DILF
DILF
Sidney Halston
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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DILF
Copyright © 2019 by Sidney Halston
Ebook ISBN: 9781641971232
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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NYLA Publishing
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http://www.nyliterary.com
Contents
Dear Reader
1. LILY
2. LINC
3. LILY
4. LINC
5. LINC
6. LILY
7. LINC
8. LILY
9. LINC
10. LILY
11. LINC
12. LILY
13. LINC
14. LILY
15. LINC
16. LILY
17. LINC
18. LILY
19. EPILOGUE — LILY
20. Excerpt from THE MAID (Coming Soon)
Also by Sidney Halston
About the Author
Dear Reader
If you're expecting a deep heartfelt book, this is not that book.
If you want a filthy, fun, adult read, then sit back and enjoy the "ride" (if you don't innuendo, this book's probably not for you, either).
Xoxo,
Sidney
1
LILY
Shittiest. Day. Ever.
I failed my chemistry midterm. Failed! I’ve never failed anything in my life. Penn State offered me a full-ride, and what do I do? Fail my midterm, my first F, and my first meltdown, and, to make matters worse, I don’t even get to wallow in my first F and get blackout drunk for the first time—no, I have to drive home and pack up my room. My parents are now retired and have decided that they’d like to move down to Florida because my mom has severe asthma, so it makes sense that they would want to move, but choosing my first Spring Break to move also sucks.
Almost everyone else is heading somewhere warm and fun for their break while I’m headed home to pack up my room before (the) closing next week.
My childhood home, full of memories. These would be the last moments I’d spend there.
My phone rings, momentarily taking me out of my funk, and I press the button on my steering wheel. “Hey, sweet pea!” my best friend, Charlotte, chirps over the Bluetooth speakers in my car.
“Hey, Charlie. What’s up?”
“Nothing much, can’t wait to see you!” I hadn’t seen Charlotte for almost four months, the longest we’ve been apart since meeting in the first grade. She is (was) also my neighbor. Unlike me, she stayed home after high school, deciding to go to community college, home being a few miles out of Hershey, PA. We live in an idyllic little community, two-story brick homes, white picket fences, and beautiful green lawns. Nothing very eventful happens in our little town, though we do have some very nosy neighbors and annoying local gossips, but that’s what you get when everyone knows everyone in town.
“I should be home in about thirty minutes. How’re you doing? You okay?” Her parents had recently divorced, and it had been hard for her. Charlotte had a picture-perfect upbringing-- at least that’s the way it looked from the outside. Her mother came from money and never worked, instead choosing to spend all her time and money at the mall or socializing with other women at the country club. Her father, on the other hand, was always working. He was some sort of businessman, coming home late in the evenings and leaving early in the morning. Rarely did I see him in anything other than a suit and tie.
Ms. Edwards wasn’t the most pleasant of women. She was stuck-up, and I don’t think she ever really liked me or my parents much. Even though they seemed like a good, solid family, I knew from Charlotte that her mother and father didn’t get along all that well. Once in a while, Charlotte would climb out of her window, walk across her lawn to mine, and crawl through the window into my bedroom, where she’d sleep until her father would realize she was missing. Even though Mr. Edwards was a man of few words, he always seemed sad when he’d come get her.
“I’m good, Lil. Dad’s been keeping busy and Mom’s been doing a lot of traveling. Now that the dust has settled, we can see it really was for the best.”
“I’m so glad to hear— Ah shit!” I yelp as I feel the thump thump of a flat tire. “No, no, NO!”
“What is it? What happened?” Charlotte yells from the phone. Charlotte is the best and doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, but to say that Charlotte is dramatic is an understatement. The girl can make any situation seem dire.
“I think I have a flat tire. Hold on, let me pull over to the side. Call you back.” I disconnect before she can reply and pull over to the side of the road. After checking that it’s safe, I get out of my car and go around. And yes, my back passenger-side tire is completely flat.
Of course.
Life hates me today.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I yell to no one in particular and stomp my foot on the ground like a bratty toddler. My father taught me how to change a tire, but hell if I remember. I’m not a damsel-in-distress or anything. Normally, I’m a firm believer in women’s independence but right now, I wish I had a man —or hell, a competent woman —to change this damn tire. I get back in the car, and as I’m about to call my father for help, my phone rings. Charlotte again.
“Hey, Charlie, gotta call you back. I need to call my dad to come—”
“No. My dad and I will meet you. He was here when we were talking and overheard.”
“Charlie, I don’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother. It’ll get me away from watching football, which is all Daddy’s been doing all day. Plus, your dad’s been packing the U-Haul all week, he’s probably beat.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Yep. Stay put and text me exactly where you’re at.” I hang up and send her a quick text.
