My Dad's Best Friend- 4

CHAPTER 4

KAYLEE

Second-to-last day.

He leads me by the hand down the hallway I’ve walked a thousand times, past the framed photos of his daughter and me at graduation, sleepovers, beach trips. My stomach flips with forbidden heat. The door to her room is cracked open, fairy lights glowing soft pink and gold, One Direction posters still taped to the walls like time froze at seventeen.

Caleb shuts the door behind us, clicks the lock, and sets his phone on a small tripod already positioned at the foot of the twin bed. Red recording light blinks on.

“Put this on,” he says, voice low, handing me the glittery prom tiara his daughter wore. The one I helped her pick out.

I slide it onto my head, completely naked otherwise, and the cool metal makes me shiver.

He strips slow, eyes never leaving me, cock already heavy and hard. “Get on the bed, sweetheart. On your back. Legs open for the camera.”

I crawl onto the familiar pink comforter, heart pounding. He climbs over me, settles between my thighs, and pushes in slow, inch by thick inch, until I’m gasping, tiara tilting on my forehead.

“Look at the lens,” he murmurs, starting to move in long, deliberate strokes. “Tell it hello.”

I stare straight into the little red light. “Hi, Mr. Thompson’s camera,” I breathe, voice shaking with every thrust. “I’m getting fucked in your daughter’s bed.”

He groans, hips rolling deep. “That’s my good girl.”

He fucks me missionary for what feels like forever, slow and possessive, making the headboard tap the wall in soft rhythm. Fairy lights flicker across his back. My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper.

“Feel how wet I am for you?” I whisper. “Been dreaming about this since I was sixteen.”

He growls, speeds up just enough to make me cry out, then pulls out and flips me onto my stomach. Prone-bone on the same mattress where we used to have pillow fights.

He slides back in, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, the other sliding under me to rub my clit.

“Look over your shoulder at the camera,” he orders.

I do, cheek pressed to the pillow that still smells like vanilla and teenage perfume. “I’m getting prone-boned in your little girl’s bed, Mr. Thompson,” I moan. “And I love it.”

He pounds harder, bed creaking dangerously, until I’m coming again, muffling screams into the comforter.

Then he sits in the old desk chair and pulls me onto his lap facing him. I sink down slow, tiara sparkling under the fairy lights.

“Ride me,” he says, hands on my hips. “Show the camera how you take this cock.”

I roll my hips, grinding, bouncing, tits in his face. He sucks a nipple hard, making me gasp.

“This is for when you’re away at college, sweetheart,” he narrates quietly to the lens, voice rough.

I moan louder, riding faster. “Save this for when you miss me, Mr. Thompson,” I pant.

He stands suddenly, still inside me, carries me back to the bed, and flips me onto all fours. One brutal thrust and he’s coming, deep, pulsing, flooding me so full it leaks out instantly.

We collapse, panting, his arms around me, tiara crooked but still on.

He kisses my temple. “That one’s going in the vault.”

Last day.

We’re in the shower, water pounding hot, steam thick. He has me pinned against the tile, one of my legs hooked high over his forearm, cock sliding in and out slow and deep.

“This pussy’s gonna miss me,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. “Gonna miss being full every day.”

I whimper, clinging to his shoulders. “I’m gonna miss you splitting me open every morning.”

He speeds up, water splashing, hips snapping hard. “One last load before you go back to being the good girl.”

“Come inside me,” I beg. “Mark me so I feel you on the drive home.”

He slams deep and stays there, groaning my name as he fills me again, pulse after pulse, until it’s dripping down my thighs with the water.

We’re still kissing, slow and lazy, when we hear the front door open downstairs.

“Kaylee? Caleb? We’re back early!” Dad’s voice.

Panic and thrill shoot through me. Caleb just smirks, turns off the water, and wraps me in a towel like nothing happened.

We dress in record time. I’m in leggings and an oversized hoodie, hair still damp, thighs sticky, when I bound downstairs all innocent smiles.

Dad and Lisa are unloading suitcases. “Flight got in ahead of schedule,” Dad says, hugging me. “Everything good?”

“Perfect,” I beam. “House was great. Super quiet.”

Caleb leans in the doorway, arms crossed, looking perfectly normal. “She was an angel,” he says, eyes locked on mine.

We help carry bags, drink coffee, chat about Italy for an hour. Every time I shift in my chair I feel him leaking out of me.

Finally Dad claps Caleb on the shoulder. “Ready to head home, kiddo?”

I hug Caleb goodbye (polite, daughter-of-best-friend hug), but his hand slides down my back and squeezes my ass once, hard, when no one’s looking.

In the car I’m quiet, thighs pressed together, heart racing.

My phone buzzes.

Caleb: Snowboarding trip. Colorado. February. Just you and me. Say yes.

I grin so wide Dad glances over. “Good text?”

“The best,” I say, already typing.

Kaylee: Book the cabin, Mr. Thompson.