MY BEST FRIEND DAD (3)

Lila

The front door swung open.

Maya stepped inside, slightly out of breath, charger dangling from her hand. She stopped short when she saw us standing so close in the kitchen—me in those tiny shorts and thin tank, Dominic rigid against the counter.

Her eyes narrowed for half a second, then she shrugged it off.

“Jesus, you two look intense. Is everything okay?”

Dominic stepped back first, putting clear space between us. His voice came out even, controlled.

“Fine. You forgot something?”

“Charger.” Maya held it up, then looked at me. “Change of plans. Jason wants to hit that new club after dinner and then I’m just gonna crash at his place. You should come. It’ll be fun. Better than sitting around here all night.”

My pulse kicked hard. This was it.

I shook my head slowly, keeping my voice light.

“I’m actually really tired. Long day. I think I’ll just stay in, maybe watch something. You go have fun.”

Maya frowned. “You sure? Dad’s probably just gonna drink whiskey and ignore you.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

I smiled. “I’m sure. Go. Text me tomorrow.”

Maya hesitated, then shrugged again. “Okay, whatever. Don’t wait up, Dad. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

She grabbed her charger, kissed Dominic on the cheek, waved at me, and disappeared back out the door. The sound of Jason’s car pulling away faded into the night.

The house went quiet again.

I didn’t wait.

I turned and walked upstairs without another word, heart slamming against my ribs. In the guest bathroom I ran the water hot, stripped, and stepped under the spray. I washed slowly, deliberately, every pass of my hands over my own skin, a reminder of what I was about to do. When I stepped out I didn’t reach for the sleep shorts again.

I reached for the dress I’d packed on purpose.

It was black, thin, and barely there—soft fabric that clung to my damp skin, the neckline plunging low enough to show the inner curves of my breasts, the hem stopping high on my thighs. No bra. No panties. Nothing underneath but bare skin. I left my hair wet and loose down my back, lips slightly parted, and walked downstairs barefoot.

Dominic was still in the kitchen, the same glass of whiskey in his hand, staring out the dark window like he was trying to find himself somewhere else.

He turned when he heard me.

And froze.

His eyes dragged down my body in one slow, hungry sweep—over the tight black fabric, the hard peaks of my nipples clearly outlined, the long stretch of bare thigh, the way the dress rode up with every step. His fingers flexed hard around the glass. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

I didn’t stop until I was close enough to touch him.

“Maya’s gone for the night,” I said softly. “Just us.”

Dominic’s voice came out rough.

“Lila. Don’t.”

I tilted my head, stepping even closer, letting the front of my body almost brush his.

“Don’t what? Tell you I’ve been thinking about you since I got here? Tell you I touched myself this morning moaning your name and almost came when Maya walked in?”

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. He set the glass down hard.

“Stop.”

“Why?” I kept my voice low, filthy, and intimate. “Because I’m your daughter’s friend? Because I’m twenty and you’re forty-two? Because you’ve been looking at me like you want to bend me over this counter since the second I walked into this house?”

“You’re Maya’s friend,” he said, the words tight, forced. “That makes you like a daughter to me. I don’t— I can’t—”

I laughed softly, the sound dark.

“I’m not your daughter. I’ve never been your daughter. And you know it.” I let my eyes drop deliberately to the front of his jeans. “Your mouth is saying no. But your body isn’t.”

I was right.

The thick ridge of his cock was already pressing hard against the denim, unmistakable, straining. Growing thicker even as we stood there.

Dominic’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t step back.

I reached out.

My fingers brushed the heavy bulge first—just a light, testing touch—then closed around him through the fabric, squeezing the thick length of him. He was hot, hard, bigger than I’d imagined in all those filthy fantasies. A rough sound tore out of his throat before he could stop it.

“Lila—”

“You’re hard for me,” I whispered, stroking him slowly through the jeans, feeling him throb against my palm. “You’ve been hard since I came downstairs in this dress. Don’t lie to me.”

I sank to my knees right there on the kitchen floor.

Dominic’s hand shot out like he was going to stop me—fingers hovering near my hair—but he didn’t touch. His chest rose and fell hard. His cock twitched under my hand.

I looked up at him through my lashes as I reached for his belt.

“I want to suck it,” I said, voice thick with need. “I want to get it wet and take it as deep as I can while you watch. I’ve thought about it for months.”

His restraint was cracking. I could see it—the way his eyes stayed locked on my mouth, the way his hips shifted forward half an inch like he couldn’t help it, the way his voice dropped into something almost broken.

“This is wrong.”

“I don’t care.”

I got the belt open. The button. The zipper.

His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. My mouth watered. I wrapped my fingers around the base, feeling the heavy weight of him, and leaned in—

A sharp knock echoed through the house.

Three hard raps on the front door.

Dominic went rigid.

I froze on my knees, his cock still in my hand, lips only an inch away from the swollen head.

The knock came again—louder this time.