I Can’t Resist My Bestfriend’s Dad

Never in my life had I imagined that any man could undo me so completely. Yet there I was, tossing restlessly on the narrow dorm bed, the sheets twisted around my legs like chains. My mind kept replaying the moment I had collided with Marcus fresh from the shower, nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. The sharp V of his torso, the hard ridges of muscle glistening with droplets of water, and those powerful arms that had caught me effortlessly, gripping my waist as if I weighed nothing at all.

He wasn’t just any man. He was Bella’s father. My childhood best friend’s dad. We had been close once, years ago, before my family relocated to another city. Now, after all this time, we had only just reconnected. When Bella invited me over to catch up, I lost my way in their sprawling house and stumbled straight into him like that half-naked, devastatingly real. The memory still burned behind my eyelids, hot and forbidden.

My thoughts spiraled dangerously. Before I could stop myself, I reached for my phone and opened I*******m. There he was: Marcus, captured in sharp, tantalizing photos that showcased every inch of his sculpted body. My hand trembled as it slipped between my thighs. His voice echoed in my head, low and teasing from that accidental encounter: “Be careful, little Ella.”

I let out a shaky breath and slid my fingers lower, tracing the slick heat of my pussy. Slowly, deliberately, I circled my swollen clit, imagining his strong hands replacing mine, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered my name. My other hand pushed beneath my thin tank top, finding my nipple already peaked and sensitive. I pinched it gently, then harder, biting my lip to stifle a moan as pleasure coiled tighter inside me.

The room filled with the soft, wet sounds of my fingers moving faster. Juices coated my thighs, dripping freely now. I rubbed my clit in urgent circles, two fingers plunging inside, curling just right. My muscles clenched suddenly, violently. I grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, legs shaking uncontrollably as the orgasm crashed over me. A sharp cry escaped my throat as I came hard, soaking my fingers, the sheets, even splashing lightly against the wall beside the bed.

I collapsed back, chest heaving, the small single dorm room thick with the unmistakable scent of my arousal. Guilt washed over me in an icy wave. What have you done? After years apart from Bella, this was how I repaid her trust fantasizing about her father?

Before I could even begin to collect myself, a sharp knock rattled the door.

“Ella, open up. I’m freezing out here.”

Henry’s voice. My on-and-off boyfriend. Panic surged through me. I scrambled to cover myself, but it was too late. He had his spare key. The door clicked open, and he stepped inside, his eyes landing on me flushed, disheveled, unmistakably guilty.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “You’re sweating,” he murmured, stepping closer. The air between us still carried the heady evidence of what I’d done. He tilted my chin up with two fingers, forcing my gaze to meet his. “Were you thinking about me while you touched yourself?”

I turned my face away. “No way…”

He sighed, the familiar plea creeping into his tone. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry, Ella? It was one mistake. Can’t you forgive me for real?”

I had only pretended to forgive him after catching him with another girl at his place. The endless stalking, the public begging, the scenes that left me humiliated, had all worn me down until I gave in just to make it stop.

He pulled me against him, his hands settling on my waist. It didn’t feel the same as Marcus’s grip, nothing like it. Still, I let him kiss me, his mouth hungry and insistent. His palms slid down to grab my ass, squeezing as his hardening cock pressed against my thigh. A small moan slipped from me despite myself. His fingers found my pussy, already drenched, and slid inside easily, stroking with practiced ease.

Then the word escaped before I could catch it.

“Marcus…”

Henry froze. His fingers stilled deep inside me. His expression darkened, jaw tightening with sudden anger.

“Who the fuck is Marcus?”

I stared at him blankly, the silence stretching between us like a chasm. It would have been the perfect revenge karma handed to him on a silver platter for what he’d done. We don’t forgive cheaters, after all. But how could I possibly explain that the name on my lips belonged to my best friend’s father? The words lodged in my throat. I said nothing.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the finality of the moment. Without another word, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls.

I didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him. Only a deep, aching sorrow for myself for the mess I had become.

With a heavy sigh, I stripped the soiled sheets from the bed and shoved them into the laundry basket. My body felt leaden as I dragged myself into the tiny bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it would go. Steam filled the air, but it did nothing to wash away the guilt. I couldn’t believe I had let things go this far.

I stepped under the spray and closed my eyes, letting the water cascade over my skin. But all I saw was Marcus. His intense gaze, the low rumble of his voice, the way his hands had felt on my waist. Get a grip, Ella, I whispered to myself.

Suddenly, my foot slipped on a bar of soap that had fallen to the floor. I cried out as I went down hard, pain exploding through my body. Groaning, I looked down and saw blood mixing with the water, trickling from a cut on my abdomen .