“I’m so glad you could both make it. I know your schedules can be hectic.” Ms. Yvette was as sweet as her daughter. I alwayswondered what she saw in my dad. He wasn’t a bad man. Just a different one. Harlow’s mom was soft and warm where my father was cold and severe.
The traits he’d instilled in me as a provider and protector didn’t overshadow the love and patience learned from my granny and stepmother. I learned how to deal with people by watching them. And it was still serving me today. There wasn’t a room I couldn’t walk into without making friends or making money.
My dad finally pocketed his phone and smiled coolly at us. “Somebody say hectic schedule?”
Yvette’s face clouded. My dad’s voice was jovial, but I knew his relentless schedule was a sore spot. It was the reason their marriage ended. As the years went on, he worked more and more. And now he was over sixty, still filling his days with work like he was in his forties. Yvette had tried to compromise, traveling with him as much as she could because the time he was in town he spent at his office. It made sense that she’d gotten tired. It was one of the reasons I put so much effort into designing my home and loved being there, surrounded by people I adored.
Whether he knew it or not, my father had given me a blueprint on what not to do on the home front.
I felt bad for Yvette though. She clearly still loved him. And I knew he loved her in his own way. Just not more than the notoriety and bread that came with his career.
“Harlow, it’s good to see you sitting still in one place.”
Harlow’s lips lifted, her smile subtle. “I missed home.”
My dad’s eyes bounced from me to her.
“Does that mean you’ll be getting a real job?”
Harlow put her knife at the edge of her plate and squared her shoulders. “I’m not sure what you mean. I work.”
My dad threw his head back and chuckled softly. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean. Not that online stuff.”
“That online stuff pays her bills, Brock. Leave her alone.” Yvette’s brow dipped as she looked at her ex-husband.
Eyes on her mom, Harlow’s face softened. “Things have slowed down because I’m taking a break, but I have a good nest egg. You taught me that,” she said, quiet and timid.
I hated that my dad was making her feel like she had to defend her choices. And I hated that even when she was defending herself, she found a way to give him credit for something.
“Harlow knows she doesn’t have to work.” I pulled her legs closer to me, and she let me, unfolding them so my hand could glide higher up her thigh. “I got her forever.”
My dad’s stare turned scrutinizing. Running a hand over his low-cut grey hair, he knocked back his whiskey and said, “So what you gonna do, son? Fund her lifestyle until she gets married?”
Harlow snapped her mouth shut as soon as it fell open. I had my hand settled between her legs, my fingers covering her sex while we stared at our parents with straight faces.
“If I have to,” I rejoined, sounding nonchalant when I knew damn well Harlow wasn’t marrying anybody else. “I got her regardless though.”
Harlow was the only person who used the card I gave her when she wanted money. The PIN was her birthday, and the card hadno limit. I got it when we turned twenty-five and my art had finally started making money. My success didn’t mean shit if she wasn’t taken care of too.
She would always get whatever she wanted.
I fingered the seam of her pussy lips through her panties, coughing through a laugh when she grabbed her glass of ice water and gulped.
She was soaked. The heat coming off her pussy made me want to push those thin ass panties to the side and slide my finger inside and not pull out.
Not even a minute later, I was giving in. I lifted Harlow’s leg over mine, so her calf was resting on my knee, granting me the access I craved.
“I guess I raised you right.” A gregarious laugh broke the tension at the table before it could reach the point of discomfort.
Yvette visibly relaxed. Harlow probably would have too. If my fingers hadn’t just pushed past her panties to finger the best pussy I ever had.
I knew it was taking everything for her to hold her body facing them, but she was doing such a good job. And I was going to make her come twice as hard for that.
She kept her gaze on her plate or our parents, never looking at me, but rocking her hips enough to send friction right where she wanted it.
Only I could hear her shaky inhales and the more she made, the harder I got.
The table was big enough to hide most of what we were doing, but if a waiter walked up on me right now…
