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FUCKING MY BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND
Last Updated:
2025-09-17 09:30:33
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PLEASE DADDY: A Sinner's Diary SUMMER TUTOR 3
SUMMER TUTOR 3CHLOE’S POV The storm clears overnight, leaving the air washed clean and heavy with the scent of wet earth. I wake early, my body buzzing with anticipation I can’t shake. Yesterday’s kiss—and everything that followed—plays on repeat in my mind: Elias’s fingers inside me, the taste of myself on his tongue, the way he stopped just before I unraveled. I dress carefully—a soft white cotton dress that buttons down the front, thin enough that the outline of my nipples shows when the light hits right, and nothing underneath. No bra, no panties. I want him to know I’m ready.He texts mid-morning: Guest house porch. Bring your laptop.I walk the short path through the backyard, barefoot, the grass cool and damp under my feet. The guest house is small but private—a living room that doubles as his office, a bedroom in the back, kitchenette. The porch overlooks the woods, screened for privacy.He’s waiting in a wicker chair, his laptop on the table, coffee steaming beside him. He
PLEASE DADDY: A Sinner's Diary SUMMER TUTOR 2
SUMMER TUTOR 2CHLOE’S POV The next afternoon drags like molasses. I spend the morning pretending to read on the back porch, but my eyes keep drifting to the guest house path. Every rustle of leaves makes my pulse jump, imagining Elias walking over early. He doesn’t. He’s disciplined like that—always on time, never early, never late.At exactly three o’clock, the sliding door opens and he steps into the kitchen carrying his notebook and a fresh mug of coffee. Today he’s in a light gray button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and dark jeans that hug his narrow hips. His hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends. He smells clean, like soap and something woodsy.“Ready?” he asks, setting his things on the island.I nod, already seated with my laptop open. I’ve changed since yesterday—into a pale blue sundress that skims my thighs when I sit, thin straps and no bra because the heat is unbearable. My hair is up in a loose knot, a few strands framing my face.We di
PLEASE DADDY: A Sinner's Diary SUMMER TUTOR
SUMMER TUTOR CHLOE JAMES (FL) 18YRSELIAS THORNE (ML) - 39YRSCHLOE’S POV I sit at the kitchen island, staring at my laptop screen like it’s written in another language. College entrance essays. Three of them, all due in less than a month, and every word I type feels wrong. I delete another sentence, groan, and rest my forehead on the cool granite countertop.That’s when I hear the gravel crunch outside—the familiar sound of Elias’s old Jeep pulling into the guest house driveway. My stomach does that stupid flip it’s been doing all week.Elias Thorne. My older brother’s best friend from college. Thirty-nine, published author, tall and lean with dark wavy hair that’s always a little messy, sharp hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and a quiet intensity that makes people listen when he speaks. He’s been staying in our guest house for the summer to finish his third novel, away from the city distractions. My parents offered the place without hesitation—“anything for Alex’s friend.”
PLEASE DADDY: A Sinner's Diary MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND
MY FATHER'S BEST FRIEND HARPER HAYES (FL) - 21YRSROMAN BLACKWOOD (ML) - 43YRSHARPER’S POV I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, smoothing down the short black pencil skirt that clings to my hips like a second skin. It’s professional enough for the office, but the way it stops mid-thigh and rides up with every step makes it feel deliciously risky. I pair it with a crisp white blouse, leaving the top two buttons undone so a hint of black lace bra peeks through. My long blonde hair cascades in loose waves over my shoulders, and I swipe on red lipstick that makes my full lips pop against my pale skin. At twenty-one, I know exactly how I look—curvy, confident, irresistible. And today, every bit of it is for him.Roman Blackwood. My dad’s best friend since college, business partner for the last fifteen years, and the man who’s haunted my fantasies since I hit puberty. He’s forty-three now, divorced, all sharp edges and controlled power. Tall, with broad shoulders th
PLEASE DADDY: A Sinner's Diary UNCLE'S RULES 2
UNCLE’S RULES 2SOPHIA’S POV I lasted four days.Four days of Victor’s eyes following me across the kitchen, his voice a little rougher when he said good morning. Four nights of tossing in bed, fingers itching to disobey his no-touch order, but fear—and thrill—of punishment keeping me obedient.On the fifth day, I snapped.I waited until he rode out to check fences, then slipped into the barn. The air was thick with hay and leather. I found his private space in the loft—a locked cabinet I’d seen him open once. Curiosity won.I picked the simple lock with a bobby pin (a trick learned from rebellious friends) and opened it.Inside: coils of soft rope, a thick leather belt, cuffs, a paddle, bottles of lube, and things I didn’t recognize but made my core clench.I was so lost in staring I didn’t hear him return.“Find what you were looking for?”I spun, my heart slamming. Victor stood at the top of the ladder, dust on his boots, shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked chest.“I—I’m sorry,”
PLEASE DADDY: A Sinner's Diary UNCLE'S RULES
UNCLE’S RULES VICTOR LESNAR (ML) - 40YRSSOPHIA DERVIC (FL) - 18YRSSOPHIA’S POV I turned eighteen three months ago, but it feels like I’ve been trapped in limbo forever.After the accident—Mom and Dad gone in one cruel twist of fate—I had nowhere to go. Uncle Victor stepped in without hesitation. Mom’s older brother, the one I’d only met at holidays, the quiet giant who sent birthday cards with crisp hundred-dollar bills inside. He flew me out to his ranch in Montana the week after the funeral, and I’ve been here ever since.The ranch is isolated—acres of rolling hills, a barn that smells of hay and leather, and a big log house that echoes when it’s empty. Which it usually is. Victor works long days with the horses and the land, coming in only at dusk, sweat-slicked and silent.He’s forty now, broader and harder than the photos I remember. Six-foot-four, shoulders like barn beams, dark hair threaded with early silver, jaw shadowed even when he shaves. Tattoos from his Marine days
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