His balls were bone dry, emptied into me, but his cock was still rigid as steel. His sweaty, muscled chest flexed when he folded his hands behind his head with a satisfied grin. I smiled wide and pushed him back on the couch, climbing astride his big body, and rode him at a gallop until he drenched my insides. He heard the strain in my voice and kissed me as he answered, “Of course, son.” I asked if I could call him ‘dad’, with a half-joking tone to diminish the weight of my request, but Jacob wasn’t convinced. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pressed me to his iron chest.īefore, it had been simple-we liked to kiss, to fuck, to cook, to chat, to anything we could do together-but that moment emboldened me. It could be a sore subject for men his age, but Jacob just smiled so I followed his lead. I tensed the first time someone mistook him for my father.