It’s a hot day out. Really hot, and I’m low on gas. I’m scared I’ll run out if I leave my car on with the AC as I wait for Charlie and her father. So I tie my shirt in a knot behind me and attempt to pick up my wild black hair over my head with the hair tie I always seem to have around my wrist. But of course, since the universe is out to get me today, it snaps as I’m twisting it around my hair. Ow! Annoyed, I make a half-ass attempt to tie the broken ends together and then I tie back my hair and sit down on the hood of my car with my Kindle to wait out the thirty minutes it’ll take them to get here. There’s no one out. I think two cars have passed, and it’s the middle of the day. It’s completely safe, therefore I don’t hesitate.
I hear them before I see them.
I close my Kindle and sit up. The familiar noise of a loud truck slows down, and I hop off the hood just as Charlotte’s dad passes my car, pulls up in front of me, and backs up until he’s parked in front of my car. Charlotte hops out first and runs to me. “Lilybear!”
“Charlie!” We hug, jumping up and down as if it had been years, not months, since we’d last seen each other.
“Lily.” A deep, somber voice reverberates. I let go of Charlie and look around her and—whoa!
/> It’s as if I’ve been hit with a two-by-four. When did Charlie’s dad get so fucking hot? My heart speeds up and my hands get clammy.
Luckily, Charlotte is looking down at her phone and doesn’t notice my shock. Also, I thank God I’m wearing mirrored glasses—they obscure the fact that I’m totally checking out my best friend’s father. He looks so different than the last time I saw him. He used to have a perpetually scruffy face, but now he’s grown out a full beard. It’s more salt than pepper, but he can definitely pull it off. He must have put on twenty pounds of muscle and is sporting a shit-ton of tattoos on his arms. One time, years ago, I remember Charlotte inviting me to her house for a barbecue. Her father had been wearing a t-shirt as he manned the grill, and I’d noticed that he’d had a lot of tattoos then. It had surprised the shit out of me, since he was always wearing suits and seemed so straight-laced. Professional businessmen did not go around with full sleeves. Apparently, Mr. Edwards was the exception. But now there were more, his arms inked to his knuckles.
He was always intimidating. The one dad you were more polite with than you were with your own parents. Always a serious man, he rarely smiled and hardly spoke. At least that’s what I’d always thought. But then again, he had all the cool tats and a kickass Harley Fat Boy hidden in his garage, something that, according to Charlotte, Ms. Edwards detested. Also, he never ever missed any of Charlie’s tennis matches or a parent-teacher conferences, which was one of the reasons my parents liked him so much. They were not tattoos -and -motorcycle kind of people, like Lily’s father was, but they loved him anyway.
He always pulled our garbage to the curb when my father forgot, or mowed our lawn if he was mowing his. My dad was the same way—minus the tattoos and biker badassery. So, my parents saw that under all the ink was the quiet, sometimes broody, Mr. Edwards. But that was then. Now, any softness he had is gone, replaced by a wall of muscles. He is a fucking bear of a man. The more I stare the faster my heart beats. He has this wide, confident gait when he walks, the loose-fitting jeans screaming: I am who I am, and I don’t give a shit what other people think. Yet, he looks fucking fantastic, so of course he doesn’t give a shit. God, the man oozes sex and a little bit of danger, and I can’t stop staring.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Edwards.” I try to smile, but he looks so serious. He always does, but more so today.
He sidesteps me and walks directly to my car, giving me an unobstructed view of his ass.
Has his ass always looked so good? The black tee he’s wearing is tight around the arms and shoulders. Jesus, what the hell has the man been doing for the last three months? “Keys,” he grunts and holds out his palm. I toss them in his hand and avert my eyes. The last thing I need is for Charlie or Mr. Edwards to catch on to my sudden attraction. Suddenly, the sun feels like it’s scorching my skin, yet I erupt in goose bumps. I shake my head and turn my attention to Charlie.
While Mr. Edwards does his thing and changes my tire, Charlie and I sit on the bed of his truck and catch up. She tells me how her mother moved out and how her father seems happier (even though there’s nothing about the man that screams happy). Because her mother’s job was to spend money, not earn it, Mr. Edwards was always working. Now Char says he is dedicating more time to fixing up old bikes, something he’d always loved to do.
As Lily talks, my eyes wander to Mr. Edwards, even though I’m trying not to look. He lifts his shirt and uses the bottom to swipe sweat off his forehead. And damn, he has abs. I thought that they were reserved for models under thirty, but, boy, was I wrong. He’s also hairy. Not in a gross sort of way, but in a manly-man way. I’ve only ever been with guys my age and, for the most part, they’re not at all hairy, and if they are, they wax. It’s just the cool thing to do. Work out, wax, and take selfies. I bet you my right boob that Mr. Edwards has never taken a selfie in his life. And the hair across his chest and arrowing down his abs makes my stomach clench.
