Thrill Of The Chase

Demi Sutra's flipping through her client list at the reception desk, eyeing the screen like it's playing tricks. She squints, frowns hard. 'First up: Charles Dera? No freaking way...' A deep throat-clear echoes behind her. 'Excuse me, appointment with a Miss Demi?' Her eyes pop wide—she knows that voice. It's her stepdad, Charles Dera, striding in like he owns the joint. She plasters on a phony grin, stands tall. 'Oh! Welcome, Mr. Dera. That's me. Right this way...' Door shuts, they're alone. She spins on him, voice a sharp whisper. 'What the hell are you doing here, Dad?!' Heart pounding—did anyone spot him? Charles shrugs, cool as ice. 'Just here for a massage, kiddo.' That ramps her freak-out—does he even get what kind of rubdown she dishes out? He closes the gap, cups her cheek with a firm hand. 'This heat between us? It ain't vanishing. We sneak looks and tease at home, but your mom's my wife—she'll sniff it out soon. So I booked this. Time to fuck it out, clear the air.' Demi's jittery as hell, but damn, she melts into his touch, that raw pull of his too strong to fight. He locks eyes. 'You want me bad as I want you?' She flashes a wicked grin, caves. 'Just once. I'll work you like any john... but with our special spin.' Minutes later, she's slathering Nuru gel over their bare skin, bodies slick and gleaming. She glides against him, teasing every inch of her stepdad. Temptation snaps—she climbs on, sinks down on his thick cock, pussy gripping him deep and wet. One hot slip-up to kill the itch, or the spark that lights a wildfire?