CHAPTER 1: I'M SLEEPING WITH MY BEST FRIEND'S DAD [I]

CHAPTER 1

AVA'S POV

My name is Ava and I’m already fucked in the head.

It’s barely ten in the morning and I’m sitting in a half-empty lecture hall trying to focus on the professor, but all I can think about is the way Ryan’s cock felt in my hand last night. Thick. Heavy. The vein that runs along the underside that I like to press my tongue against when I take him into my mouth. I can still remember the exact weight of it on my palm, the way it twitched when I squeezed, the low sound he made when I leaned down and licked the tip.

Lisa’s boyfriend.

I’m a terrible friend.

The worst kind.

I shift in my seat and cross my legs tighter. I’m wet again. It’s becoming a problem. Every time someone says his name, every time I see one of his stupid hoodies draped over Lisa’s chair, every time I catch the faint smell of his cologne on her clothes, my pussy throbs like it has a memory of its own. I woke up this morning already aching. I had to press my face into the pillow and slide my hand between my legs before I even got out of bed, biting down hard so my roommate wouldn’t hear.

It didn’t help much. It never does. Not when the real thing is walking around campus somewhere, probably texting Lisa sweet things while still thinking about how I let him come down my throat last night.

The professor’s voice drones on about something I should care about. I force myself to type a few notes, but the words blur. All I can see is Ryan’s hand in my hair. All I can feel is the ghost of his cock stretching me open. I squeeze my thighs together until it almost hurts and try to breathe through it.

Class ends eventually. People start packing up around me. I stay seated a few extra seconds, waiting for the worst of the ache to settle, then stuff my laptop into my bag and stand. My panties are already damp. I can feel it when I walk.

I head toward the campus café where I work part-time. Two hours on the register. Smile at customers. Pretend I’m a normal girl who doesn’t let her best friend’s boyfriend bend her over in empty rooms and use her like a toy. Pretend I don’t think about her father just as much.

Marcus.

Even his name sends a different kind of heat through me. Older. Heavier. The way he looked at me last week when I was at their house, eyes dark, like he already knew what I sounded like when I came. He hasn’t touched me. Not yet. But the tension is there every time we’re in the same room, thick enough to choke on. Sometimes I think about what would happen if he ever did. Sometimes those thoughts get mixed up with Ryan until I can’t tell which one I’m dripping for anymore.

I clock in, tie my apron, and start my shift. The café is busy enough to keep my hands occupied but not busy enough to stop my mind from wandering. Every time the bell over the door rings, some stupid part of me hopes it’s Ryan. Every time it isn’t, I feel both relieved and disappointed.

I’m restocking the napkin holder near the back when a hand grabs my wrist.

Hard.

I don’t even have to look.

Ryan drags me past the counter, down the short hallway, and into the storage room. The door shuts. The lock clicks. The sudden quiet is loud in my ears.

“You’re late,” he mutters, already pushing me back against the shelves.

“I had class.”

“Don’t care.”

His mouth is on mine before I can say anything else — rough, demanding, tasting like mint and something darker. His hand shoves under my skirt and goes straight between my legs like he owns that part of me. He groans when he feels how wet I am.

“Jesus, Ava. You’re dripping.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs against my mouth, low and mean, and yanks my panties to the side. Two fingers push inside me without warning. I bite his shoulder to keep quiet, forehead pressed against his collarbone. He’s not gentle. He never is. His fingers curl and drag against that spot inside me that makes my knees weak.

“Missed this tight little cunt,” he says, voice rough. “Been thinking about it all morning. Almost fucked Lisa just to take the edge off, but it wouldn’t have been the same.”

The mention of her name sends a sick twist through my stomach. It only makes me wetter. I hate myself for it. I hate how hard my pussy squeezes his fingers at the reminder of what we’re doing to her.

He pulls his fingers out, spins me around, and bends me over the stock shelf. Bottles rattle. I plant my hands on the wood and spread my legs without being told. I hear his zipper. Then the thick head of his cock is rubbing between my pussy lips, spreading my wetness around, teasing my clit with every pass.

“Anyone could walk in,” I whisper.

“Then you better come quick.”

He shoves inside me in one hard thrust. I choke on a moan. He’s big — thicker than he has any right to be — and he doesn’t give me time to adjust. He just starts fucking me, deep and steady, one hand on my hip, the other covering my mouth. The shelves shake with every thrust. My eyes are open but I’m not seeing the boxes of coffee syrup or the stacked paper cups. I’m thinking about another cock. Older. Heavier. The way Marcus’s hands looked last week when he braced himself on the kitchen counter. The way his voice dropped when he said my name.

I shouldn’t be thinking about Lisa’s father while her boyfriend is balls-deep in me.

But I am.

Ryan’s hand tightens over my mouth as he thrusts harder. The wet sound of his cock driving into me fills the small room. My panties are stretched around one thigh. My skirt is shoved up to my waist. I look exactly like what I am — a dirty secret, bent over and taking it.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me,” he groans. “You close already?”

I nod frantically. I’m past close. The mix of shame and heat is too much. My orgasm hits hard, ripping through me with almost no warning. I come with a broken sound against his palm, legs shaking, pussy clenching around him in messy, desperate pulses. It feels so good it almost hurts.

He follows a few seconds later, burying himself as deep as he can and flooding me. I feel every spurt. Feel the heat of it. Feel it start to leak out around his cock when he finally stills, breathing hard against my back.

For a moment neither of us moves.

Then he pulls out slowly. I can feel the mess dripping down my thigh already. He turns me around, looks between my legs at the cum leaking out of me, and smirks like he’s proud of it.

“Don’t clean up,” he says. “I want you walking around campus like that. Every step. I want you to feel it.”

I fix my skirt with shaking hands. My panties are useless now, just a damp scrap of fabric I pull back into place because I have no other choice. Ryan kisses me once, quick and filthy, biting my bottom lip before he pulls away.

“Same time tomorrow?”

I should say no. I should end this before it gets even uglier than it already is.

I say, “Yeah.”

He unlocks the door and leaves first. I wait thirty seconds, trying to slow my breathing, then step out like nothing happened. There’s a slow drip of him running down my thigh with every step I take. I can feel it sliding toward the back of my knee. It makes my face burn and my pussy throb all over again.

I go back to the counter and smile at the next customer like I’m a normal girl. Like I didn’t just let my best friend’s boyfriend come inside me in a storage room. Like I’m not already wondering what Marcus would think if he knew.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

A message from Lisa.

**Hey, you free later? Need to talk.**

I stare at the screen, still throbbing, still full of her boyfriend’s cum, thighs sticky, heart beating too fast. For a second I almost feel sick with guilt. Then the heat rolls back in, low and shameless, and I type back with steady fingers:

**Yeah. Meet you after my shift.**

I put the phone away and press my thighs to

gether, feeling the mess between them shift.

Tonight’s going to be a problem.

I can already feel it.