BF'S DAD: CRACKING FOUNDATION

MARCUS:

I shove myself deeper inside her, my movements hollow and robotic.

The woman beneath me on my desk lets out a breathless moan, her fingers clawing at my suit jacket. Physically, my body is going through the motions. My dick is rock-hard, throbbing with an unholy intensity that should mean I am on the verge of losing control. But inside my head, I feel absolutely nothing.

My mind is completely trapped in the events of yesterday. I can still smell Chloe's intoxicating perfume. I can still feel her wet panties against my bare palm. Her annoying voice echoes through my skull, tormenting me in ways I hate to admit that I like.

“Arthur is incredibly hot... imagining what he could do to me... it just drives me crazy.”

Fury rushes through my veins. The thought of my best friend touching her, or seeing her the way I saw her in that guest room, makes my chest tighten. Abruptly, I grip the woman's hips and pull myself completely out of her.

She gasps in shock, blinking up at me from the desk as I turn away, completely frustrated and unsatisfied. My cock is still hard.

“Mr. Vance, I can...” She attempts to touch me, but I raise my hand.

“Don’t!” My voice comes out louder than intended. Then I sigh, tucking my dick back into my pants.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, sliding off the desk.

"We're done," I reply, grabbing my jacket to cover the heavy bulge in my trousers. "Your paycheck is on the desk with my secretary outside. Leave."

Her face flushes. She sighs, pulls down her dress, and collects her underwear and purse before quickly exiting the office without another word.

The second the door shuts, I slump into my chair, burying my face in my hands. I am thoroughly restless. My skin feels too tight for my body. I pull out my phone and speed-dial my driver.

"Jerome. Prep the SUV immediately. We are heading back to the house."

Ten minutes later, I am sitting in the car, staring blankly out the window as the Hamptons skyline blurs past. Guilt presses down heavily on my chest.

Forty-eight, I remind myself, my jaw clenching so tight my teeth ache. I am forty-eight years old. Chloe is twenty-three. She is my daughter Maya’s age. I am older than her own father.

Thinking of her father, Richard, triggers a toxic anger in my chest. I remember the exact night eleven years ago when a terrified, sobbing twelve-year-old Chloe showed up at my doorstep out of nowhere. She had run to me begging for help. That was the night we finally uncovered the monster Richard truly was—the night he brutalized Chloe’s mother so badly she landed in the intensive care unit.

I used every ounce of my power and legal influence to ensure Richard was locked away in jail where he rightfully belongs. I swore back then to protect Chloe, to guide her like a father figure, to keep her safe from the wolves of the world.

But her twentieth year changed everything. Her sudden growth spurt, the lush curves of her body, and that raw, venomous sexual confidence completely shattered my ability to see her as a child. She isn't a child anymore, and I am just delusional for trying to pretend otherwise. My hunger and her temptation are perfectly designed to ruin me.

Needing a drink to numb the thoughts, I groan and pop open the built-in wine compartment.

Instead of a vintage bottle of red, my eyes lock onto a tiny piece of silk tucked neatly inside the slot. I reach forward, my heart hammering against my ribs, and pull out a pair of red lace panties. Attached to them is a small, folded note written in her elegant handwriting:

Hope you like your gift, Mr. V.

My pulse thunders in my ears. I want to ask Jerome when she managed to sneak into my vehicle, but I force myself to stop. I never drink wine in the morning, so there is no telling when she slipped them in.

Without thinking, I reach forward and slam my thumb against the console button. The glass privacy partition slides up, completely cutting me off from the driver. I am entirely alone in the back.

Down in my trousers, my hard dick twitches violently, begging for release, completely overwhelmed by the scent wafting from the lace in my hand. I fight the urge for only a single second before my control completely fractures.

Fuck it.

I unbutton my pants, letting my cock free. Then I press her panties directly against my face. I inhale her sweet, sinful scent, cupping my shaft with one hand.

“Mmh...” I groan as my hand moves up and down.

The veins pulse in my forearms as images of her arching on the sheets, moaning, and driving that toy into herself flood my brain. Mentally, I replace the plastic with myself, imagining driving deep inside her, burying the entire length of my shaft into her tight, soaking-wet hole. I imagine the exact feel of her stretching around me, her wet walls clamping down to trap me inside her. I want to hear her scream my name in that high-pitched voice. I want to feel her bucking her hips against mine, completely helpless under my weight.

I stroke faster, harder, my breathing turning into ragged, desperate growls until an explosive climax rips through my body, splattering against the leather seat.

The aftermath leaves me feeling utterly horrible, dirty, and consumed by guilt. I wipe myself down in furious silence with a huge stash of tissues, stashing the panties away. Maya would never forgive me if she knew what her father just did.

I grip my thighs hard.

That's it, I resolve as I finish cleaning up the mess. I am putting myself in a strict time-out. I will completely avoid her. I will ignore her presence, stay out of her way, and keep my distance until her summer stay is over and she leaves my estate.

Soon, the SUV slows down, pulling up the driveway of the mansion before coming to a smooth stop. I step out of the car, adjusting my suit jacket and forcing myself to look like the dignified man I am supposed to be.

But then…

Chloe marches angrily out from the back of the house, heading straight across the manicured lawn. She is wearing nothing but a tiny string bikini that leaves every single inch of her  skin exposed to the sun. Right behind her is Chad, trailing after her like a desperate dog.

“Baby, please. I am sorry. It was a mistake,” he keeps pleading, trying to grab her arm.

She keeps walking, ignoring him entirely. The second she spots me, she rushes toward me.

"I have moved on, Chad. And my boyfriend doesn't like it when people trespass on his property."

Before my brain can even register what she just said, she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her lips hard against mine.