you see your father’s friend for the first time after he spent ten years in prison, and you can’t help but feel attracted to him
smut, age-gap, cheating, unprotected sex, slow burn (this is long 12,4k)
The last time you had seen him, you were barely nine years old. You still remembered the cold wooden floor under your bare feet as you descended the stairs that night. The red and blue lights from the patrol cars swirled against the living room walls, tinting everything with a sickly hue. Loud voices, crackling radios, and the metallic sound of handcuffs closing.
He was on his knees in the middle of the room, hands behind his back. The black t-shirt clung to his body with sweat, marking the tense muscles of his arms and shoulders. His dark brown hair was disheveled and that strong jaw remained firm, not pleading.
When he lifted his gaze and saw you standing on the stairs, something changed in his green eyes.
For a second, the man who had always carried you on his shoulders and taught you to shoot with a bow in the backyard disappeared. Only that dark, heavy gaze remained, almost guilty.
"Stay upstairs," he told you with a hoarse, low voice, as if he could still protect you from all of this.
Your father stood beside him, his face drawn, saying nothing as the officers lifted him up. He didn't resist. He only looked at you one last time before they led him out the door, his head slightly inclined, but his back straight.
Ten years had passed since that night.
Your father's car drove along the secondary road that led to the state prison. The sky was gray, heavy with low clouds, and the silence inside the vehicle was uncomfortable. You sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, looking out the window without really paying attention to the landscape. You were not happy to be there.
"Why do I have to come with you?" you finally asked, breaking the silence. "You could have come alone."
Your father sighed long, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Because he was important to this family for many years. And because I'm asking you, just this once."
You crossed your legs and rested your head against the glass. You had accepted reluctantly. You knew your father felt indebted to him, but that didn't mean you had to be part of this reunion.
After a while, curiosity got the better of your irritation.
"And why isn't his wife coming to pick him up? That's what wives are supposed to do, right?"
Your father took a few seconds to answer.
"They're going through a rough patch. He preferred she wouldn't come."
You frowned. You didn't even know he had gotten married. The idea seemed strange to you: how was it possible to get married while in prison? Apparently it was, because he had done it. With a woman you and your father knew practically nothing about. Only that her name was something like Lisa or Laura... you weren't sure. A stranger who had entered his life while he served his sentence.
It took about ten more minutes to reach the exit area. The access road to the prison was long and flanked by barbed wire and guard towers. Your father drove in silence, hands gripping the wheel, and just a few meters before coming to a complete stop, you saw him.
He was standing outside, next to the curb, with a dark canvas bag at his feet.
He had changed a lot. He was no longer the man you remembered. His figure had broadened, his shoulders wider and his arms stronger, as if the years in prison had hardened him rather than broken him. He wore a worn beige jacket over a denim shirt, his brown hair a bit longer and disheveled, and a thick, well-groomed beard that covered his strong jaw. His green eyes were still intense.
A strange sensation ran through your body at seeing him: a mix of nerves, curiosity, and something you didn't want to identify. Your heart beat faster and you felt uncomfortable warmth rise up your neck.
Your father stopped the car. Barely turning off the engine, he got out quickly and walked toward him. The two men met halfway and embraced with force, patting each other's backs.
"I missed you, brother," your father said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "It's been too many years."
He returned the embrace with the same intensity, though his expression remained more contained. When they separated, he took a step back and looked toward the car. His eyes landed directly on you.
"Is that her?" he asked with a half-smile, that deep, hoarse voice that seemed to have matured with time. "Damn... you've grown so much."
Your father let out a low laugh and waved you over with his hand.
"Come on, come here."
You hesitated for a second, but finally got out of the car. You closed the door and walked toward them with slow steps. When you were close enough, he looked you up and down with that disarming intensity. You leaned forward slightly and kissed him on the cheek.
In that instant, you felt the brush of his thick beard against your skin. It was rougher than you imagined, but warm at the same time. A shiver ran down your spine and, for a moment, you liked it more than you were willing to admit. He smelled of soap, fresh air, and something masculine that felt unsettlingly familiar.
He went still for a second, as if he had felt something too from that brief contact, and then gave you a small, almost private smile.
Your father patted his friend's shoulder and nodded toward the car with his head.
"Come on, get in the car. No point in staying here any longer."
You moved first and got into the back seat without saying anything, leaving the front seat for him. It was the most logical thing to do, but you still felt a slight tension as you settled in. He took his bag, left it in the trunk, and sat up front. The aroma of his jacket and his skin filled the interior of the car subtly but inevitably.
When your father started the engine and began driving away from the prison, he broke the silence:
"We have a room ready for you at home. She helped me get it ready these past few days," he said, looking at you in the rearview mirror with a grateful smile.
He turned his head slightly back, observing you for a moment.
"Thank you," he murmured with that deep voice. "It wasn't necessary, but I appreciate it."
Your father nodded, visibly happy to have him back.
"We have a lot to talk about, friend..."
You couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging at you.
"And why don't you go with your wife?" you asked, looking at his neck. "I also wanted to know... where does she live?"
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Your father gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"That's enough," he cut you off with a firm tone. "You shouldn't ask those questions."
He, however, raised a hand in a calm gesture.
"It's fine," he said calmly, turning slightly to look at you over his shoulder. His green eyes met yours through the rearview mirror. "I'm not going with her because we're going through a rough patch. And she lives in Texas."
You nodded, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.
"I'm sorry," you murmured. "I didn't mean to be nosy."
You settled better in the back seat and stayed quiet for the rest of the trip, looking out the window as the fields sped by. However, you couldn't help but be aware of his presence. Every time he spoke with your father, his hoarse voice reached you and, from time to time, you felt his gaze shift toward the mirror to watch you.
They arrived at the house as the sun began to set. Your father parked at the entrance and everyone got out. He took his canvas bag from the trunk and slung it over his shoulder with ease, as if it weighed nothing.
"Come on, I'll show you your room," you said, trying to sound natural.
You guided him down the first-floor hallway to the guest room that you had helped prepare. You opened the door and stepped aside to let him pass. The room was clean, with fresh sheets, folded towels on the dresser, and a window overlooking the back patio.
"Thank you," he said in a low voice, setting the bag on a chair. His green eyes scanned the space before resting on you. "I really appreciate this."
"It's nothing," you responded, shrugging your shoulders. "Make yourself comfortable. If you need anything, let me know."
You left the room somewhat nervously, your pulse a bit quickened. You closed the door behind you and headed straight to the kitchen. You opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of water, and poured yourself a glass. You drank a long sip, trying to calm that strange unease you'd felt since seeing him outside the prison.
Less than two minutes had passed when you heard footsteps. Both he and your father appeared in the kitchen entrance.
"Your boyfriend's at the door," your father announced with a half-smile, gesturing toward the front entrance.
