The Waiting Game

The rest of the morning crawled by in agonizing slow motion.

After Elias’s promise—“Tonight you’re mine”—he didn’t touch me again. Not once.

He finished the pancakes, plated them like nothing had happened, and ate standing at the counter while scrolling through emails on his phone. Every time I moved, his eyes flicked up—watching the sway of my hips in those tiny shorts, the way my tank rode up when I reached for a glass—but he kept his hands to himself. Professional. Controlled. Maddening.

“You heading out today?” he asked casually, as if he hadn’t just had his fingers between my legs twenty minutes earlier.

“I… maybe the library. Need to finish some reading for next semester.”

He nodded. “Good. Focus on school.” A pause. “But come home before dark. Rain’s supposed to pick up again.”

The way he said come home felt possessive, like the house—and me—belonged to him.

Amina returned around noon, bursting through the door with iced lattes and gossip about a coworker who’d gotten caught making out in the storage room. She didn’t notice how stiffly I sat on the couch, or how Elias kept finding reasons to walk past me—brushing my shoulder to hand Amina her drink, resting his hand on the back of the couch inches from my neck.

The afternoon dragged.

Amina wanted to binge a new series. We curled up on the sectional, popcorn between us, while Elias worked in his home office down the hall. Every so often I’d hear his chair creak, footsteps, the low murmur of a phone call. Each time he passed the living room doorway his gaze found me—dark, hungry, promising. Once he stopped, leaned against the frame, arms crossed, sleeves pushed up to show those forearms that had pinned me to the counter earlier.

“You girls need anything?” he asked, voice perfectly neutral.

Amina waved him off without looking. “We’re good, Dad.”

His eyes stayed on me. “Zara?”

I swallowed. “I’m fine.”

A slow smile tugged his mouth. “You sure?”

Heat crawled up my chest. I nodded quickly.

He lingered one second longer than necessary, then disappeared again.

By dinner the tension was unbearable. Elias grilled salmon and asparagus on the back deck despite the drizzle. We ate outside under the covered patio, fairy lights flickering above us. Amina dominated the conversation—internship drama, weekend plans, a guy from her design class who kept “accidentally” bumping into her.

Elias listened, nodded, asked the right questions. But under the table his knee pressed against mine. Steady. Deliberate. When Amina got up to grab more iced tea, he didn’t move his leg. Instead his hand slid onto my thigh—just above the knee—fingers splaying wide, thumb stroking once, slow and firm.

I nearly dropped my fork.

He leaned in while Amina was inside, voice barely audible over the rain. “You’ve been squirming in that seat all day, baby. Thinking about how deep I’m gonna be inside you tonight?”

My breath hitched. I couldn’t speak.

“Four more hours,” he murmured. “Then I’m spreading those pretty thighs and licking every drop of that sweet pussy until you’re crying for my cock.”

His thumb pressed harder, right at the crease of my thigh. I clenched involuntarily.

Amina came back. He withdrew his hand smoothly, picked up his fork like he hadn’t just set me on fire.

After dinner Amina suggested a walk to burn off the food. “Come on, Z. Fresh air. Dad, you in?”

He shook his head. “Got blueprints to finish. You two go. Text me when you’re on your way back.”

We bundled up—hoodies, rain jackets—and headed out. The neighborhood was quiet, streetlights haloed in mist. Amina linked arms with me, chattering about everything and nothing.

I barely heard her.

My mind was upstairs. In the guest room. On my back. Elias between my legs, mouth on me, tongue circling my clit while he growled, “Come for me, good girl. Let me taste how much you want this.” Then flipping me over, gripping my hips, sliding in bare and thick, stretching me until I gasped, pounding slow at first, then faster, deeper, whispering, “Gonna fill you up again. Make sure you feel me leaking out of you tomorrow.”

By the time we got back my panties were soaked, my nipples hard against my bra, and I could barely walk straight.

Amina yawned as soon as we stepped inside. “I’m wiped. Early shift tomorrow. Night, Z. Night, Dad!”

She hugged me, pecked Elias on the cheek, and disappeared upstairs.

The house went silent except for the rain.

Elias appeared in the hallway, sleeves still rolled up, eyes locked on me like a predator who’d waited long enough.

“Upstairs,” he said quietly. Command, not request.

I obeyed.

He followed close behind—close enough that I felt his heat at my back. When we reached the guest room door he didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate. He pushed it open, guided me inside with a hand low on my spine, then shut and locked the door.

The click of the lock echoed.

He turned me to face him. No words at first. Just his hands framing my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones, eyes searching mine like he was giving me one last chance to run.

I didn’t.

Instead I rose on my toes and kissed him.

It was like striking a match.

He groaned into my mouth, backing me toward the bed. Hands everywhere—under my hoodie, cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples until I whimpered. He yanked the hoodie over my head, then my tank, leaving me in just my bra and leggings.

“Fuck,” he breathed, staring at me like I was a revelation. “Look at you. So goddamn perfect.”

He pushed me gently onto the mattress. I landed on my back, legs parting instinctively. He followed, kneeling between them, hands sliding up my thighs, hooking into the waistband of my leggings and panties.

“Lift,” he ordered.

I did.

He peeled them off in one slow drag, eyes never leaving my face. When I was bare he spread my thighs wide, hooking them over his shoulders.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he murmured, breath hot against my core. “How wet you’d be. How you’d taste after teasing me with these little shorts.”

Then his mouth was on me.

No teasing. No buildup. Just his tongue flattening against my clit, licking broad and firm, then circling, sucking gently. I arched off the bed, hand flying to my mouth to muffle the moan.

He pulled back just enough to growl, “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you. Want Amina to wonder why her best friend is whimpering in the next room.”

The filthy words sent a fresh gush of wetness. He groaned in approval, plunging two fingers inside me—curling, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes—while his tongue worked my clit in relentless circles.

I came hard, thighs clamping around his head, back bowing, biting my fist to keep from screaming his name.

He didn’t stop. Kept licking through the aftershocks until I was shaking, oversensitive, pushing at his shoulders.

Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and wild.

He stripped quickly—shirt, sweatpants, boxers—revealing the thick, hard length of him, already leaking at the tip.

“No condom,” he said, voice rough. Not a question.

I shook my head. “Don’t want one.”

He growled low, crawled over me, notched himself at my entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I did.

He pushed in slow—inch by thick inch—stretching me open, filling me until I felt him everywhere.

When he bottomed out he stilled, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.

“So fucking tight,” he whispered. “Made for me.”

Then he started moving—slow, deep rolls of his hips at first, letting me feel every ridge, every vein. Then faster. Harder. The bed creaked under us.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasped against my ear. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll be dripping for days. You want that, baby? Want me to breed this perfect little pussy?”

“Yes,” I gasped, nails digging into his back. “Please—Elias—yes—”

He thrust harder, hips snapping, chasing his release while his thumb found my clit again.

I came a second time—clenching around him, milking him—and he followed with a guttural groan, burying himself deep, pulsing inside me, flooding me with heat.

We stayed like that, tangled, breathing hard, his weight comforting on top of me.

After a long minute he kissed my temple, my cheek, my mouth—soft now, reverent.

“Mine,” he whispered.

I nodded, too blissed out to speak.

But as the high faded, reality crept in.

Amina was just down the hall.

And I was full of her father’s cum.

Tomorrow morning was going to be hell.