your head, cradled you, as he kept rutting into you. He came with a rough sigh, a groan that would make any girl weak in the knees. He breathed into your hair as he waited for the air to return to his lungs and for his heartbeat to steady.
It felt weird getting dressed and walking into different rooms. Your teenage mind immediately thought of Romeo and Juliet; you were two lovers not allowed. Jake said good night with a kiss on your forehead and an “I’m sorry.”
And that was that. You woke up with a pressure over your chest and excitement in your bones.
He smiled at you during dinner, all coy and knowing, and at night he went to sleep on the couch, in case you couldn’t sleep and wanted him again.