You let out a sigh of annoyance and set the glass on the counter with more force than necessary.
"He's not my boyfriend," you protested, irritated. "I've told you that several times."
Without waiting for a response, you left the kitchen and headed toward the front door, feeling the gaze of both men on your back. Especially his.
That night you came home quite late. You had spent the rest of the day with your "boyfriend," trying to distract yourself and get away from the strange tension that had settled in the house since his arrival. Your father didn't scold you for the hour; you were always late coming home.
You walked down the hallway in silence, shoes in hand so you wouldn't make noise. Your room was at the end, just after the one he now occupied. As you passed his door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. A warm light came from inside, along with the clear sound of his deep voice.
You couldn't help but stop.
He was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless. The lamp light highlighted every line of his torso: the broad shoulders, the chest and abdomen muscles marked by years of hard exercise, even in prison. A thin layer of hair ran down from his chest and disappeared below the waistband of his pants. He was speaking on the phone in a low but clearly angry tone.
"...don't start with that again. You know perfectly well why I'm here," he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "No, I'm not going to discuss this now."
He turned and dropped into the chair next to the window. As he sat, his pants tightened against his strong thighs, and for a second your gaze dropped without you being able to help it. Everything was clearly visible on him. He was large. The word appeared in your mind before you could stop it, accompanied by sudden warmth that rose through your stomach.
You shook your head quickly, trying to erase that thought. What the hell is wrong with you? you reproached yourself silently. He was your father's best friend. He had just gotten out of prison. He was married.
You took a careful step back, your heart beating hard. Before he could turn around and see you, you moved away down the hallway and entered your room, closing the door softly behind you. You leaned against the wood, breathing heavily.
You went to sleep with your head in a mess, but sleep took a long time to come. You tossed and turned in bed for hours, with the image of his bare torso and that deep voice arguing on the phone repeating in your mind. When you finally fell asleep, it was restless sleep.
The next morning you woke up in a bad mood. You had dark circles under your eyes and a slight headache. All you wanted was a strong coffee. You walked barefoot to the kitchen, still in your pajamas, expecting to find the coffee pot full like every morning, but the pot was empty.
That finished making you furious.
You entered the living room with a frown.
"Why is there no coffee?" you asked grumpily.
Your father, who was sitting on the couch reviewing some papers, looked up.
"Sorry, honey. He finished it," he said, nodding his head toward the other side of the room.
There he was, sitting in one of the armchairs with a cup in his hand, already dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. He looked at you calmly, but you gave him a sharp look in return and went back to the kitchen furious, opening and closing doors with more force than necessary.
Not even ten seconds passed when you heard his footsteps behind you.
"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, coming into the kitchen. "I didn't know it was your coffee. Let me make another one, no problem."
"I don't want anything," you responded without looking at him, opening the refrigerator just to do something. "I just want you to leave."
He stayed silent for a moment. Then he spoke with a lower but firm voice.
"You're being very rude. I was just trying to help you."
"I don't need your help," you replied, closing the refrigerator with a bang.
He sighed and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement made the t-shirt tense across his shoulders.
"You weren't like this when you were little," he commented, looking at you with a mix of surprise and something like disappointment. "You were a sweet girl who was always smiling."
You turned to him with fire in your eyes.
"A lot of years have passed," you answered curtly. "I've changed. And so have you."
Without waiting for a response, you left the kitchen angrily, brushing his arm as you passed. The brief contact sent a shiver through you that you preferred to ignore as you headed back to your room.
You sat on the edge of your bed with a heavy sigh and picked up your phone, scrolling through messages without much interest. You were still angry, but the anger was beginning to mix with a feeling of guilt. About ten minutes had passed when you heard two soft knocks on the door.
"Come in," you said.
The door opened and there he was, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He had changed t-shirts and his presence filled the doorway. He entered carefully, as if he didn't want to invade your space.
"I brought this," he said, extending the cup. "And I wanted to apologize again for drinking your coffee. I didn't know you were so territorial about it."
You accepted the cup with a small embarrassed smile. The aroma was perfect.
"Thank you..." you murmured before taking the first sip. The coffee was exactly how you liked it. "I'm sorry for how I treated you earlier. I slept terribly last night and waking up without coffee was awful. I got in a really bad mood."
He nodded, accepting your apologies. Then, without asking permission, he sat down next to you on the bed. The mattress sank noticeably under his weight, tilting you slightly toward him. Being this close made you very aware of his size, his body heat, and the slight smell of soap and clean skin that he gave off.
You looked at him sideways.
"Can I ask you something?" you said.
He raised an eyebrow and gave a half-smile.
"You're already asking," he replied with a teasing tone.
You laughed softly, feeling some of the tension ease.
"Another question," you clarified. "Why did you go to prison?"
He was silent for a few seconds, looking at the cup in your hands. Finally, he spoke in a calm voice.
"I was involved in illegal business. Mainly weapon trafficking and stolen goods. They caught me in a big operation. It wasn't something planned to hurt innocent people, but it was still serious."
You frowned.
"I thought it had been something much worse... given how many years you served."
He let out a low, dry laugh.
"They gave me more years than I deserved because during the trial, I lost control and beat up the judge. It wasn't my best moment."
You looked at him surprised, your eyes wide.
"Really?"
"Yes," he confirmed, looking directly into your eyes. "Really."
The silence stretched between you for a moment. Then he stood up.
"I have to go, your father is waiting for me to talk about some things."
As he stood, he placed his large, strong hand on your thigh to push himself up. The contact lasted just a few seconds, but it was enough. You felt the weight, the heat, and the firmness of his palm through the thin pajama fabric. A shiver ran across your skin and all the hair on your arm stood on end. It was a big hand, calloused, powerful.
He withdrew his hand and left through the door, closing it softly behind him, leaving you alone in the room with your heart beating hard and the coffee still warm in your hands.
The rest of the week passed in a strange but growing routine of cohabitation. Little by little you learned to share the same space without the atmosphere becoming too tense. You arrived home late almost every night, after spending time with your friend or simply trying to distract yourself.
Every time you came into the house, he was usually awake. Sometimes he was sitting in the living room watching television with the volume low, and he would greet you with a simple "you're home" or a slight nod of his head. Other nights, you would pass his half-open door and hear him arguing in a low voice with his wife. His tone was always grave and tired, and you forced yourself to keep walking toward your room without stopping.
During the day, he helped your father with everything he needed: fixing things in the garage, moving furniture, mowing the lawn, or simply accompanying him on errands. You tried to keep your distance, but you couldn't help noticing how, from time to time, his gaze landed on you with more intensity than necessary.
When you cooked, when you read on the couch, or simply passed through the hallway. And you... also looked at him. More than you wanted to admit.
