$exting

Rebecca's POV

The golf cart rolled to a stop in front of our house, and the engine clicked off. The silence that followed was deafening. My dad hopped out, stretching his back with a satisfied groan. "Great day, boys. I'm beat. I'm gonna grab a shower and catch the game."

Boys. He still referred to us like we were equals. Like Mark was just his old buddy and I was just his little girl. If only he knew that exactly four hours ago, I had been bent over that golf cart, Mark buried deep inside me, while my father hunted for a lost ball twenty yards away. I felt a fresh wave of heat rush to my cheeks. I kept my head down, gathering my things.

Mark stepped out of the cart slowly. He didn't look at me. He walked straight past, clapping my dad on the shoulder. "I'll head out, Dave. Thanks for the round."

"No problem, man. Come by for dinner next week, okay? Sarah's been asking about you."

Mark hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I'll see what I can do."

Then he was gone. He didn't look back, he didn't wave. He just got into his black SUV, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway without a single glance in my direction.

I felt a cold knot twist in my stomach.

He's done and that was it. One last fuck on the golf course, and now he's going back to his wife, his life, his respectability.

I followed my dad inside, my legs were heavy. I mumbled something about being tired and escaped to my bedroom. I closed the door, leaned against it and let out a shaky breath. I should have felt relieved. I should have been grateful that it was over, that we hadn't been caught, that I could go back to being just "Dave's daughter."

Instead, all I felt was a hollow aching emptiness.

I pulled off my sundress. It smelled like grass and sweat and him. I caught a snif of his cologne, that woody, masculine scent that had been driving me insane all day. I closed my eyes, pressing the fabric to my nose, and a sharp pang of longing shot through my chest.

I was pathetic.

I threw the dress in the hamper and crawled into bed, wearing just my bra and panties. The ceiling fan whirred above me, stirring the humid summer air. I stared at the white paint, counting the cracks, trying to slow my racing heart.

Then, my phone buzzed.

I grabbed it from the nightstand. My heart stopped.

It was an unknown number.

"You left without saying goodbye."

I stared at the screen. I didn't have his number saved. I had never texted him in my life. He must have grabbed it from my dad's contacts.My fingers trembled as I typed back.

Me: "You didn't look at me when you left. I thought you changed your mind."

The dots appeared, then disappeared. Appeared again. My breath caught.

Mark: "I didn't look at you because if I had, I wouldn't have left. I would have dragged you into the backseat and fucked you right there in the driveway."

I squeezed my thighs together, the ache between them flaring back to life.

Me: "You can't keep doing this. My dad is right downstairs."

Mark: "I know. But I can't stop thinking about your taste in my mouth. It still burns."

I bit my lip, a soft whimper escaping me. I rolled onto my stomach, my phone clutched in my hands.

Mark: "What are you wearing?"

Me: "A bra and panties. Just got out of my dress."

Mark: "What color are the panties?"

I hesitated. But the thrill of it, the sheer danger of texting this man while my father watched football two floors down, sent a rush of adrenaline through my veins.

Me: "White lace. You're holding them in your glovebox."

The dots appeared immediately.

Mark: "Fuck, Becca. I'm sitting in my driveway, and I'm hard as a rock just thinking about them. About you…."

Me: "What do you want me to do?"

Mark: "I want you to touch yourself. Right now. I want you to think about my hands, my mouth, my cock. And I want you to cum for me."

My breath hitched. I glanced at the closed door. My dad's muffled laughter drifted up from the living room. The TV was loud. I set the phone down, propped against the pillow, and slid my hand down my stomach.

The first touch sent a jolt through me. I was already soaking wet, just from his words. I circled my clit slowly, my eyes fixed on the glowing screen.

Mark: "Is it wet?"

Me: "So wet. I'm thinking about the tree. The way you knelt in front of me…"

Mark: "I'm thinking about the way you tasted. Like honey. I could have eaten you until you screamed."

I pushed two fingers inside myself, biting my hand to muffle a cry. I moved them slowly, curling upward, finding that spot that made my vision blur.

Mark: "I want to hear you. Send me a voice note."

I hesitated. The risk was insane, but I was past the point of caring.

I pressed the record button, held the phone to my lips, and let out a soft, ragged moan. "Mark….I'm so close. I'm thinking about your hands... the way you pulled me apart…."

I ended the recording and sent it.

A long silence and then his reply.

Mark: "That just sent me over the edge. I came in my shorts in my own driveway. You have no idea what you're doing to me."

I cried out softly, my body convulsing as an orgasm ripped through me. I pressed my hand over my mouth, muffling the sound, riding the waves of pleasure that crashed through me. When it was over, I lay on the bed panting, my phone slick with sweat in my grip.

Mark: "Tomorrow night by 9 PM. The Oakhaven Motel on Route 9. I'll be in Room 14 waiting for you. Be there, Becca, or I'll lose my mind."

I stared at the message, my heart hammering. A motel. A real bed and hours alone. No stolen seconds, no locked doors, no fear of footsteps.

Me: "I'll be there."

Mark: "Good girl. You can sleep now. I'll be dreaming of you."

I locked the phone and placed it on the nightstand. I stared at the ceiling, my body still trembling, a smile tugging at my lips.

Tomorrow night. I couldn't wait.