CHAPTER 002- You're tight

I lay in the dark with the sheets kicked down to my waist, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers.

My body wouldn’t calm down. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the way he’d looked at me in the kitchen. The way his voice had dropped when he said *last chance*. The way he’d walked away like it cost him something.

I slid my hand between my legs without thinking. My panties were already soaked. I pressed two fingers against my clit and bit my lip hard, trying to stay quiet. The house was too still. Every small sound felt amplified.

I rubbed slow circles, hips shifting against the mattress, imagining it was his hand instead of mine. Imagining that low voice telling me what a dirty girl I was for touching myself in his house while his daughter was out fucking someone else.

A soft creak came from the hallway.

I froze.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Stopping right outside the guest room.

My heart slammed so hard I could hear it in my ears. I pulled my hand away and wiped it on the sheet, breathing too fast. For a second I thought maybe he’d just keep walking. Go to his own room. Leave me here aching and stupid.

The doorknob turned.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click. No light. Just the shape of him in the dark, tall and solid, and the quiet sound of his breathing.

“You didn’t lock it,” he said. His voice was low, rough around the edges.

I swallowed. “I know.”

He moved closer. The mattress dipped when he sat on the edge of the bed. I could smell the whiskey on him, warmer now, mixed with whatever soap he used. His hand found my ankle under the sheet. Warm. Rough. He didn’t squeeze. Just rested there, thumb brushing once over the bone.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

I nodded, then realized he might not see it. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m sure.”

His hand slid higher, up my calf, over my knee, stopping on my thigh. He pushed the sheet down further until it pooled at my hips. The cool air hit my damp panties and I shivered.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re already wet.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His fingers traced the edge of the fabric, slow, deliberate, then slipped underneath. The first touch of his skin against mine made my hips jerk. He parted me with two fingers and groaned quietly when he felt how slick I was.

“Jesus, Riley.” He dragged his fingers through the mess between my legs, coating them, then rubbed my clit in slow, firm circles. “You been thinking about this all night?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“About me coming in here and touching you like this?”

“Yes.”

He leaned over me, one hand planted by my head, the other still working between my thighs. His mouth was close to my ear when he spoke again.

“You gonna be quiet for me?”

I nodded frantically.

“Good girl.”

The words went straight to my core. He pushed one thick finger inside me, then a second, stretching me open while his thumb kept pressure on my clit. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. My hips rolled against his hand like I had no control left.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Take it. Fuck, you’re tight.”

He curled his fingers and found a spot that made my whole body tense. My hand flew up and gripped his forearm. He didn’t stop. Just kept stroking that same place, steady and deep, while his thumb rubbed tight circles over my clit.

“You gonna come on my fingers?” he asked, voice low and filthy. “In my house? With my daughter’s best friend’s cunt dripping all over my hand?”

I whimpered. The sound slipped out before I could stop it.

He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Quiet. Or I’ll stop.”

I pressed my lips together hard. My thighs started to shake. He fucked his fingers into me faster, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. Every thrust pushed me closer. I could feel it building, sharp and inevitable.

“Come,” he ordered softly. “Right now. On Daddy’s fingers.”

The word *Daddy* broke something open inside me. My back arched off the bed and I came hard, biting down on my own wrist to stay silent, pulsing around his fingers while he kept working me through it. He didn’t pull out until the last tremor faded.

Then he slowly withdrew his hand. I heard the soft, wet sound of him licking his fingers clean.

He stood up. For a second I thought he was going to leave.

Instead he leaned down, braced one hand on the mattress, and spoke against my mouth without quite kissing me.

“Next time you leave the door unlocked,” he said, voice rough, “I’m not just using my fingers.”

Then he straightened and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

I lay there in the dark, legs still open, panties shoved to the side, trying to catch my breath.

My wrist throbbed where I’d bitten it.

I already knew I wouldn’t lock the door tomorrow either.