By the end of the second week, the tension between you had become more palpable, though neither of you said anything.
That afternoon you were in the kitchen preparing dinner while you waited for your father to come home from work. You were cutting vegetables with precise movements when you felt his presence. He came in and leaned against the counter, observing you with his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a gray t-shirt that fit his shoulders and arms, and he looked at you with that calm half-smile that was starting to seem dangerous to you.
"Are you just going to stand there watching?" you asked without looking up from the knife.
He let out a low, hoarse laugh.
"I can't help much, I don't know how to cook."
You rolled your eyes but smiled a little.
"Help me anyway. Hand me that pan behind you and the oil from the top shelf."
He obeyed, stepping closer than necessary to hand you the things. As he handed you the pan, his fingers brushed yours for a second.
"Of course, princess," he said softly, using the old nickname he used to call you when you were a child.
You went still for a moment and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow.
"Does it bother you that I call you that?"
"No," you answered, turning back to the pan. "I like it."
The atmosphere became warmer. He handed you the ingredients you asked for, moving around the kitchen with that imposing presence that filled the entire space. From time to time you felt his gaze on your neck, on your hips, or on the movement of your hands as you cooked.
At one point, his phone rang. He looked at the screen, frowned, and moved a few steps toward the living room to answer. He returned several minutes later with a tense jaw.
You didn't want to ask, but the words came out on their own.
"Who was it?"
"My wife," he answered curtly, putting his phone in his pocket.
"Oh," was all you said, and you continued stirring the food in the pan.
He approached slowly from behind, stopping at a distance that was too short. You could feel the heat of his body.
"She wants to come visit me this weekend," he commented in a low voice.
"That's not my problem," you responded in a neutral tone, though you felt a knot in your stomach. "Tell my father. This is his house, not mine."
He didn't move. Instead, he took another step closer. The smell of his skin and the slight brush of his arm against yours made your breathing accelerate. You moved to the side, pretending you needed something from the other end of the counter.
Just then, the front door opened.
"I'm home!" your father announced from the entrance.
The two of you separated immediately. You continued focused on the kitchen as if nothing had happened, while he turned toward the living room to greet your father.
Neither of you said another word about the subject.
The three of you sat down to dinner at the dining table. The conversation flowed relatively normally: your father asked how his day had been, and he answered calmly, commenting on the things they had fixed together. Toward the end of dinner, he mentioned casually.
"My wife wants to come visit me this weekend. If there's no problem, of course."
Your father nodded without hesitation.
"No problem at all, brother. This is also your home. She can stay as long as she needs."
You remained silent, poking at your food with your fork. You didn't say anything, but you felt an uncomfortable pang in your chest that you preferred to ignore.
After dinner, you began to gather the plates and utensils and he got up too.
"Can I help?" he asked.
"You don't need to," you responded without looking at him. "You can go to sleep if you want. I'll take care of it."
He observed you for a moment, but finally nodded and withdrew down the hallway. Your father went to his room shortly after, leaving the house in complete silence.
You stayed alone in the kitchen, tidying everything with methodical movements. You washed the dishes, cleaned the counters, and put away what you could. However, when you tried to place a heavy glass container on the highest shelf of the cupboard, you realized you couldn't reach it. Even standing on a chair, you couldn't reach it well, and besides, it had to go in a specific position to fit with the other things.
You sighed, annoyed. You didn't want to leave it sitting on the counter. After hesitating for a few seconds, you walked down the hallway and knocked softly on his door.
He opened almost immediately. He was shirtless, his wide, marked torso completely exposed under the dim light of the room. The muscles of his chest and abdomen tensed slightly when he saw you, and that line of dark hair running down toward the waistband of his sweatpants distracted you more than you would have liked.
You swallowed and tried to maintain a neutral expression.
"Can you help me for a second?" you asked, gesturing toward the kitchen. "There's something I can't put away up high."
"Of course," he answered without hesitation.
He followed you down the hallway. Once in the kitchen, you grabbed the heavy container with both hands.
"Put it there," you instructed him, pointing to the upper shelf. "It has to be pushed toward the back so it closes properly."
He approached from behind. When he stretched his arms to take the container, his body pressed against yours. His broad chest brushed against your back, and you could clearly feel the heat of his bare skin through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. His height and build made you feel completely surrounded.
For a moment, your traitorous mind imagined what it would be like to lean back, arch against him, and let him touch you right there, just for him. To feel those large, strong hands holding you. The idea hit you with force and heat.
No. This is wrong, you mentally scolded yourself. He's older. He's married. He's dad's best friend. There's nothing good in this.
As soon as he finished adjusting the container, he lowered his arms, but didn't move away immediately. His body remained pressed against yours for a few more seconds, firm and warm. Then he took a step back.
"Done," he murmured, his voice rougher than usual.
"Thanks," you said, not meeting his eyes.
He gave you a long last look before heading toward the hallway.
"Good night, princess," he said in a low voice.
"Good night," you responded, almost in a whisper.
When you heard his door close, you released the breath you didn't know you were holding and leaned against the counter, your heart racing and uncomfortable heat coursing through your entire body.
That night you had planned to go to bed early. You were tired after a long day and the heat wasn't helping, but your phone vibrated on your bed.
It was Tony, asking you to go out for a bit. You hesitated for only a few seconds before responding that you would.
You changed quickly in your room, opting for something cooler: a thin sleeveless t-shirt and a short cotton skirt that felt light against your skin. It was too hot that night. You fixed your hair a bit, grabbed your keys and phone, and left down the hallway, trying not to make noise. You wanted to avoid your father knowing you were going out so late, but as you passed the door of your father's best friend, it suddenly opened.
He was there, shirtless again, only with sweatpants low on his hips. He looked you up and down with a frown.
"Where are you going?" he asked in a low but firm voice.
You quickly put a finger to your lips, silencing him.
"To see Tony," you whispered. "I don't want my dad to know, it's already late."
He crossed his arms over his chest, marking his muscles even more.
"What you're doing is wrong. Going out at this hour without your father knowing..."
"You're not the one to tell me what's right or wrong," you answered curtly, meeting his eyes. "You're the last person to give lessons."
At that precise moment, the sound of your father's bedroom door opening at the end of the hallway was heard.
Without giving you time to react, he grabbed your arm and dragged you inside his room with a quick but controlled movement. He closed the door carefully, almost without sound. Suddenly you found yourself pressed against his body. Your back was against his bare chest, and one of his large hands firmly positioned itself on your stomach, pulling you against him to keep you from moving. You could feel the heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles, and the strong beat of his heart against your back.
You stayed completely still, nervous, with your pulse racing. The smell of his skin surrounded you and you felt every inch of his body pressed against yours.
Neither of you moved.