“…oh and guess what?” Here’s the thing with Charlie: she gets excited. About everything. It’s part of the drama thing I was talking about.
“What?”
“Randy invited me to go with him and his family to the Hamptons for the weekend.” She claps in excitement. “My dad’s having a conniption, but I’m a grown woman. I can go with my boyfriend and he shouldn’t get a say, right?”
Charlie doesn’t work, she goes to school full-time, her father pays for her car (which she just got, BTW), and she lives at home. I’d say he is entitled to some say, but I don’t voice this. “Yeah, you’re a grown-ass woman. When do you leave?”
“Next weekend. I’m so excited, Lily! You gotta help me pack. His parents are super conservative and I want to make a good impression.”
“They’ll love you, Charlie.” And it’s true—she’s the girl all parents would want their son to date. She’s beautiful and wholesome, sweet and proper, and always says the right thing. Basically, my opposite. She takes after her mother in that regard. Her parents were an odd couple, come to think of it.
“All done,” Mr. Edwards says, tossing my flat tire into the bed of his truck.
“Shouldn’t you put it in my trunk so I can go get it fixed?”
“It’s stripped. No fixing this,” he says, seemingly mad. All he’s done is bark short sentences at me. It’s not as if we’ve ever sat down and had a conversation, but he was always cordial. Lily, would you like chocolate milk? Lily, please thank your mother for the apple pie. Lily, did you have a nice time at the zoo?
“Let’s go, Charlie. Lily, back in the car,” he snaps. “Straight home. That’s a shit spare.”
“Uhh…Yeah, okay. I’m sorry to have dragged you all the way here.” I fidget with the lose string on the bottom of my shorts. “But thank you so much.” I turn and practically sprint to my car.
“Daddy! What the heck—” I hear Charlie begin to reprimand her father for being a dick—even though she’d never call him a dick. As I close the door and am putting on my seatbelt a tap on my window startles me.
It’s Mr. Edwards, so I open my window. “Don’t ever wanna see you sittin’ on the hood of your car, in the middle of the street, dressed like that. Thought you were smarter than that, little girl,” he says and turns and walks away. For a split second, I thought he was coming to apologize. Boy, was I wrong. And why had I never noticed his green eyes before? Or the fact that Mr. Edwards is an asshole? Or the fact that when he gets close to me my nipples get so fucking hard it feels as if they can cut right through my t-shirt?
I start my car, and all the way home I think about how Mr. Edwards is a sexy-as-fuck asshole.
2
LINC
“What’s wrong with you, Dad?” Charlie asks, and I loosen the tight grip I have on the steering wheel.
“Nothing, honey. Just tired.” I lie because I can’t possibly tell her the truth. The truth is that I’m so fucking horny it hurts. Driving up and seeing Lily’s tight little body on display by the side of the road threw me for a loop. I’ve seen my daughter’s best friend a million times. I’ve known her since she was practically in diapers. I may not have been around a lot, since I was always working, but I definitely watched her grow up. The response I’m having towards her makes me feel disgusting. Like a dirty old man.
And, to top it off, I must be going crazy, because every time I turned around, I could’ve sworn she was looking at me, checking me out. I couldn’t exactly tell because of the glasses she wore, but her head was definitely turned my way. And those fucking lips, those thick, cherry lips that she kept licking, or the way she continued to pull on the loose strings on the ratty shorts, Jesus Christ, that girl had sex written all over her, and it had my dick hardening to inappropriate levels. I am, after all, just a man. Even now I can’t stop thinking about her black hair and pale skin, those toned legs, from years of being on the track team, and that flat stomach—fuck, I’m a fucking pervert.
“…and Randy said we’d be back Monday morning. His entire family—” God, I love my daughter
more than any person in the world but, damn, she could talk.
“Are we still talking about the Hamptons? I already said no.”
“Daddy!” she screeches. “I’m eighteen. I’m a grown woman. I am not asking for permission.”
“You’re a grown woman who needs her daddy to pay for her car, her credit cards, her room and board, and whatever else she wants. So, no, I’m not going to sit back and watch you screw up your life, Charlotte.”
“How’s going away for one weekend going to do that?”
“First, you think his parents are going to think highly of you, after going on an overnight trip with your little boyfriend?”
“Oh my God,” she whines. “You sound just like Mom.”
I’m surprised her mother put her foot down about this, being that she was the kind of woman who’d want precisely this: her daughter dating a wealthy spoiled brat with a summer home in the Hamptons. A perfect prospective husband for Charlotte.
“Second, you’re too young to be—” I don’t finish the sentence, instead closing my eyes for a moment. I don’t even want to think about my baby girl having…having…
“Having sex, Daddy?” She has her arms crossed over her chest and is pouting. “I’m a grown woman. Sex is a part of life.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you.” I say, gripping the wheel tighter again. “You are not going and that’s final.”