Taking my father-in-law's c*ck #2

Alarm shot through me, instantly killing the glorious, rising high. Mortified, I quickly snatched the vibrator and shoved it deep underneath the pillow. I stood up, smoothing down the lace thong that was already pressed against the dampness between my legs, and walked to the door.

I pulled it open, and there he was.

Emilio. My father-in-law.

He was wearing a pair of old, faded grey sweatpants that were doing little to hide the prominent print of his lengthy cock between his legs. The fabric was thin, stretched taut in all the most intriguing places. On top, he wore a simple white vest, the sleeves cut high, revealing the powerful curve of his shoulders and the chiseled lines of his abs.

For a man in his late forties, he was ridiculously fit. His hair was slightly wet and disheveled, probably from taking a shower, since we all lived under the same roof...which was his, of course, a huge, Mediterranean style estate, since Ethan and I got married.

I gulped down the lump in my throat, taking in the sight of him. I admitted he was usually a strikingly handsome man, with his dark, thick hair and sharp, intelligent eyes, but tonight, seeing him dressed down like this, practically radiating raw, male energy, made him look exceptionally hot and sexy.

“Mia?” I heard him call my name, his voice a low, husky rumble that pulled me out of my daydream.

I blinked rapidly. “Yes, Dad?” I responded, using the familiar term I always addressed him by. “What is it you needed?”

I noticed how his eyes flicked, slowly assessing me from head to toe. The admiration in his gaze was unmistakable, and there was absolutely no shame for meeting me still in my lingerie. His eyes lingered on the delicate lace barely covering my breasts, then trailed down to the curve of my hip before meeting my eyes again. Despite the situation and the intense heat of his gaze, I didn't feel embarrassed at all.

In fact, I rather enjoyed the attention. My own husband wouldn't give it to me.

He finally spoke, his voice a little deeper now. “Is Ethan home yet?”

“No,” I said, the single word sad and heavy, as I was instantly reminded of the heart-wrenching text.

Emilio noticed my countenance. His expression softened with concern. “Hey. Are you okay? Everything fine between you two?”

I hesitated, unsure of what to say. I wasn't one to involve a third party in my marital affairs, especially not his father. But maybe, just maybe, telling him could bring about a change in Ethan’s recent behavior. It was his father, after all. Who better to talk some sense into him than his own dad?

Emilio continued, his expression earnest. “You know you can confide in me, Mia. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

Making up my mind, I nodded. “Okay, Dad. Thank you. Would you please wait for me in the dining room area? I’ll be there in just a minute.”

He obliged instantly. “Sure thing, dear. Take your time.” He moved away swiftly, his gaze lingering over my figure one last time.

I walked back into the room and picked up a simple, thick, red silk robe, putting it on and cinching the belt tightly around my waist, then headed outside.

He was waiting for me, standing beside the messy dining table. The stark contrast of the elegant, ruined setting and his casual, hyper-masculine attire was jarring.

“So?” he began, pulling out a chair for me. “Tell me. What is it between you two?”

I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, the champagne's chill still present in the air. I narrated everything to him...about Ethan’s late nights, his increasing lack of attention towards me, my suffocating sex starvation, and the failed anniversary dinner. The whole sad, pathetic story. He listened quietly, his dark eyes fixed on mine, nodding slowly as I spoke.

When I was done talking, there was a beat of silence that felt heavier than anything I had just said.

Then, he moved. He took a single step closer and gently touched my shoulder, his large, warm hand covering the thin silk of my robe. The physical contact, so simple, sent an unfamiliar, electric jolt through me.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Mia,” he said, his voice low and sincere. Then, he leaned in, his lips close to my ear, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But there’s an easier way to get what you desire.”

Confused, I looked up at him. “What do you mean, Dad?”

He smirked, a slow, sly, predatory curve of his lips that made my stomach clench. His eyes grew darker, a heavy, hungry shadow falling over them. He leaned in so close I could smell the sharp, clean scent of his soap and the earthy, musky cologne that clung to his skin.

“What I mean is,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly promise, “I can be of help to quench your thirst. If you permit it. All you have to do is say the word, Mia. And I would take you. Right here, on this table.”

I blinked, his offer slamming into me like a physical blow. The suddenness, the blatant, raw sexuality of his words, sent a shockwave through my system.

I thought of my loyalty to Ethan, my neglectful, distant husband who no longer saw me. Then I thought of the tempting, forbidden offer made by his father, a man radiating a heat I hadn’t felt in years. Despite the confliction, the moral siren blaring in the back of my brain...the growing, frantic ache in my core, the unfulfilled need I had just tried to smother with a cheap toy, overruled my reasoning.

My mouth was dry. I couldn't form a complete sentence.

I met his dark gaze, which was filled with nothing but raw hunger for me, and without holding back, I muttered a single, breathless word.

“Yes.”

A triumphant, dark heat flashed in his eyes. He smirked slyly, confirming my worst, most desired impulses. Then, in one swift, shockingly strong motion, he lifted me up from the chair.

My cry of surprise was cut short as he simultaneously used his free hand to sweep the remaining plates, the filled water goblets, and the entire centerpiece off the table. They crashed to the floor, the sound of breaking china loud and final.

He held me high against his chest for a brief second before gently...but possessively...placing me down onto the cleared surface of the dining table. I was now lying on my back on the cool, polished wood, my hips resting right over the scattered rose petals.

He stood between my thighs, his massive shadow enveloping me, his eyes watching me with an expression of pure, unleashed hunger.

He didn't waste another second. His large hands moved, cupping my face with surprising tenderness, the warmth of his skin radiating through my shock. He leaned in, his clean, earthy scent washing over me.

"Tonight," he rasped, his eyes dark and earnest, "I'm going to make up for every minute Ethan sexually tortured you."

His words hit me harder than the sudden, physical contact. It wasn’t just about sex; it was about validation, about acknowledging the raw, gnawing emptiness I’d been carrying.

"He's a fool, Mia," Emilio continued, his voice a low, gravelly judgment. "A goddamn fool. I can't understand how a man could let a beauty like you go to waste." His thumb brushed softly, yet firmly, against the seam of my lower lip, tracing the glossy, dangerous red line. "If I was the one married to you, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I’d be taking you all the time."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a desperate drumbeat against the cool wood of the table. The words were a challenge, an intoxicating dare that burned away the last wisps of my restraint.

I looked up at him, meeting his dark, hungry gaze with my own. The feeling wasn't shame or fear; it was a fierce, almost savage hunger.

"Prove it," I heard myself challenge him, my voice a breathless whisper, but the intent was as clear as a shout.

Before he could respond, I parted my lips and drew his thumb into my mouth, sucking on it sweetly, possessively. I swirled my tongue against the pad of his skin, my eyes locked on his. The consequences, the reality of what I was doing, what I was about to do...it didn't matter.

Not one damn bit.