You heard your father walk down the hallway, open the bathroom door, and after some eternal minutes, return to his room and close the door. Only then did he loosen his hand on your stomach and slowly open his door.
He took a step back, creating distance between you.
"Sorry," he murmured, looking at you with intensity. "I didn't want him to see you."
You said nothing. You had rapid breathing and flushed cheeks. You just looked at him for a second longer before leaving his room without a word and walking quickly toward the front door.
You felt his gaze fixed on your back until you left the house.
You left the house without looking back and got into Tony's car. The night didn't go well. Things between you had been tense for weeks, and that outing ended in a strong argument. You got home around 4 in the morning, with eyes swollen from crying. You tried to come in as quietly as possible, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.
But as soon as you closed the front door, you saw him.
He was sitting on the living room couch in the dim light, with his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up as soon as he heard the door and stood immediately, his expression changing when he saw you.
You tried to hurry past toward your room, but he was faster. He caught you gently by the arm before you could escape.
"Wait..." he said in a low voice. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," you murmured, trying to free yourself and without meeting his eyes. "Let me go."
He didn't let you go. Instead, he turned you toward him carefully, and seeing your red eyes and tears still fresh on your cheeks, his expression hardened.
"Tell me what happened," he insisted, more gently this time.
As you didn't respond, he raised a hand and gently took your face, forcing you to look at him. His palm was large and warm against your cheek. His green eyes observed you with an intensity that disarmed you.
"Talk to me," he asked in a low voice.
You ended up telling him everything between contained sobs: the argument, how Tony had made you feel, how frustrated you were. He listened without interrupting, with a frown and tense jaw.
"You're not going to see him again," he said when you finished, with a firm and protective voice. "He doesn't deserve you. You deserve something much better than that."
You stayed silent for a moment, processing his words. Then, with a trembling voice, you asked.
"Can I hug you?"
He nodded without hesitation.
You moved closer and hugged him tightly, burying your face in his bare chest. His arms wrapped around you immediately, completely enveloping you. One of his large hands slowly caressed your back, while the other rested on the back of your neck. You felt small and protected against his warm, strong body. He smelled like him, something deeply masculine. You stayed like that for several seconds, letting him comfort you.
"Why are you awake?" you asked without separating.
"I couldn't sleep until I made sure you got home safely," he answered with a hoarse voice, still holding you.
You slowly separated from him, though part of you didn't want to. You stood on your tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, very close to the corner of his lips.
"Thank you," you whispered. "I'm going to sleep. Good night."
"Good night," he responded, looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher.
You walked toward your room feeling his gaze fixed on your back. You closed the door and leaned against it, your heart beating hard and a mix of emotions you didn't know how to handle.
You spent two days avoiding him as much as possible. You barely exchanged words with him, left early and came home late, or locked yourself in your room with some excuse. He seemed to notice, but didn't pressure you. He just watched you from afar with that intense gaze that made you nervous.
The weekend arrived and you woke up around 10 in the morning in a very bad mood. You didn't know exactly why, but you felt strange, irritable, and with a heavy sensation in your chest. You got up, put on an oversized t-shirt and some shorts, and headed to the kitchen. Your father was alone, drinking mate at the table.
"Where is he?" you asked while making your coffee.
"He went to pick up his wife at the airport," your father answered naturally. "They should be arriving soon."
You felt an uncomfortable pang in your stomach. Jealousy? Maybe. You didn't want to analyze it too much. You just nodded in silence and continued making your coffee, trying to make sure your expression didn't give anything away.
Around 11:30 you heard the sound of a car parking in front of the house. Your heart jumped. You didn't want to go out to greet them, so you quietly approached the living room window and peeked through the curtains.
He got out of the car first. He looked imposing as always, with dark jeans and a black rolled-up shirt. He walked around the vehicle and opened the passenger door.
Then you saw her.
His wife was an attractive woman in her early thirties. She had long, dark, wavy hair and a voluptuous body: pronounced curves, wide hips, and generous breasts. She dressed casually but elegantly, with fitted pants and a blouse that marked her forms. She was beautiful, with a confident smile and a presence that filled the space.
She looked nothing like you.
That bothered you more than you were willing to admit. You felt a knot in your throat and an unpleasant heat in your chest. You moved away from the window before they could see you, with your heart beating hard and a discomfort you couldn't explain.
You heard the voices outside: your father coming out to greet them, the introductions, the polite laughs. You stayed in the kitchen, pretending to wash your coffee cup, though really you were just trying to calm yourself.
After a few minutes, you managed to calm down enough. You took a deep breath, fixed your hair a bit, and went out to the front of the house with a forced smile.
"Hi," you said as you approached.
He looked at you immediately. His expression was unreadable, but you clearly felt his eyes landing on you.
The woman turned toward you with a friendly smile and extended her hand.
"Hi, I'm Laura," she introduced herself with a warm, confident voice.
"Nice to meet you," you responded, shaking her hand. You tried to smile as best you could, though you felt like it wasn't quite natural.
You moved instinctively closer to your father, almost seeking protection, while you felt his gaze fixed on you. Laura started talking animatedly with your father about the trip and how grateful she was to be received. You barely heard her. Your attention was on something else: his large hand resting possessively on Laura's waist, not letting go at any moment. His fingers looked firm against the fabric of her blouse.
That image stirred something inside you. When everyone came into the house, Laura looked around with interest and smiled.
"If you don't mind, I can cook something," she offered enthusiastically. "I'm pretty good in the kitchen and I want to make a good impression."
Your father accepted immediately, clearly pleased.
"Of course! That would be great."
You didn't open your mouth. You knew that if you spoke at that moment, you would probably say something sharp or out of place. It bothered you deeply that someone else would invade "your" kitchen, the space that felt like your own. You'd never been good at hiding that kind of emotion: your expression became more serious and your body visibly tensed.
Laura seemed to notice, but said nothing. She continued talking with your father as they headed to the kitchen. He, on the other hand, stayed a few seconds longer and looked at you intensely, as if measuring your reaction.
You avoided his gaze and followed them in silence, with an uncomfortable knot in your stomach and a mix of jealousy and anger that you didn't want to feel.
You stayed in the kitchen watching her.
Laura moved around with confidence, as if she already knew the place. She cut vegetables, seasoned the meat, and talked animatedly with him, touching his arm or back from time to time. She acted as if he hadn't spent more than ten years in prison, as if she hadn't practically abandoned him as soon as he got out. Every laugh, every touch, irritated you more.
You couldn't take it anymore.
"I won't be able to have lunch," you announced suddenly, interrupting the conversation. "I have things to do."
Your father frowned, visibly annoyed.
"That's very disrespectful, honey. We have a visitor."
"I'm not hungry," you answered curtly. "I'm going to see Tony. I'll be back later."
You took the keys from the table and left through the front door without waiting for a response, ignoring the heavy gaze fixed on your back.
You came home near midnight. You had spent all day with Tony, though being with him felt increasingly like torture. The conversations were forced and his goodbye kiss in front of the house tasted empty. Still, you reciprocated, letting him kiss you with more intensity than you really wanted.
What you didn't know was that from the living room window, he was watching you.
You came into the house trying not to make noise. Everything was silent and dark. For a second you hoped to find him awake, like the other nights, but there was no one there. That disappointment fell on your chest like a weight. You went straight to your room, changed clothes, and got into bed with your phone.
An hour later, when you were already half asleep, you heard it.
At first you thought it was your imagination. Muffled moans, the rhythmic sound of the bed against the wall. But no, they were real and they came from his room. That made your blood run cold.
You got out of bed with your heart racing and opened your room door. You walked barefoot down the hallway, attracted to the sound as if you couldn't help it. His door was barely ajar, letting out a hazy beam of dim light.
You approached and looked.
He was on top of Laura. Completely naked, his back and arm muscles tense as he moved forcefully against her. His thrusts were deep and forceful. Laura moaned without shame, with her nails dug into his back and her legs wrapped around his waist, clearly enjoying every movement.
His large hand gripped one of her hips with possession.
It churned your stomach. A knot of nausea, jealousy, and something much darker tightened your chest. At that moment, he turned his head toward the door.
His green eyes met yours directly, and for one eternal second, neither of you reacted. His gaze was dark, intense, almost animal, as he continued moving inside Laura. You stayed paralyzed, mouth dry and pulse pounding in your ears.
Finally, you managed to react. You stepped away from the door and walked quickly down the hallway back to your room, with burning cheeks and a whirlwind of emotions you couldn't control.
That night you barely slept at all. Every time you closed your eyes, the images came back: his muscular back moving forcefully, his large hands gripping Laura's hips, her moans.
You remembered too clearly how big he looked, how deep and powerful every thrust was. And the worst part was that part of you couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to be in Laura's place... to be the woman underneath him.
You were so embarrassed.
The next day you didn't leave your room all morning. The mere idea of seeing him made you feel a knot of anxiety and humiliation in your stomach. You couldn't look him in the face knowing what you had seen, knowing what you had wanted.
Around midday, your father knocked softly on your door.
"Are you okay?" he asked from outside.
"I don't feel well," you answered with a dull voice. "I think I'm going to stay in my room today. I have a really bad headache and body aches."
Your father sighed, but eventually accepted.
"That's fine, rest. If you need anything, let me know."
You were alone again, curled up in bed. The shame wouldn't go away, and with it came a much more painful feeling: the certainty that you weren't enough.
Laura was a woman his age, mature, with a voluptuous body, pronounced curves, and generous breasts, and a confidence you still didn't have. You were very young compared to him. You had a good body, slender, firm, attractive, but it was nothing like hers. You didn't have those wide hips, or that generous bust, or that presence that seemed to fill a room. What could you possibly offer him that could really call his attention? He was an experienced man with a wife who, despite their problems, shared his world.
You were just the daughter of his best friend.
Too young. Too... insufficient. That idea ate away at you inside as you covered your face with the pillow, wishing all those thoughts would disappear from your body before you had to face him again.
You spent the afternoon locked in your room, but around five in the afternoon your father knocked on the door.
"We're going to the beach. Laura wants to cool off a bit. Do you want to come?"
You jumped out of bed.
"Yes, I feel better," you said quickly. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."
You hurried to get everything: a towel, sunscreen, sunglasses, and your best bikini. You chose a black one, high-waisted with a pronounced neckline that made you feel confident in your body. You changed quickly, put on a light dress over it, and went out with your things, acting as if nothing had happened.
You got into the back seat of the car next to Laura. During the entire drive, you barely spoke. You answered with one-word responses when they asked you something and kept your gaze fixed on the window.
When you arrived at the beach, you all got out and settled in a good spot near the water. Laura was the first to want to go into the water.
"I'm going to cool off," she said with a smile, taking off her summer dress and revealing a red bikini that highlighted her voluptuous curves. She headed toward the water, swaying as she walked.
You desperately hoped he wouldn't follow her immediately. And he didn't. He stayed sitting on the towel, with his legs stretched out and his gaze fixed on the horizon.
That put you in a better mood.
You slowly took off your dress and left it to the side. You stretched out on the towel face down. You could feel his eyes scanning you, even though he said nothing.
Your father got up a little later.
"I'm going to buy something to drink. Do you want anything?"
Both of you shook your heads, and your father walked away across the sand. You stayed alone, and after a few minutes of silence, you decided to break it.
"Can you put sunscreen on my back?" you asked in a casual tone, handing him the bottle.
He looked at you for a moment, tensing his jaw.
"That's not a good idea," he answered in a low voice. "It can be misinterpreted."
You felt offended, turned your face to the other side, and rested your cheek on your arms.
"Never mind then," you murmured.
Not even two minutes passed when you felt his presence closer. You heard the bottle opening and, shortly after, his large, warm hands rested on your back.
You smiled to yourself, hidden against your arms.
His hands were firm but careful. He started with your shoulders, spreading the sunscreen with slow, circular motions. He moved down your spine, pressing lightly with his thumbs. He reached your waist, and then his fingers brushed the edges of your bikini, going a bit further than necessary.
"You're very tense," he commented in a hoarse voice, almost a murmur. "Are you sure you're feeling better?"
"Now I am," you responded softly, without turning around. "Thanks."
His hands continued, spreading the sunscreen with slower and more deliberate movements. The warmth of his palms and the pressure of his fingers caused you pleasurable shivers.
"Is that okay?" he asked, his voice deeper than usual.
"Mm... yes," you whispered. "You can go lower if you want."
He hesitated for a second, but his hands continued, extending the sunscreen with movements that were slower and more deliberate. The atmosphere between you became dense, charged with something neither of you named.
He removed his hands from your back just as he saw your father returning in the distance with drinks in his hand. He moved away a bit and sat on his towel as if nothing had happened. You remained there, face down, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin and the pleasant tingle you still felt where he had touched you.
A little later, Laura returned from the water, shaking out her wet hair and smiling. She sat down near your father and started talking enthusiastically.
"This is delicious. Now that I'm here, my husband can come back with me to Texas whenever he wants. It's time we got our lives back together."
Your father nodded, though his expression became nostalgic.
"It's a shame. He's just back and already leaving. I'll see him very little."
Laura smiled with understanding.
"They can visit us whenever they want, or he can come back to visit. Our house is big and there's always room."
Those words hit you like a bucket of cold water. The idea that he would leave, that he would go back to Texas with her, caused a deep discomfort in your chest. You didn't want him to leave, you didn't want him to abandon you, but you couldn't say anything. You just tightened your jaw and kept your gaze fixed on the sand.
He noticed the change in your expression. He watched you in silence for a few seconds before speaking with a calm but firm voice.
"I'd really like to stay a bit longer," he said, looking at your father. "I've missed so many years away from you, brother. If you don't mind, I'd like to stay a few more weeks."
Your father's face lit up.
"Of course it doesn't bother me! In fact, I love the idea. Stay as long as you need."
Laura seemed a bit surprised, but maintained her smile.
"As you wish, honey," she said, though her tone had a slight undertone of discomfort.
You, on the other hand, felt an immense relief that you tried to hide. You lowered your head and smiled slightly against your arm, without anyone seeing you.
The rest of the afternoon turned out to be more fun than you expected. After a while taking in the sun, everyone got into the water. The waves were perfect, and between laughs, splashing, and light conversations, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Laura seemed to be in good spirits, your father was happy to have his friend nearby, and you managed to enjoy the moment despite everything.
At one point, while you were near the shore, a boy approached you. He was tall, with light-colored hair and blue eyes, probably a few years older than you. You started talking and didn't take long to laugh at his comments. He was fun and knew how to keep a light conversation. You felt flattered, and for a few minutes you forgot about everything else.
Suddenly, he appeared at your side.
"Your father is calling you," he said in a neutral tone, but with a look that didn't allow for discussion.
You looked toward where your father was and didn't see him particularly rushed, but the boy politely excused himself and you moved away with him.
You walked together across the sand, away from the water.
"I don't like that boy," he commented in a low voice, not looking at you.
"Why?" you asked, still with a small smile on your lips.
"He looks too old for you."
You shrugged.
"I don't mind age."
He stopped for a second and looked at you with intensity.
"You need to stay away from that type of boy."
You suddenly stopped on the sand, forcing him to stop too.
"Why?" you asked directly, looking him in the eyes.
He took a few seconds to respond. His jaw was tense.
"Keep walking," he said finally, with a deep voice.
You obeyed, but the question hung between you for the rest of the afternoon.
When it was time to leave, you gathered everything and headed to the parking lot. There you ran into some family friends who had also gone to the beach. After exchanging greetings warmly, the friends asked if you could give them a ride to a certain point because their car had broken down.
Your father accepted without problem.
"Of course, but we'll be a bit crowded."
Everyone managed to fit the bags and towels in the trunk. Your father organized the seats:
"You sit up front with him," he told you, since you were smaller, they would fit better. "Laura, do you mind sitting in the back with them?"
Laura shook her head, though her smile seemed a bit forced.
"Not at all."
Your father sat behind the wheel and Laura sat in the back with the two family friends. You stayed standing next to the passenger door, nervous.
He had already settled into the passenger seat. He looked at you and opened his legs a bit to give you space.
"There's no other option," he murmured just for you.
You took a deep breath and got in. You sat carefully on his lap, trying not to lean too much. But it was impossible. His body was large and solid, and you ended up completely settled on his thighs. His chest was pressed against your back, and one of his hands naturally positioned itself on your waist to stabilize you.
The trip became a slow, silent torture.
Every bump in the road made your body move against his inevitably. At first you tried to keep yourself as rigid as possible, but it was useless. With each jolt you clearly felt his strong thigh under you, the heat emanating from his body, and slowly, something more. It seemed to grow under your weight, pressing against you in increasingly obvious ways.
He tensed. His hand on your waist tightened slightly and his breathing became deeper near your neck. You knew it was making him uncomfortable. It wasn't the right time, place, or person. Laura was sitting right behind, talking with the family friends, and your father was driving concentrated on the road.
You didn't know how to feel either. A mix of shame, excitement, and nervousness ran through your entire body.
At one point, you took his right hand, the one on the side of the door, where no one could see, and simply squeezed it. You didn't say anything. You just interlaced your fingers with his and held them tightly, seeking an anchor as you felt every small movement of the car.
He didn't pull his hand away. On the contrary, he returned the squeeze, his large, warm palm wrapping around yours.
The rest of the journey was spent in silence, only the conversations from those in the back and the engine noise could be heard. You kept your gaze forward, with your cheeks burning and your heart beating hard.
When they finally arrived at the house, everyone started getting out of the car. You stayed a moment longer inside, pretending to arrange something in your bag to give the others time to get out first. You needed Laura and your father to move away a bit.
He didn't move immediately either. He waited until the others started taking things out of the trunk. Only then did he release your hand that he still held and speak in a very low voice, almost against your ear.
"You can get out now."
You got up carefully, clearly feeling his body react to the movement. You got out of the car without looking directly at him and helped unload the things, trying to act normally.
You helped carry some things inside the house, but as soon as you set the bags down in the living room, you murmured that you were tired and went straight to your room.
You closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, breathing heavily.
You'd had too many sleepless nights, too much tension built up. Your body was desperately asking for release. You felt both embarrassed and excited. You took off your still-damp bikini and lay in bed wearing only a thin t-shirt. With shame and excitement mixed together, you closed your eyes and let your hand slowly move down your body.
You thought of him. Of his large hands spreading sunscreen on your back, of how they felt against your skin, of his body pressed against yours in the car, of that growing hardness you had clearly felt under you. Of the image you had seen that night through the half-open door: him moving with force, powerful, dominant.
Your breathing became faster as you touched yourself, imagining that it was his hands that were exploring you, that it was his hoarse voice whispering in your ear. You felt guilty and ashamed, but that only increased the intensity. You came with his name muffled in your throat, biting the pillow to avoid making noise.
When you finished, you stayed for a few minutes staring at the ceiling, chest heaving and deep shame invading you. What am I doing? you thought. He's my father's best friend... he's married...
You got out of bed on shaky legs and went straight to shower. You let the hot water fall hard on your body. His presence seemed to have gotten under your skin, and it wouldn't wash away easily. Some time later you came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, with wet hair and your mind still in a mess.
You left the bathroom wrapped in a soft towel, wet hair dripping over your shoulders. You changed in your room with slow movements: you chose a loose cotton t-shirt that barely reached the middle of your thigh and simple black lace panties. You didn't put anything else on. The afternoon heat was still clinging to your skin, and the excitement of what you had done in bed was still pulsing between your legs.
You walked barefoot to the living room. The house was silent. You heard your father's shower running in the main bathroom and, from down the hallway, the distant sound of Laura moving in the guest room, probably changing clothes.
You dropped yourself onto the big couch, stretching your legs across the cushions. You rested your head back and closed your eyes for a moment, trying to calm the whirlwind that was still spinning inside you. The cool leather of the couch against the back of your thighs made you sigh.
Not even two minutes passed when you felt his presence.
He entered the living room without making a sound. He stopped for a second when he saw you, as if deciding whether to approach or not. Finally he sat down next to you, leaving barely a palm's width between your bodies. The couch sank under his weight, tilting you slightly toward him.
Neither of you spoke at first. The silence was dense, charged. You could hear his slow, deep breathing. You felt the heat coming from his bare leg so close to yours. Your heart started beating faster, but you stayed still, pretending you were just resting.
After a long while, he spoke. His deep, hoarse voice was barely a murmur, just for you.
"Sorry for what happened in the car. That shouldn't have happened."
You slowly turned your head toward him. His green eyes looked at you with a mix of guilt and something much darker. You were so close that you could see the slight shadow of stubble on his jaw and the pulse beating in his neck.
"Don't be sorry," you whispered, holding his gaze. "I liked it."
He closed his eyes for a second, exhaling sharply through his nose. His large hand rested on his own thigh, his fingers tense.
"You shouldn't say those things," he murmured, with an even lower voice. "You're my best friend's daughter. This... is wrong."
You bit your lower lip and turned a bit more toward him, letting your knee gently brush against his thigh.
"I would do it again," you said without hesitation, almost defiantly.
He turned his head to look at you. His gaze had darkened. For a moment he only observed you: your parted lips, your damp hair falling over your shoulders, the way your t-shirt slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone.
"You're perfect," he said finally, almost painfully. "And very foolish for wanting me."
A slow, soft smile appeared on your lips. You felt powerful and vulnerable at the same time. Without saying anything, you slid your hand across the couch until your fingers brushed the edge of his thigh. You moved upward slowly, feeling the hardness of the muscle under the thin fabric of his shorts. He tensed visibly, but didn't stop you immediately.
"I can be whatever you want," you whispered, moving your face a little closer to his. "Just tell me."
Your hand continued moving up until your fingers brushed the bulge that was starting to form under the fabric. He let out a very low growl, almost inaudible.
Suddenly, his large, strong hand caught yours, stopping it just above his groin. His fingers wrapped around yours with firmness, but without pushing you completely away.
"No," he said with a hoarse voice, almost pleading. "There are people in the house. Your father... Laura..."
"I don't care," you responded in a trembling but determined whisper. You moved your fingers under his hand, gently caressing the hard shape that was growing against your palm. "I want to feel you. Just a little. Please..."
He swallowed hard. His jaw was so tense you could see the muscle flexing. For one eternal second, only the breathing of both of you could be heard, each breath heavier than the last.
Finally he released your hand... but only to move his up to your face. His large, warm palm gently cupped your cheek. His thumb slowly brushed your lower lip, parting it slightly.
"You're so beautiful when you ask for something," he murmured, his voice so deep you felt it vibrate in your own chest. "Too beautiful."
You leaned slightly into his touch, kissing the base of his thumb softly. Your fingers, now free, resumed their movement over him with slowness, exploring the long, hot, hard length that was hardening more under the fabric. You stroked him from top to bottom with your fingertips, feeling how it pulsed and grew with each touch.
He didn't stop you this time.
His breathing became deeper, and his eyes closed to half-mast as he let you touch him. The hand on your cheek moved slowly down your neck, stopping at the curve where your pulse raced. His fingers spread across your skin, possessive but controlled.
The sound of your father's shower continued running in the background. Laura hummed something softly in the distant room. And in the living room, the air was so charged that it seemed like everything could break at any moment.
The tension in the living room was so thick you could almost touch it. Your fingers continued moving slowly over him, feeling his erection growing and pulsing under the thin fabric of his shorts. He had his eyes half-closed, his breathing heavy, and his large hand still held your face like he was afraid you would disappear.
Suddenly, you heard soft footsteps down the hallway.
Laura.
He reacted with speed. In one smooth movement, he grabbed one of the large cushions from the couch and placed it over his lap, covering himself. You pulled your hand away just in time and settled back into your place, pretending you were just checking your phone. Your heart was beating so hard you thought Laura would hear it.
She appeared in the living room entrance, already in pajamas: a soft camisole and short shorts that marked her curves. She looked at both of you with a tired smile.
"I'm exhausted," she said with a yawn. "I'm going to sleep. Are you coming, honey?"
He cleared his throat, keeping his voice calm.
"I'll be right there. I want to shower first, I'm full of sand."
Laura nodded, barely paying attention, and headed to the bedroom. When she disappeared down the hallway, he looked at you. His green eyes were burning.
You got up from the couch on shaky legs with a secret smile on your lips. You walked toward your room without looking back, feeling his gaze fixed on your back.
Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it. A low, happy laugh escaped your throat. You brought your hands to your hot cheeks. He had confirmed it. He wanted you. As much as you wanted him.
You smiled like a fool against the door, with your stomach full of butterflies and a dangerous warmth between your legs.
That night no one had dinner. Everyone was exhausted from the beach day. Your father went to bed early, Laura also. The house fell silent before ten.
You heard the shower turn on in the main bathroom. You thought he was actually going to shower... until, a few minutes later, your door opened carefully.
You jumped slightly in bed, scared. You were lying down with just a black lace underwear set, the light sheet covering you up to your waist. When you saw it was him, fear turned into a slow, bright smile.
He closed the door behind him with great care and turned the key. The sound of water still running in the shower was perfect cover.
He approached the bed without saying anything at first. You sat on the edge, watching him. He stopped in front of you, observing you from head to toe: your damp hair, your smooth skin, the black lace contrasting against your younger, more delicate body.
"You look like an angel," he murmured in a hoarse voice, almost reverent.
You stood up and wrapped your arms around his neck naturally, pressing your semi-naked body against his. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin t-shirt.
He took your face in his large hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. His green eyes dropped to your lips. He leaned down slowly, giving you the chance to pull back.
You didn't.
His lips brushed yours with surprising softness. First it was a light touch, almost tentative. Then, with more pressure, more hunger. He kissed you slowly, deeply, savoring you. His tongue gently caressed yours with slowness, exploring, while one of his hands moved down your bare back to rest on the low curve of your waist, pulling you more against him.
You melted into his body. The kiss became more intense but still controlled, as if he were holding himself back with all his strength. When you finally separated, both of you were breathing hard.
"Do you really like me?" you asked in a vulnerable whisper. "I look nothing like your wife... I don't have her curves, or her experience, or anything to really offer you."
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His expression was serious, intense.
"You're more than perfect," he said in a deep, low voice, almost a vow. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. It's not just your body... it's the way you look at me, the way you tremble when I touch you, how you dare to ask me for what you want."
His hand slowly moved down your back, tracing your spine with his fingertips, stopping just above the fabric of your panties.
"I don't need you to be like her. I want you exactly as you are."
He kissed you again, this time with more urgency, while pressing you against his body. You could feel his hard erection pressing against your belly through his pants. His large hands explored your back, your waist, moving downward with slow possession until gently gripping your ass, lifting you slightly against him.
A soft moan escaped you against his mouth and he smiled against your lips.
"Shhh..." he whispered. "You have to be quiet, princess."
He gently pushed you toward the bed. You lay down on your back, looking at him with shining eyes full of desire. He undressed with a single movement, revealing his broad, marked torso covered by that fine layer of dark hair. He climbed on top of you, resting his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing you.
He kissed you again while one of his hands moved slowly down your body. He slid his fingers under the fabric of your lace bra, touching your already hardened nipple. He squeezed it gently, then with more force, drawing a gasp from you. He moved his mouth down to your chest, pulling the lace aside with his teeth. He sucked on one of your nipples hard while his free hand moved between your legs.
His thick fingers brushed the wet fabric of your panties.
"Damn, you're so needy..." he growled against your skin, feeling how soaked you were.
He moved the fabric to the side and slid two thick fingers between your folds, caressing your swollen clit with slow, circular motions. Then he lowered them and pushed one inside you, deep and slow. You moaned, biting your lip to keep quiet.
"So tight..." he murmured, adding a second finger. He started moving them in and out with a torturous rhythm, curving them to touch that spot that made you tremble.
Your hand moved down to his pants, seeking his erection. You felt it huge, hot, and pulsing. You stroked it over the fabric at first, then put your hand inside and wrapped your fingers around it. It was thick, heavy, much bigger than you had imagined. You masturbated him slowly, feeling how it swelled even more in your hand.
He growled against your neck.
"Fuck, you're doing it so well..."
He pulled off your panties with an impatient movement and lowered his pants just enough to free his cock. It was large, veined, with a thick head glistening with pre-cum. He rubbed it against your entrance, sliding it between your wet lips, hitting your clit with each stroke.
He looked into your eyes as he positioned himself.
"Fuck, it won't fit..." he murmured in a hoarse voice, almost concerned, seeing the difference in size.
"I want to try... please," you pleaded, opening your legs more for him.
He pushed the thick head against your entrance. It was slow, very slow. You felt how he opened you, stretching you in an almost painful but delicious way. Inch by inch, he entered you. Your insides squeezed him tightly, pulsing around his thickness.
"Go ahead, take it like a good girl," he whispered against your ear when he was already more than halfway in. "Breathe... that's it."
You moaned softly when he was finally completely buried inside you. You felt completely full, completely filled by him. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, kissing your neck and breasts while his large hands gripped your hips.
He started moving. First with slow, deep thrusts, coming out almost completely to re-enter all the way to the bottom. Each time he reached the bottom, a muffled moan escaped from your throat.
The rhythm gradually increased. His hips collided with yours with more force, but controlled. The wet sound of his cock entering and leaving your pussy filled the room.
You clung to his broad shoulders, digging your nails into his skin. He looked directly into your eyes as he fucked you harder.
"You belong to me. Just me. Say it. Just me."
"Just you..." you gasped, barely able to speak. "Just you... please..."
"Again," he demanded, accelerating the rhythm, hitting that spot inside you with each deep thrust.
"Just you... Damn, just you!"
He kissed you hard to muffle your moans while he fucked you faster. One of his hands moved between you and he rubbed your swollen clit with his thumb, pushing you to the edge.
"Come for me, princess," he growled against your mouth. "I want to feel how you squeeze me."
The orgasm hit you hard. Your insides contracted violently around his thick cock, trembling and squeezing him while waves of pleasure ran through your entire body. You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming.
He kept fucking you through your orgasm, deeper, wilder, until with a low, hoarse growl, he came inside you. You felt the hot bursts filling you, his cock pulsing hard while he filled you completely.
He stayed inside you for a long time, both of you breathing heavily, sweating, and trembling. He kissed you softly on the lips, on your forehead, on your cheeks, as if he couldn't stop touching you.
"You're mine now," he whispered against your skin, still buried deep inside you.
You remained connected for several more minutes, with him still buried deeply inside you. You felt his cock pulsing gently inside, his warm cum filling you completely. Neither of you wanted to move. He stroked your hair with one hand while the other moved slowly down your back with gentle caresses.
"I could fuck you all night..." he murmured against your neck, with a hoarse and satisfied voice. "I wouldn't get tired of this."
You smiled, still trembling from the orgasm, and tightened your internal walls around him.
"You could let me..." you whispered, kissing his jaw. "You could do whatever you want to me, all night."
He let out a low, deep laugh that vibrated against your chest. He lifted his head to look at you, with that dangerous half-smile you loved so much, and kissed you deeply, slowly, and affectionately this time.
When he separated, he rested his forehead against yours.
"I have to go, princess," he said softly.
"No..." you protested in a low voice, wrapping your legs around him more tightly. "Stay a bit longer. I feel so full... I like having you inside."
He closed his eyes for a second, as if struggling with himself.
"I need to go back with Laura," he said gently. "If I don't, she'll suspect."
Those words felt like a blow to your chest. Suddenly you felt a knot in your throat and, without being able to help it, tears started falling down your cheeks. You tried to turn your face away so he wouldn't see them, but he didn't let you.
"Hey..." he whispered tenderly. He carefully pulled out of you, causing a moan of emptiness to escape your lips. He lay down beside you and pulled you against his bare chest. "Don't cry, please."
He cleaned your tears with his thumbs, kissing each one of them. His lips brushed your eyelids, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth.
"Everything will be okay," he murmured against your skin. "This is complicated right now, but I'll fix it. I'll see you later, yes? I promise."
You nodded in silence, though the knot in your chest didn't fully disappear. He kissed you again, this time softer, longer, as if he wanted to carry your taste with him.
Then he got out of bed reluctantly. You stayed lying there, watching him as he got dressed: first his pants, then his t-shirt. Each movement of his muscles reminded you of what had just happened.
When he was ready, he bent over you one last time. He took your face in both hands and gave you a kiss so deep, so long, so desperate that it seemed like goodbye.
"Go to sleep," he whispered against your lips.
He dedicated one last look, charged with desire and something softer, and left your room with the same care he had entered. He closed the door softly.
You were left there, naked on the rumpled sheets, with your legs still open and his cum slowly running between your thighs. You felt full of him, marked, used in the best way possible.
A silly smile appeared on your lips as you brought a hand to your belly, still feeling the echo of his thickness inside you. You were happy. Very happy. But at the same time, a deep sadness settled in your chest when you heard his footsteps moving away down the hallway toward the room he shared with Laura.
You turned to your side, hugging the pillow, and closed your eyes. Happiness and sadness mixed strangely inside you.
You had crossed a line that had no turning back... and part of you didn't want it to.
I could keep writing this for a thousand years
Jackie Barnes Peña Winchester @deanexplicit - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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